Page 6 of When Forever Falls Apart

Well, that was too much information. “Look, I—”

“Mrs. Russo,” my sister, Eva, nudges me to get the hell out of there while I can. “My brother needs to attend to an important matter in the kitchen. May I serve you today? I think the mango cream donuts are calling your name.”

I nod with an amiable smile, then bail to the kitchen, resting my hands against the stainless-steel countertop. Once again, my sister has saved the day. I should be showering her with gratitude, but then a flicker of resentment reminds me I’m here because of her.

Eva pops her head in. “You’re welcome.”

I force a smile. “Ruthie was untouched.”

Eva chuckles. “Of course she was. But hey, who’s to say the love of your life isn’t a virgin named Ruthie?”

“Love of my life? C’mon, Eva.” I turn toward the oven to set the timer. “I’m not looking for a wife. You know, there is more to the world than getting married and living in a small town. Don’t think I’m staying here forever. I’m helping you out but I’m not yourpermanent solution.”

“Yes,” Eva concedes. “The world is big and beautiful, but nothing beats the feeling of being home.”

“Home,right,” I mutter beneath my breath.

“Okay, stop being a party pooper. How about drinks tonight? Aston is driving in later today. He had a bunch of meetings and tried explaining what was happening with the business but lost me at acquisitions. You can talk all about your woman woes with him. It’ll be a nice change from all the business chatter.”

“First, men don’t talk about women woes. Second, I don’t have woman woes. What I need is a good fu—”

Eva raises her hand. “Wrong person! And gross. See, my fiancé is the best person to talk to since he was previously a man-whore, too.”

This time, it’s my turn to laugh. “All right, fine. Drinks tonight, sis. And don’t get on your high horse when we men talk about our hookups.”

With a pout of her lips, Eva says, “I thought men don’t talk?”

Franklin’s is an old bar away from the central part of town. The owner, Franklin Shaw, has been alive for what seems like forever. We moved to Cinnamon Springs when I was a kid, and he was old then. The man never ages.

The property sits on the southern shore of Peppermint Lake, with an expansive patio overlooking the water. Inside there’s the pool table, which has seen better days, and a kitchen serving traditional English food since Franklin migrated from England with his wife.

“A pint for you and Eva’s fella?” Franklin asks.

“Vodka and tonic for the ladies,” Aston is quick to order, “but a pint won’t hurt us.”

Franklin goes about his business, and even though I am not a fan of beer since it reminds me of college days, I can tell Aston’s being polite.

Aston is standing beside me at the bar while Eva and her friend, Billie, are chilling by the pool tables. Billie works atDonuts Ever After and is incredibly laid back, which makes my job a breeze. She’s a skilled baker plus she knows the shop in and out. It makes sense for Billie to manage the business over me, but unfortunately she lost her mother a few months ago and Eva was worried about Billie taking on too much. For once, I had to agree with Eva.

Billie is easy on the eyes, but Eva warned me,Don’t shit where you eat. To suit her schedule, Billie took the early shift today, starting at five, while I came in later to handle lunch and closing. I recently added some savory dishes to the menu to test the waters. So far, it’s been a big hit, but Eva is worried that we’re stretching ourselves too thin. As someone who has worked in many fast-paced restaurants, though, this is a walk in the park.

“So, you’re bored with Cinnamon Springs already,” Aston chuckles.

“How can you tell?”

“C’mon, this isn’t your scene. It’s the polar opposite of Paris.”

Franklin slides the frosty pints across the bar. I grasp them firmly, feeling the chill seep into my hands, while Aston carries the vodkas and makes his way toward the girls. At the pool table, Eva and Billie are laughing uncontrollably over something.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Eva blurts out. “Just girl talk.”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes at them. Some things never change.

“Great,” I mutter.

The door opens and a few guys wander in. I recognize the man on the left, Trey, from the frat house we shared at Brown University. Trey isn’t a local, so I’m surprised to run into him here of all places. He hasn’t changed much—still has his football build with a cocky grin, probably looking to scorehis next fuck tonight. Too bad Cinnamon Springs is the last place anyone should go to find a one-night stand. Everyone fucking talks.