Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(79)

Shelby sat back and crossed her arms. “In other words, you want us to mind our business.”

“Shelby, I appreciate your… initiative,” he decided, choosing the word carefully. “And I certainly believe that this information needs to be relayed through the appropriate channels. But I would be remiss if I didn’t strongly encourage you all to bring your concerns directly to law enforcement. It’s what we’re here for. It’s job security for me.”

“You will look into Abbie’s death, won’t you?” Shelby pressed.

“I certainly will. I promise you that,” the sheriff agreed.

“Good. George and I need to get back to our pig,” June announced, rising.

“Sheriff, if you don’t mind another request from me,” Shelby said. “I think someone intimidated Mrs. Benefiel into recanting her claim. Someone that she is still afraid of. If you do speak to her, can you do it very quietly?”

Sheriff Tucker nodded. “I will definitely do that,” he promised.

Some of the tension left Shelby’s shoulders. “Okay. Good. Thank you for your time,” she said.

We rose and started for the door.

“I’m telling Mom and Dad,” George said, pointing a long finger at Shelby.

She scrunched her nose up at him but didn’t argue.

“Gee, Shelby, you sure are working hard to win the most memorable summer fling,” I told her, slinging my arm around her as we stepped out into the night thick with humidity.

“All part of my master plan to make sure you never forget me.”





44





Shelby





I rolled my shoulders and adjusted the volume on Salt-N-Pepa as they warbled nineties vibes in my ears. It was early evening, and I was nearing the end of my allotted work hours. I still had a ten-mile bike ride to squeeze in. Working my way through the most recent survey responses—I’d had 936 so far—I was slowly crafting a structure for my paper. One that felt as organic yet cohesive as the responses I was getting.

I still felt like something was missing. That the key was somehow in the next response or the next. But overall, I was finally making real progress.

I shot a glance at the vase of wildflowers behind my laptop. Jonah. He’d picked them up at a little stand in the park yesterday and brought them home for me. Going for that Most Memorable Summer Fling notoriety. He made it so easy to appreciate him, to fall for him.

I grinned at the whimsical flowers, the chipped pitcher we’d found in the kitchen. And turned back to the next survey.



Q. What factors make you feel as if you belong here as part of the community?



Jonah Bodine: A few months ago, I would have said I didn’t necessarily belong. That I was just passing through. That the only thing keeping me here was the family I was getting to know. But that’s not the case. I came for the family, stayed for the family. Then something strange started to happen.

I wasn’t just new in town anymore. I wasn’t just a gossip item or an oddity. I was providing a service, meeting a need. The more I gave to this town, the more they gave me in return. I was alone when I came to Bootleg Springs. But I’m not alone now. I have new family, new friends, interesting clients, a roommate that I can’t stop thinking about, and a dog.

Somehow, I accidentally built an entire life here without noticing that I was planting roots. I think part of it is good-natured conspiracy. My family wants me to stay. This town wants me to stay. Every connection I make here binds me tighter to the community. Every class I teach, every client I help is one more root planted. Every bonfire, every kiss, every beer or pepperoni roll or day on the water makes Bootleg Springs more a part of my life. And I don’t know if I want to fight it anymore.



My heart did an agreeable little tap dance as several stimuli worked on my system simultaneously.

The woman in me swooned just the tiniest bit at Jonah’s admission that he couldn’t stop thinking about me. The data nerd tap danced at the fact that he’d willingly filled out the survey.

Attacking me from my romantic and analytical sides in one fell swoop. I approved.

What made the researcher in me push back from my chair and do a little boogie was the idea of the levels of assimilation. It wasn’t just one group like a church or an office full of coworkers that did the heavy lifting when it came to providing a sense of belonging. Bootleg Springs was an organism that used multiple prongs of attack.

You weren’t only welcome at Moonshine Diner or just Yee Haw Yarn & Coffee. You were welcome in the park, the church, the police station, Sallie Mae Brickman’s kitchen table. They called you by name in the Pop In and were happy to see you at Build A Shine. Jimmy Bob Prosser remembered what kind of a dishwasher you had in your kitchen when you came into the hardware store.

The entire town worked together to entice and welcome and infiltrate every aspect of residents’ lives. Until there was no boundary between the individual and the society.

I envisioned vines, all sprouting from the same place, all wriggling and stretching and winding their way in and around the society binding everyone and everything together.

Jonah Bodine had just unlocked my entire thesis. Removed the block. Turned the angel chorus on in my head.

He’d also just inserted a key directly into my heart. And I wasn’t surprised at all.