No Perfect Hero(71)

“If you know me so well, you know why I’m not happy,” he bites off grudgingly.

“If you’re so interested in my business affairs, you can either choose to get involved, or you can stay out, but last I checked, I had no need for an advisory council,” she retorts firmly.

Dang. Even if I have no idea what the hell is going on...

This woman’s got a core of steel I admire more than anything else.

And she’s certainly got Warren in hand, because he says nothing other than a murmured “I’m sorry, ma’am” that she accepts with a tart nod.

Her fierce expression gentles, though, as she flashes me another warm smile, then turns to let herself out.

I hold my tongue until the door closes, then whistle softly under my breath. “That was something.”

“That’s my grandmother,” Warren answers with a touch of cynical fondness. “I never know if she’ll show up to find out what’s up with the gossip about us or rake me over the coals for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I blink. “There’s gossip about us?”

“I kind of went caveman on your ex in the middle of a crowded diner, Hay.” Warren snorts. “Yeah. There’s gossip.”

I smile sheepishly. “I suppose. But...what was that about her business affairs?”

Warren’s shoulders tighten. I expect him to shut down, tell me to mind my own business again.

I don’t need to know, it’s too dangerous, the usual.

But after a few more scrapes of the spatula against the skillet, he mutters, “It's nothing. I’m keeping an eye on some people. They’ve got their hands in some pretty shady business, and Grandma doesn’t see it. She’s thinking of investing with them to keep the business afloat when she’s ready to retire, so she doesn’t have to outright sell Charming Inn or Brody’s.”

I don’t have to be a genius to know that the person he’s talking about is Bress, after the way Warren went after Flynn over keeping secrets from him on that front. It's making more sense.

After a few weeks in town, I’ve picked up that they have history but they don’t speak anymore, mostly from Stewart, who stops by almost every night for a different kind of burger and a quick chat.

I try to be nice to him, but there’s something about him that leaves me uncomfortable. He's too quick to play diplomat, not-so-subtly trying to diffuse this...whatever it is between Warren and Dennis.

He’s not flirting with me. Not really, and I think maybe that’s it, too.

He acts like he’s flirting, but there’s something too fake about it that makes me wish he wouldn’t bother, especially if neither of us are interested. I don’t need more fake in my life.

Still, he does give me juicy tidbits here and there, about how Bress and Warren were in the military together. Once, he mentioned her, and I don’t know who she is, and he wouldn’t give me a name, but I guess there’s more than one reason why Warren came back to Heart’s Edge.

There's no denying something's brewing between him and Bress. I’m worried about what will happen when it finally comes to a head.

If I push any more, though, I know Warren will cut me off the same way Ms. Wilma cut him off, so I just sigh, looking down at Tara and settling the blanket more securely over her.

She must be worn out, if the smell of breakfast hasn’t even started to wake her up. I still feel bad she got caught in the middle of my mess with Eddy.

“Sounds like a tough decision for Wilma to make at all,” I answer neutrally.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess. But if she ends up in bed with the wrong people, it’ll end in heartbreak, sooner or later.”

If that isn’t apt, I don’t know what is.

I’m not even sure who’s going to get her heart broken for ending up in bed with the wrong person.

Ms. Wilma...or me.





*



I doze on the couch for a bit, before I’m woken up by a suddenly energetic Tara just in time for food to be ready.

She’s like one of those old Tamagotchi pets that were popular when I was a kid. You have to take care of her 24/7, but she’s really only perky and active when you’re around and paying attention to her, and when you hit her on switch, it’s go go go.

And her pep tells me it’ll be afternoon before I get to steal a proper sleep before my shift tonight, when she’s managed to fill up her sketchbook with drawings and hell, now I’m out of two different shades of blue from trying to capture the hues of the Heart’s Edge sky.

So after breakfast – Warren really is a good cook, no matter how Ms. Wilma teases – I kick him out to go help around the inn with some long-neglected repairs, then get myself and Tara cleaned up so we can go do some shopping at the feed-slash-art-supply store.

It’s a little weird, still, that when I go inside, Ms. Thatcher greets me by name and tells me her daughter got in a new stock of these oil paints from a different supplier, and I might want to try them.

It makes me feel like I belong here.

Small town hospitality can really mess you up, I guess.

As I’m talking to Tara about her first sketchbook and what she did and didn’t like about the paper texture so we can pick a better one this time, she pauses, frowning and tapping her finger against her lower lip.