Page 8 of Sundown Somewhere

The smooth, silky fabric loosens against my skin, my dress giving way, my ribs and flesh easing with it. Right along with the last of my resolve. Each inch that moves allows for more and more shame to creep in, more and more weight of the situation to pile on. My chest grows heavier with each second and passing swipe of ribbon, making it harder to breathe.

And then the tears show up.

Just one at first. A scout, if you will. One brave little guy checking out the landscape to report back to his comrades. But once he does—once they know the coast is clear—the floodgates open. There’s no holding it back.

My dress falls to the ground, leaving me in my strapless bra and panties, tears streaming down my cheeks. Despite all still being fully covered—at least the good bits—I’ve never felt more naked and exposed.

“Doll…” Hux whispers, gathering me in his arms. I turn, burying my face in his chest and collapsing into him as I cry. Pressing a kiss into my hair, he holds me tight, keeping me safe, rocking me gently. “It’s okay. I know you’re heartbroken, but we’re gonna get through this.”

That’s the thing… I’m not heartbroken.

I don’t tell Hux that. I don’t say anything. I simply continue to cry, keeping my face pressed against him, ruining his crisp white shirt with my now smeared makeup. Because I don’t know how to tell my best friend that the pain I’m feeling isn’t from not being loved by Jeff, but from being left by him.

I’m humiliated. Not heartbroken.

3

HUX

“Can we keep today’s meeting short? I need to get back to Dolly’s.”

The smell of fajitas hits my nostrils before my request is even fully out of me, making my mouth water. My silent thank you to Miss Harriett, Hayes’ catering manager, is met with a mental note that I need to give her a big hug as a thank you, because I know without a doubt that meal is for me. Doesn’t matter if this was the original plan for today’s menu or not, I have no doubt that angel of a woman would have changed the plan as soon as she heard that this weekend didn’t go as planned.

We do not deserve her…

Miss Harriett has been in charge of the kitchen at Hayes Industries for as long as I can remember—maybe longer than I’ve been alive—and rivals anyone in this town for title of best cook in Hickory Hills. My best friend included. And every week, she makes sure we eat like kings—and a queen—at Munch.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to start unpacking her ’til this weekend?” Jace asks, mouth full of food.

“Not her apartment, the diner,” I answer.

The whole room stops dead, all six of my siblings looking at me like I just told them I personally raised Christ from the dead. Which might have been less of an undertaking than this morning was.

Turning back to the food, I shovel a large helping of meat and veggies onto my plate, unable to help myself. I told Dolly I wouldn’t eat since she wanted to try out some new recipe, but Miss Harriett made fajitas. There’s no turning that down. I’ll just have to fake not being full when I get to the diner.

Or maybe this meeting will go long enough that I’ll be hungry again by the time we get out. Wouldn’t be the first time that we were stuck in here for hours against our will because Gus was trying to prove a point. After all, that is half the point of Munch—short for Monday Lunch—a.k.a. the weekly lunch meeting where the heads of each department get together to update each other on what is going on, talk strategy, and brainstorm if needed. And by heads of each department, I mean my siblings and me. After all, the seven of us are the ones who run this beast of a company.

And I do mean beast. Hayes Industries has been around since the 1800s in some way, shape, or form and has been growing ever since. Our father, Auggie, is currently at the helm, but for how much longer, we’re not sure. In fact, the seven of us secretly have a retirement pool going—each one of us have placed a hundred-dollar bet on when we think he’ll retire. It’ll all come down to when we can find someone to take over for Gus as head of guns and ammo—the original business line—now that he’s executive vice president.

None of the rest of us want it. We’re busy with our own departments. My other two older brothers are well established in their roles. Milo and his best friend have been running Southern Brothers brewing for more than fifteen years, and Anton has the agriculture department—the ever important three Ps of peaches, peanuts, and pecans—down to a science. Pun intended. As for the three below me, there’s no one on this earth who knows more about personal safety than Jace, you couldn’t pry Ewan away from his bait and tackle shop, and Willa is the best face we could ask for when it comes to charitable giving.

“You let her go to work?” Anton exclaims, quickly followed by a sputtered “oww!”—no doubt because Willa kicked him under the table. As she should have.

“I didn’t let her do anything. She’s a grown-ass woman who can make decisions for herself.”

Not that I didn’t try to stop her. Again, raising Jesus from the grave would have been an easier morning than arguing—sorry, discussing—practicalities with a scorned woman.

“Is that really a good idea though?” Ewan, my youngest brother, asks. The quietest of the bunch, he doesn’t usually throw his two cents in unless it’s really important. Then again, he knows a thing or two about being left behind by someone, so he might know something the rest of us don’t.

“No, which is why I need to get back.”

“How many people were there this morning?” Willa asks.

The wince in her smile is more than enough to tell me she hates even asking, but that it’s required information. If there’s anyone in this room that gets it, it’s my baby sister. A former Miss Georgia, Willa has dealt with this town’s rumor mill more than any of us. She’s also the best at manipulating it. When Dustin Wilder left town years ago, leaving behind her best friend Kenzie, and overnight became country sensation Dustin Wild, it was Willa who kept the gossip about Kenzie at bay.

Just like it’s Willa who’s now playing puppet master behind the scenes with the story of why the wedding didn’t happen.

“Enough,” I sigh, slouching in my seat. “Including Mrs. Burch.”