Read Online Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel by Laura Trentham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Trentham
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fight. How unlike you.”
“I was ambushed.” Still, a smile he couldn’t quite stem lightened the words.
An older lady with bottle-red hair and a grin carried a plastic bin filled with cupcakes. Tally gave the woman a hug. “Cade, this is Ms. Effie, my across-the-hall neighbor.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Tally’s told me all about you.” Besides Monroe, he got the impression Ms. Effie was one of Tally’s only friends.
“She’d told me about you, too, young man. I was acquainted with your parents. Your mama made the best deviled eggs in Cottonbloom. People loved to see her coming at the church potluck.”
Cade’s smile came easy and natural. It felt strange. “I remember. She was like the pied piper of deviled eggs.”
Ms. Effie patted his arm and laughed. He’d been hugged and patted and touched more since he’d been home than in his many years in Seattle combined. The distance that separated people in Seattle was absent in Cottonbloom. Maybe because everyone’s lives intersected at some point, like interlocking threads creating cloth.
By the time Rufus whistled for everyone’s attention, fifty or more people milled along River Street, laughter punctuating the conversations. Rufus quieted the crowd and got everyone to bow their heads for a brief prayer. The men whipped off hats.
Most of the people Cade recognized. They had been fellow church members or fishing buddies of his daddy or master gardeners like his mother. His second-grade teacher was there and clapped her hands when he greeted her by name.
He took the lemonade Tally offered, the sweet-tartness reminding him of summers long gone. “I can’t believe how many people came for me.”
“Rufus did offer free barbeque,” she said dryly. “And Ms. Effie’s cupcakes are wickedly good.”
“True, but—”
“Ohmygoodness.” Tally was staring over his shoulder, her face the definition of shocked.
“What is it?” He tried to turn, but she grabbed his arms.
“For Pete’s sake, don’t look.” She used him as a shield and peeked around his arm and murmured, “I can’t believe it’s really him.”
“Who?”
“I think that’s Nash Hawthorne, but he looks … different.”
Cade shifted and, as casually as possible, looked behind him. Sure enough, a man who somewhat resembled the boy who’d grown up down the river from their house stood on the outskirts, the setting sun outlining him. The Nash he remembered was the classic one-hundred-pound weakling. This man, while he had the same rumpled brown hair and glasses, was over six feet and at least two hundred pounds.
“Pretty sure that’s him,” Cade said. “You two were inseparable until everything went to hell.” Nash’s mother had succumbed to cancer, and their parents had died within a short amount of time. Cade couldn’t recall what had happened to Nash after that.
“Yeah. We were best friends.” The soft, vulnerable note in her voice drew Cade’s attention.
“Why don’t you go talk to him? See what he’s been up to.”
“No. Too many things have changed. I doubt he even remembers me. Listen, you don’t mind if I duck out early, do you? Lots of stuff to do in the morning.” She was backing away before he even answered. He watched until she disappeared around the corner, wondering how worried he should be.
The sound of Delmar tuning his mandolin distracted Cade. The sound brought back memories of lying in their trailer and hearing his uncle play and sing from his porch. The river had seemed to amplify the songs.
Delmar launched into a song about love and loss and coming home, his eyes closed, every part of him lost in the music. The crowd stilled, the emotion in Delmar’s voice connecting all of them.
A sense of notching in place like a puzzle piece filled him with disquiet. He wasn’t staying, didn’t want to belong anywhere, much less Cottonbloom.
Delmar’s voice trailed into nothing. Heartbeats passed when no one moved, then, as one, the crowd
“I was ambushed.” Still, a smile he couldn’t quite stem lightened the words.
An older lady with bottle-red hair and a grin carried a plastic bin filled with cupcakes. Tally gave the woman a hug. “Cade, this is Ms. Effie, my across-the-hall neighbor.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Tally’s told me all about you.” Besides Monroe, he got the impression Ms. Effie was one of Tally’s only friends.
“She’d told me about you, too, young man. I was acquainted with your parents. Your mama made the best deviled eggs in Cottonbloom. People loved to see her coming at the church potluck.”
Cade’s smile came easy and natural. It felt strange. “I remember. She was like the pied piper of deviled eggs.”
Ms. Effie patted his arm and laughed. He’d been hugged and patted and touched more since he’d been home than in his many years in Seattle combined. The distance that separated people in Seattle was absent in Cottonbloom. Maybe because everyone’s lives intersected at some point, like interlocking threads creating cloth.
By the time Rufus whistled for everyone’s attention, fifty or more people milled along River Street, laughter punctuating the conversations. Rufus quieted the crowd and got everyone to bow their heads for a brief prayer. The men whipped off hats.
Most of the people Cade recognized. They had been fellow church members or fishing buddies of his daddy or master gardeners like his mother. His second-grade teacher was there and clapped her hands when he greeted her by name.
He took the lemonade Tally offered, the sweet-tartness reminding him of summers long gone. “I can’t believe how many people came for me.”
“Rufus did offer free barbeque,” she said dryly. “And Ms. Effie’s cupcakes are wickedly good.”
“True, but—”
“Ohmygoodness.” Tally was staring over his shoulder, her face the definition of shocked.
“What is it?” He tried to turn, but she grabbed his arms.
“For Pete’s sake, don’t look.” She used him as a shield and peeked around his arm and murmured, “I can’t believe it’s really him.”
“Who?”
“I think that’s Nash Hawthorne, but he looks … different.”
Cade shifted and, as casually as possible, looked behind him. Sure enough, a man who somewhat resembled the boy who’d grown up down the river from their house stood on the outskirts, the setting sun outlining him. The Nash he remembered was the classic one-hundred-pound weakling. This man, while he had the same rumpled brown hair and glasses, was over six feet and at least two hundred pounds.
“Pretty sure that’s him,” Cade said. “You two were inseparable until everything went to hell.” Nash’s mother had succumbed to cancer, and their parents had died within a short amount of time. Cade couldn’t recall what had happened to Nash after that.
“Yeah. We were best friends.” The soft, vulnerable note in her voice drew Cade’s attention.
“Why don’t you go talk to him? See what he’s been up to.”
“No. Too many things have changed. I doubt he even remembers me. Listen, you don’t mind if I duck out early, do you? Lots of stuff to do in the morning.” She was backing away before he even answered. He watched until she disappeared around the corner, wondering how worried he should be.
The sound of Delmar tuning his mandolin distracted Cade. The sound brought back memories of lying in their trailer and hearing his uncle play and sing from his porch. The river had seemed to amplify the songs.
Delmar launched into a song about love and loss and coming home, his eyes closed, every part of him lost in the music. The crowd stilled, the emotion in Delmar’s voice connecting all of them.
A sense of notching in place like a puzzle piece filled him with disquiet. He wasn’t staying, didn’t want to belong anywhere, much less Cottonbloom.
Delmar’s voice trailed into nothing. Heartbeats passed when no one moved, then, as one, the crowd
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