“You ever going to replace that broken coffeepot of yours?” Emmy asks, picking up the money and tucking it in the cash register. “Not that I’m complaining about taking your money.”
“Warranty replacement is supposed to be here next week. Don’t worry; I’m ready to end these lovely visits too.”
Julianne turns away from the counter and heads for the door, but slows and changes direction when she notices me. “Well, well ... I’m guessing I know exactly who you are.”
“That’s a little creepy.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but apparently my lack of filter is still well and truly intact.
She steps toward the table and sets down the giant travel mug. “I’m Julianne. I cut your man’s hair, and you’ve got the entire town talking today.” She slides into the booth without an invitation.
“Uh, feel free to join me, I guess.”
“Thanks for the invite, but I’ve only got ten minutes before my next appointment, and I definitely am gonna have to pee.” She stares at me as she sucks down a sip of coffee. “Do you know how many women in this town probably wouldn’t mind accidentally hittin’ you with a car today after hearing about what Logan said last night at Brews and Balls?”
“I expected this conversation to get less creepy, but it turns out I was wrong.”
Julianne shrugs. “I’m just saying you might want to watch your ass. He’s a catch, and he’s been evading the net for a while now. Some of these women are getting desperate.” She shoots a look toward Emmy behind the counter as the other woman tucks some food into what looks like a picnic basket. “That one, especially.”
“Her? Really?” My next inspection of Emmy is much closer. Acceptably cut light brown hair, decent body, nice eyes, and a hint of bitchiness.
Julianne nods when I meet her gaze again. “She’s carved her name in his tree, if you know what I mean.”
I might not be from Kentucky, but even I understand her euphemism. “I get what you’re saying.”
“But apparently Emmy hasn’t put two and two together that you’re the one who’s about to crush her dreams of becoming Mrs. Logan Brantley.”
When she glances back at the woman, I follow her gaze. “Why’s that?”
“She’d be glaring daggers at you instead of putting Logan’s lunch basket together.”
Logan’s lunch basket? Seriously?“Did he order takeout?”
Julianne laughs. “Nope. He doesn’t have to in order to get the Emmy special. She makes it her mission to keep him fed. I guess she’s trying to get the one half of thestomach full, balls emptyequation covered, since as far as I know, Logan’s never let her get anywhere near his balls.” Julianne sips her coffee again. “Not for lack of trying, of course. She’d for sure turn up pregnant the first time he touched her, though. I’d put money on that.”
All of this information is bringing on an epically bad headache and killing my appetite.
I narrow my eyes at Julianne. “Why are you telling me this?”
She shrugs. “Logan genuinely likes you. He’s made that plenty clear.” She shoots a look over at Emmy. “And I’ve pretty much hated that bitch since junior high when she decided she was better than everyone else.”
God bless small towns.
A short bus pulls up in front of the restaurant, momentarily blocking my view of the street.
“I better get out of here. The assisted-living-home folks are coming for theirway too late to belunch andtoo early to bedinner. It’s about to be old people city up in here. See you around, Banner. You let me know if you need that color touched up or those nails fixed. I’m not a big-city stylist by any means, but I don’t fuck up hair or nails.” She flashes me a crooked smile. “Just everything else in my life.”
And with that, she’s gone, leaving me wishing she’d stayed longer. Besides Nicole, Julianne is the only other woman I’ve met in this town I can picture having drinks with.
Emmy bustles to the door as the busload of older people comes tromping into the restaurant. “Y’all are early! I didn’t expect you until three thirty.”
Darlene rushes over with my salad and drops it at the table. “You need anything else? I’m about to be real busy.”
“No, ma’am. I’m all set here.”
I lean back in the booth and proceed to be entertained by all the retirees and their chatter. There’s some kind of magic to this small-town life.
* * *
Julianne’s warning about Emmy and her plans concerning Logan keep cycling through my head as I finish my salad. It wasn’t incredibly filling, but I didn’t have to make it myself, so there’s that. The door to the restaurant chimes again, and I realize this place must be a happening spot in town for all the traffic I’ve seen.