“Huh. Bummer,” she said.
“Can I have a dollar to play some music?” Waylay asked, pointing at the jukebox in the corner after we’d placed our orders.
Before I could say anything, Liza shoved a crumpled five-dollar bill at her. “Play some country. I miss hearing it.”
“Thanks!” Waylay snatched the bill out of Liza’s hand and headed for the jukebox.
“Why don’t you listen to country anymore?” I asked.
That same look she’d had when Waylay asked her about the photo came back. Wistful and sad. “My daughter was the one who played it. Had it on the radio morning, noon, and night. Taught the boys to line dance practically before they could walk.”
There was a lot of past tense in that sentence. Spontaneously, I reached out and squeezed
her hand. Her focus came back to me, and she squeezed my hand back before pulling free.
“Speakin’ of family, my grandson sure has shown some interest in you.”
“Nash has been so helpful since I got to town,” I said.
“Not Nash, you ninny. Knox.”
“Knox?” I repeated, certain I’d heard her wrong.
“Big guy? Tattoos? Pissed off at the world?”
“He hasn’t shown interest, Liza. He’s shown disdain, disgust, and malice.” He’d also shared an aggressive announcement that his body found my body attractive, but the rest of him found the rest of me revolting.
She hooted. “I bet you’re the one.”
“The one what?”
“The one who’s gonna have him reconsidering this whole bachelor deal. Bet money you’re the first girl he dates from this town in twenty-plus years. And by dates, I mean—”
I held the menu up over my face. “I understand what you mean, but you’re very, very wrong.”
“He’s quite the catch,” she insisted. “And not just cause of the lottery money.”
I was 100 percent certain she was messing with me.
“Knox won the lottery?” I asked dryly.
“Eleven million. Couple of years back.”
I blinked. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As a heart attack. And he wasn’t one of those buy-a-big-ass-mansion-and-a-fleet-of-foreign-cars winners. He’s even richer now than when he got that big check,” she said with pride.
The man’s boots were older than Waylay.
He lived on his grandmother’s property in a cabin.
I thought of Warner and his family, who definitely did not have $11 million, but acted as if they were the crustiest of the upper crust.
“But he’s just so…grumpy.”
Liza smirked. “Guess it just goes to show money can’t buy happiness.”
We were just digging into a large pepperoni and salad—well, technically I was the only one with salad on my plate—when the front door opened and in walked Sloane the librarian followed by a young girl.