Match Cut: A Standalone Small Town Romance (Foxe Hill Book 1) Read online

  I bolt behind a streetlamp, hoping this will be enough cover to hide me and my voyeuristic ways, but he’s already grinning mid-laugh. Oh right—this isn’t a cartoon and I can’t hide because I’m not the size of a lamppost. He gives me the biggest dimpled smile behind a hairnet for his beard—oh my god what in the world—and a wave.

  I can’t pretend I don’t see him, so I return the wave. Could I run back to the van without it being weird? Maybe slink underneath the bench? Probably not.

  I cross the street, walking in with the small bell dinging above me. The sound mirrors Keaton’s bright and sunny demeanor.

  “Welcome in,” the teen says beside me. It’s dull, and I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to be spending my mornings working food service either. He looks younger; he must be in a work-study program, which almost makes it worse. The poor kid probably knows he could be at school with his friends instead.

  “What’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?” Keaton asks, snapping me back to reality. He’s moving around with such finesse—taking the bread out of the oven, replacing containers of vegetables, and walking through the lobby to pour some sugar in the sweet tea dispenser. It’s like some elegant dance, and I can’t help but notice every one of his muscles performing it as he travels throughout the store.

  His hair is shoved under a backward cap, winging out beside his ears, which is adorable. However, his beard is also in an upside-down hairnet, so maybe a bit less sexy on that front.

  “It looks like your beard has a hat on.”

  “Don’t make it feel bad,” he says. “So what are you up to?”

  “Moseying around,” I respond, shrugging.

  “Working on things?”

  “Waiting on my car-horn moment, I think.” He stops his work rhythm to raise an eyebrow. I laugh. “You know how when a car honks at you if you’re driving real slow, you suddenly just—” I stiffen my limbs like a deer in headlights.

  “What does that mean?”

  “That moment when you’re shocked back to reality,” I say, palms up in a ‘you know what I mean’ gesture. I toss a hand at him when he doesn’t react. “Anyway, I think I’ll know when the idea hits me.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Nah,” I ask, leaning on the counter next to the register. “Looks good, though.”

  He winks. “Just let me make you something.”

  May as well call me a patty melt because I am oozing to the ground in a pile of nerves and adoration. Who winks anymore? Keaton does, and I’m unsure why no other man in the world is following suit. What a perfect, underused gesture.

  Keaton whips up something simple with bacon, explaining his recipe aloud along the way and making me promise not to repeat it because it is top secret.

  “I made Matt here sign a non-disclosure agreement, didn’t I?”

  Matt, the bored kid, gives the first smile I’ve seen since walking in. Keaton has that effect on people.

  I take a seat at an empty booth and Keaton joins me, telling his employee he can take a break if he likes. Matt grabs his phone from under the register shelf faster than Keaton can even finish his sentence, exiting out the back door.

  I look around. Everything is clean, just as his grandpa always kept it, but this is very clean—almost to the point where it seems untouched.

  “The shop is a bit emptier than I remember,” I comment, glancing around once more.

  He exhales. “Yeah, Foxe Hill has been getting a bit worse each year.”

  “Why’s that?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Dunno. People leave, the appeal isn’t as good… Heck, maybe small towns just aren’t where people wanna be.”

  “Not progressive enough?”

  He laughs. “We’re definitely not some thriving city. We don’t have cool hangout spots with dog parks or VR bars.”

  “Big mistake.”

  He laughs. “We’re trying, but…not touristy enough, I guess.”

  “It does have something about it,” I muse, glancing out the window. “There’s a reason people stay. I mean, you love it, right?”

  “Well, of course I love it,” he says, a smile pulling at his mouth, and I can tell he means it. He’s always had some type of connection to this place. The people, his grandpa’s shop, the tight-knit social circle—he thrives here. “Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of town people want to stay in.”

  I see the longing in Keaton’s eyes as he looks out the window. In his pensive thoughts, his jaw ticks slightly, as if the subject makes him uncomfortable, possibly mournful. He’s this weird mix of sadness and beauty, and I can’t turn away. When he catches me staring at him, a slow smile spreads across his face, starting with just his lips then extending out to a dimple. I can’t help but mirror the expression.

  “How’s the sandwich?” he asks, pointing at it on the plate in front of me.

  I shake my head. I hadn’t even realized he set it down.

  “Oh, right,” I say, picking it up and eating it and, holy moly it’s like heaven in between slices of soft, butter-doused bread.

  “It’s wonderful,” I say. “Seriously. This is talent.”

  He grins. “Glad you like it.”

  Keaton throws his arm over the back of the chair. His biceps are on full, bulked-out display, tightening against his black work tee. Are muscles like that even fair?

  “Your first night back, you said I’d changed,” he says. “In what way?”

  I swear the thermostat in the store must currently read well above one hundred degrees with that type of talk.

  “I could ask the same question,” I respond, remembering his automatic response at the time.

  “You first.”

  I don’t want to say. I don’t want him to know that while he’s still the same boy who made silly jokes, reveled in movies with me in an empty theater, and gave me chill bumps, I now feel something much more than a teenage crush.

  So, I don’t respond, instead opening my mouth and shutting it again, unable to form adequate words without completely embarrassing myself. He lets out a chuckle.

  Suddenly the front doorbell chimes behind me, and when I turn to look, startled by the sudden interruption, I see my brother and his horrible timing.

  “Fancy seeing you here!” Asher calls, boyish grin spread wide, waltzing over to our table and sliding into the booth beside me. I feel guilty, like he caught us doing something. But, doing what? Having a conversation?

  “I forgot about your Wednesday breaks,” Keaton says, getting up from his seat and wiping his hands on his black jeans before running a quick hand through his hair. “Turkey as usual?”

  “Nah, don’t work. Hang out with us!” Asher calls.

  But Keaton shakes his head, moving back behind the counter and pulling out some bread. “I’ve got you covered, bud.”

  It is such an instantaneous move—so much so that I wonder if he’s avoiding Asher.

  “What were you two talking about?” Asher asks, twisting to look at me. His eyes are narrowed, and the suspicion makes me uneasy.

  Suspicious of what, though? There’s nothing to warrant suspicion. It’s not like we were eye-fucking each other across the table. That’s only in my dreams, apparently.

  “The town,” I say quickly.

  “Oh right, yeah,” Asher says. That answer must be satisfactory because he glances out the large window. “Poor Foxe Hill.”

  I cross my arms and look outside once more. No people. Barely any cars. The stoplights are blinking red, which now makes me think they might be broken instead of just operating at a time with lower traffic, but it’s probably just because the town is so vacant.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “On Wednesdays, I have a long break between classes, so I hang out with Keaton. Speaking of which, I overheard those girls talking about you again,” Asher says, nodding to Keaton and reaching to take a cup from behind the counter to help himself to some water.

  “What girls?” I ask, proba
bly a bit too eager. I glance over at Keaton, who continues to focus on the sandwich, not looking up.

  “He stopped by my class a month ago, and this group of girls won’t stop talking about him,” Asher continues, plopping back into the booth.

  “You probably shouldn’t be prying into their lives,” I say, a slight tinge of green flowing through me.

  “They’re like chickens with their heads cut off.” My brother’s hands wave in the air as if this topic has exhausted him already. “You try ignoring those conversations when they’re front and center in the lecture hall. God, I can’t imagine what they’d sound like if you actually asked one of them out.”

  “Maybe a high-pitched dog whistle,” I supply.

  Keaton laughs, closing the finished sandwich and putting it on a tray before sliding it across the counter. “I’m not really into college freshmen.”

  Asher leans out of his seat to grab the tray with a thanks. He takes a large bite before he even sits back down, talking with his mouth full. “Hey, ahm jus’ puttin’ it out there.”

  “Geez, Asher,” I say, cringing at his full mouth but also trying to distract myself from the image of Keaton with a woman more than a decade his junior. Young, beautiful, and probably very limber.

  Shudder.

  Asher shrugs. “He’s gotta put himself out there at some point.”

  “Okay, well, what about you?” I ask. “Hypocrite.”

  “Where am I supposed to meet people? School? Yeah right.”

  “Date a hot teaching assistant.”

  “Violet, come on.”

  Keaton leans against the closed industrial toaster oven, his arms crossed and something bordering on the edge of a playful smile pointed right in my direction. “Things will happen when they happen.”

  It’s difficult to look at him and not wonder if he’s thinking something sly. Does that look mean something more, or am I just hopeful?

  “So, how’s the movie coming along, Vi?” Asher asks, mouth still crowded with more bread, turkey, and tomato than necessary.

  The dreaded question. I shift in my seat, but Keaton answers for me. “She’s waiting on her car-horn moment.”

  Asher laughs. “What?”

  I feel my face burn slightly red, but it’s not from the phrase. It’s something else—maybe the fact that Keaton was listening to me, like maybe he repeated the wacky phrase because he understands my crazy.

  “It’s nothing,” I say.

  “Right,” Asher says, narrowing his eyes.

  “I’m just…uninspired, I guess.” I shrug.

  “Well hey, let’s go out, huh?” Asher asks. “We’ll get some drinks, clear your head for a bit.”

  I take a second to answer, but Keaton chimes in before I can. “Could be fun.”

  I consider the idea. Some solid brother-sister time would be nice to take my mind off of things, and maybe letting loose will unscramble my thoughts some. Maybe it’s the clarity I need to get over this writer’s block…and his best friend.

  “Why not?” I say.

  “Awesome.” Asher twists around, and my heart sinks because I instantly know what’s coming next. “Keaton, you in?”

  How stupid am I? Of course Keaton is invited. He’s my brother’s best friend, his partner in crime.

  “Sure,” he says.

  Finding a way to destress tonight? Not likely.

  Six

  Keaton

  I keep telling myself I am capable of bottling my attraction to Violet, but it’s difficult to maintain my resolve when Asher insists on going to a bar with Violet the next night—and not just the local bar with the friendly faces of Todd the bartender and his wife Meredith. He wants to go to the one just outside of town that is actually busy on Thursdays and borderline encourages rowdy behavior.

  I didn’t say no. In fact, I willed the entire event to happen. I suggested it then happily agreed to tag along as well. I want to spend more time with Violet. I can’t stop myself. I’m like a car driving full speed, careening toward a brick wall but just too stubborn to stop. I’m a masochist.

  When I roll up in my Jeep, I have to tighten my grip on the wheel to keep from staring at Violet. She’s wearing pants that are tight enough to show every crest and valley of her hips and a dark maroon shirt tied in the middle and cropped—just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her flat stomach.

  This was my idea. I can spend time with her in that outfit with no flirting. I am fully capable, right?

  She shifts in the back seat, twisting to look out the window. A rush of lavender-scented body wash drifts past, carried up to the front by the wind blowing through the vehicle.

  Hell, I’m a strong man, but I’m not that strong.

  We arrive and meet up with Kayla and Joey, who are proud to say they got a babysitter for the night and are, in their words, “letting loose like two raccoons in a trashcan full of fresh leftovers.” This isn’t my first night out with those two and, true to form, they scatter to the bar for their first round.

  I join, taking whatever Joey has already ordered for me, and with one final look at Violet’s tight pants, I decide to discreetly separate from the group, ascending the staircase to the second level. I need to get some air—at least as much as you can get in a smoky bar. This might have been my idea, but I’m starting to regret it.

  From the railing, I look down at the dance floor below, bustling with individuals and couples line dancing, swinging each other around…a general happy chaos set to the honky-tonk tunes blasting over the speakers. I like this place, but coming here feels like a betrayal of First Stop, like I should be line dancing with Meredith on a nearly empty dance floor. Instead, I’m buying overpriced alcohol and watching everyone and their mother bombard this dance floor. I would like it if I didn’t feel so guilty.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly see Violet leaning on the railing beside me. I jump.

  “Jesus, you scared me.”

  She laughs as we observe the dance floor together. We’re close enough for conversation, which, given the volume of the music, means she’s only inches from my face.

  “I’ve never been here,” she says. “I don’t even know how to line dance.”

  “Wow, what idiot brought you here?” I ask, grinning.

  “You did.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s not all bad. I like the company, even if you did abandon us.”

  She places a hand on my forearm, shaking it slightly as if to exaggerate her point. My arm flexes in response, immediately sending my blood flow downward and creating pressure against my zipper.

  “I just like people watching,” I say. “Didn’t mean to leave.”

  I look around for Asher, hoping he isn’t watching, and see he’s too busy with a busty brunette wearing studded cowgirl boots and hoop earrings. He’s whispering in her ear, and she’s laughing. I could probably be kissing Violet’s neck and he would never notice. The thought spurs my erection more.

  Dammit.

  I clear my throat. “So, tell me something.”

  She quirks up an eyebrow. “Tell you what?”

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Movie stuff.”

  “Go on.”

  She looks at me for a moment with a slight tilt to her head. Her hand is still on my arm, and I wonder if she’s even aware of it. As I look at her, taking every bit of her in, glancing from her eyes down to her lips, her smile suddenly fades away. She removes her hand.

  “Just…stuff. I don’t know. Maybe I should start looking around town for inspiration, film random footage—anything,” she says, letting out a large exhalation. “Maybe then something will come to me.”

  “Need a tour guide?” I ask.

  “Nah, you have a job.” She says it almost too fast for my own comfort.

  I shake my head. “I can make time.”

  “Sure,” she says, pursing her lips. “Show me around the town I grew up in.”
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  “Do I sense sarcasm?”

  “Never.” A grin curves her lips, showing off her high cheekbones and the small blush adorning them.

  The longer we stand there, taking in our surroundings, the more she shifts from foot to foot and the closer we get without even realizing it. The outsides of our arms touch, her small shoulder pressed midway up my arm. It means nothing to her, I’m sure, but as I stand there, I wish more of my body was pressed against her.

  I shoot a quick glance over at Asher. He’s still distracted by the brunette, not even looking over at us. He trusts me with his sister. He trusts that I can be a stand-in brother figure. I would never let anything happen to her…right?

  But I wonder if he would notice. I wonder if he would ultimately care. I wonder if it would be better to have me with his sister than some random guy.

  Or maybe he’d just hunt me down and kill me.

  But something inside me—the part that’s still arm to arm with Violet—suddenly doesn’t care.

  Fuck it.

  “Do you want to dance?” I ask.

  Violet laughs without hesitation, but the tail end is stilted like she suddenly comprehends the sincerity in my voice. Her smile turns downward until it’s transformed from humor to almost concern.

  “Oh, you’re serious.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

  “Absolutely,” I say, holding out my hand, waiting for her to take it.

  “Keaton, I will look like a fish out of water—flopping around, mouth open, getting the remnants of the sea everywhere with no concern for others.”

  “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

  Her eyes dart from the dance floor below back to me. In fact, it’s done several times, to the point that I wonder if maybe she’s considering jumping off the balcony instead, anything to reject my offer.

  But then she sighs. “Fine, but I’m doing my own thing. Those line dances aren’t for me.”

  “Whatever you want.” I shift my hand closer to her, slightly tossing it back and forth as if rolling dice. In a sense, I guess I am. My eyes dart over to Asher: still lost in the neck of the beautiful stranger. We’re not doing anything wrong, I tell myself. This is fine.