The Love at First Sight Box Set, стр. 84

That voice did something strange to the inside of my ears, hit a pitch that wasn't supposed to be hit, or clanged a bell that made my eardrums rattle.

He dropped his big body into the chair around the corner from me, and his knees brushed against mine. I yanked my legs back.

"There are other empty chairs here, you know."

My icy tone did nothing to deter him, because he spread his elbows over the surface of the table and grinned at me. "There sure are, and they look as comfy as this one is. But I'd have to make one of those nice ladies move from where they're standing if I sat in one, and my momma raised me to have better manners than that."

Mimicking his posture, I propped my elbows on the table and set my chin on my clenched fists, giving him as bored of a look as I could manage. "Fine, just try not to speak to me. Your voice hurts my head."

The least I could do was be honest, if I couldn't manage to explain the inexplicable reaction I was having to him.

His chuckle started low and slow, like he'd clicked a stove burner to simmer. My frame shook with a shiver, and I fought not to plug my fingers in my ear like a little kid.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked. “You look a little … young to be with this group.”

Tucker glanced around the room with a shameless shrug. “I don’t judge people by their age, Angry Girl. Not nice of you to stereotype who enjoys spending time together based on their birth year.”

I clenched my teeth, and he grinned lazily. Like a great big cat sunning himself. Then he leaned in. “My father asked me to sit in, in his place, if you’re so interested.”

“Just trying to make polite conversation.”

“Are you? That’s something new.”

I gave him a level look at the heavy, heavy sarcasm, but he held it, practically dared me to look away first.

Someone cleared their throat, and I pulled my eyes from Tucker’s.

"Ladies, let's get the meeting started, shall we?" The woman who said it was clearly in charge. She wore glasses perched up on top of her head like a crown, next to her chair was a walker coated in purple glitter, and her voice carried the entire length of the gym. The clipboard she clutched to her purple and white polka dot dress looked about as old as she was, and as soon as she set it down, she pinned her iron gray eyes directly on me. "Now, who're you and why are you here?"

Aunt Fran sat down and clucked her tongue. "Good Lord, and those are your southern manners, Maxine? You should be ashamed of yourself."

The woman in question stared down my aunt, the unmoving equivalent of an eyeroll. "My apologies. I'm Maxine Barton, if the women around the table feel so moved, they can introduce themselves later. Clearly, you already know Tucker," she said meaningfully, and I felt my cheeks burn hot. She set her hands down and leaned her thin frame forward in the chair. "Now it's your turn. Who are you and why are you here?"

Aunt Fran nudged my elbow with her own and exhaled quietly. "I'm Grace Buchanan, and I'm new in town. My Aunt Fran said I could tag along. Honestly, I’m not even sure what this meeting is."

Maxine Barton was silent, clearly taking my measure. The other women eyed me in much the same way, and on my left, I saw Tucker smothering a smile. I slid my foot forward and kicked his shin. He coughed and pushed his chair back, his long ass legs now safely out of reach.

"This is the planning committee for the Green Valley Headless Chicken Festival."

I started to laugh, but not a single person at the table cracked a smile. When I swallowed that down, I quickly glanced at Aunt Fran, who rolled her lips together and shook her head. Not a joke then, okay.

"That's," I said, "that's an interesting festival. Not your usual celebration."

Maxine rapped her clipboard on the table. "'Course it isn't. That's why we made a festival out of it. How many chickens do you know of that lived without a head for a year and fourteen days?"

I blinked. "I-I don't know exactly."

"Come on, Miss Barton," Tucker said with a smile. "You know you want to tell her the story."

Before I could kick at him again, he slid back even farther with a loud screech of his chair legs.

"I think if Miss Buchanan would like to know, she can talk to me about it after the meeting," Maxine chastised him. "Now, why'd your aunt foist a newcomer on our prestigious committee? We’ve been hard at work for six months, and I don’t need some outsider coming in and telling us what to do. You need a job or something, because we don't have money to pay you."

Aunt Fran laid her hand on mine, maybe because my eyes were half the size of my face and my mouth was hanging somewhere around my stomach, which I'd never fill with food again after thinking about a chicken living without a head. "Grace is working on a new project, Maxine."

Miss Barton and her steel-colored eyes did a thorough study of my person, and I fought the urge to hide under the table. "If you need a job, I know Hank Weller is hiring."

"Maxine," someone admonished quietly.

Aunt Fran closed her eyes while Tucker coughed into his hand.

"What?" I asked. "Who's Hank?"

"No one you need to worry about hiring you," Aunt Fran explained. "Because she's not going to be a stripper."

My eyebrows shot up my forehead.

Maxine shrugged. "Don't you get all high and mighty, Francine. If I had legs like hers, I'd work the pole too."

I dropped my forehead into my hands and wished for death. Quick, painless death.

"Can we move on, please," Tucker said in a