Pamela Hearon - Right Where We Started

She checked to make sure her mom was still doing okay and spotted her sitting on the bench under the gazebo, surrounded by women whose faces were probably familiar though most of the names forgotten. They’d all been so wonderful the past couple of weeks, volunteering to keep an eye on her mom while Audrey moved in and got things set up. She’d even been able to get a little work done—but not much.

When she’d started keeping the books for the RV resort owned by her then-husband Alex’s family, she hadn’t meant for it to become a vocation, but picking up a few other businesses as clients had turned it into a part-time job. Since everything was done on the computer anyway, all her clients had chosen to stay with her when she told them about the move to Kentucky. The business-from-home setup was working out perfectly so far, even if much of it was done during late-night hours when Mom and Tess were asleep.

“I think I’m ready for some ribs.” Bree sniffed the air. “You hungry yet?”

Audrey nodded, suddenly aware of the smoky flavor that was making her mouth water. “I’m always ready for barbecued ribs.”

The rib competition had grown to fourteen competitors this year, with barbecue grills set up along the outside edge of the park, all in a row, and each one manned by someone who boasted that his were the best.

Tank Wallis had won the competition for the past seven years with his secret recipe of dry rub that made you want to lick your fingers, yet burned your tongue when you did. But that he claimed domination didn’t stop the others from trying. Word was Bree’s father-in-law, Cyrus Barlow, might just topple the crown from Tank’s head this year.

“Are you hungry, Mom?” Audrey made a stop on the way to the grills.

Her mom tilted her head in question. “Must I order now?”

“Only if you’re hungry.”

“I’ll have spaghetti with two meatballs then, please.” Her mom folded her hands demurely into her lap.

“I think we may be all out of spaghetti and meatballs today, Helen.” Patti Stroud, owner of the Grove Diner, spoke up. “We’ve got some really good ribs and potato salad, though. How does that sound?”

“I’ll have two racks of ribs, a pint of potato salad and a pint of slaw. To go, please.” Her mom’s hand rested at the base of her throat. “My family has such big eaters.”

Audrey met the surrounding sad looks with a shrug. Nobody had said this would be easy.

Patti stood up and laid a hand on Audrey’s arm. “You go eat. I’ll fix her a plate.” She turned Audrey around and gave her a gentle push. “Go on. Helen’s fine with us. She’s enjoying herself.”

Her mom did seem okay today. Audrey had been afraid the crowd would be too much for her, but the familiar setting seemed to have the opposite effect. It was like she associated this place with good memories.

Audrey caught up with Bree at Cyrus’s grill. Her friend’s father-in-law had stepped to the side and was holding his grandson, who patted his cheeks with pudgy hands, while Ollie Perkins doled out ribs in pairs. “Whooee, Audrey.” Ollie made a smacking sound as he held out the tongs full of juicy meat. “These are gonna be the finest ribs you ever put in your mouth.”

“Can’t wait to try them.” Her stomach growled in anticipation.

Tank, whose grill was set up right next to Cyrus’s, motioned toward his own pile of racks. “And when you decide you got to get the taste of those off your tongue, you come right back over here, and I’ll give you a sample of how real ribs should taste.”

“Dry rub can’t hold a candle to ribs dripping with sticky honey hickory sauce.” Cyrus made a raspberry sound against Isaiah’s palm, eliciting a delighted squeal that bubbled out of the little boy and could be heard by everyone within hearing range.

Bree gave her father-in-law a peck on the cheek. “Can you watch him while I eat?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cyrus pumped Isaiah into the air. “Who’s your favorite?” He brought the child down to touch noses. “Pawpaw!”

He repeated the action several times as Bree and Audrey finished filling their plates from the table of side dishes provided by the women of the town.

Bree giggled as she and Audrey found a spot at the picnic table nearby. “We refer to my stepdad as Grandpa, and Cyrus is terrified Isaiah will say Grandpa or, heaven forbid, Ollie, before he says Pawpaw.”

The easy way Bree referred to what Audrey considered major changes in their tiny village—namely Bree’s mother’s, Stella’s, marriage last year to a man in Paducah and her subsequent move there, and, even more shocking, Cyrus and Ollie’s gay partnership—served as a constant reminder time was moving on and Taylor’s Grove was evolving with it.

She was only three bites into Cyrus’s every-bit-as-fabulous-as-he-boasted ribs, when Bree’s squeal caught her attention.

“Kale!”

The love in the sound of that word coming off Bree’s tongue warmed Audrey’s heart. She looked up to find Bree’s husband coming toward them with a brilliant smile.

Mark Dublin was at his side, and, totally out-of-the-blue, another flash of heat zinged in her heart with unexpected force.

She snuffed it out as quickly as it hit.

“My favorite!” Kale made like he was going to grab one of the ribs from Bree’s plate, but instead he swooped in to plant a full kiss on her lips, which were greasy from the meat and the sauce. He made a point of smearing the sauce all around her mouth with his lips, and Bree didn’t seem to mind in the least. “Mmm-mmm!” he said as he straightened. “I’ve been craving that taste for hours.”

Audrey suddenly fully understood Bree’s comment about thinking not having a part in her pregnancy. Kale Barlow was most definitely hot, and his hotness level was multiplied by his unapologetic adoration of his wife.

Audrey’s heart stilled as she remembered there was a time her and Mark’s love could’ve rivaled these two.

“Hey, Bree.” Mark grinned at his friend’s high jinks, then added a nod her way. “Audrey.”

Her heart started beating again—much too fast. She threw out a quick “Hi y’all,” and dove back into her ribs.

“Da, Da, Da.”

Cyrus came over to them, reluctantly relinquishing possession of Isaiah, whose arms stretched out toward his daddy.

“Hey, squirt!” Kale took his son, snuggling him in his arms and planting noisy slurberts on the exposed part of his belly.

“How was fishing?” Bree asked, but Kale and Isaiah were making too much noise for him to hear.

“Not bad.” Mark sat down, straddling the bench directly across from Audrey.

The bite of slaw she’d just taken burned her throat—probably the vinegar dressing—and she took a drink of her sweet tea to soothe it. Glancing around, she picked up on a few of the elbow nudges and knowing grins directed their way.

Despite the fact she’d made it abundantly clear she and Mark were not an item and were hardly even friends to everyone she’d encountered since she’d returned, Taylor’s Grove seemed determined to match them up.

“I caught two nice bass and a couple of bream.” Mark held out his hands to indicate the length of the fish. “Kale caught four. All bass. All pretty nice.”

“Sounds like enough for a fish fry to me. Which, of course, translates as a fish grill if we have it at our place.”

“You insist on grilled fish, yet you’re eating barbecued ribs with both hands,” Mark pointed out.

“Fish is a staple when you own a marina.” Bree licked her fingertips noisily. “Ribs are a once-a-year indulgence.”

Audrey had been quietly getting down as much food as she could while the conversation was going on, and she took advantage of the lull to excuse herself. “Hey.” She touched Bree’s arm, studiously ignoring Mark. “It’s been fun, but I’m sure Mom’s tired. I need to get her home.”