Page 16 of Strung Along
How many sets of expensive diamond studs did Stewart get me before he realized I couldn’t wear them?
“You’re right,” Bryce says, some colour coming back to her face. “We’ve both sulked enough, I think.”
“Hell yeah!” Poppy juts a fist into the air. “Word on the street is that Brody Steele is back in town and has been moping around Peakside for a couple weeks now. Maybe we’ll have a run-in with him while we’re there.”
Bryce chokes on a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I should have known you had a secondary reason for wanting to go to that shithole.”
I swipe my tongue over my lips and ask, “You know Brody?”
“Everyone here knows Brody. Do you?” Poppy finishes her muffin and crumples the wrapper in her hand.
“No. But I heard he was here. People love to chat when they get their hair done.”
It was one of the older women, Marg, who told me he was in town. Or, rather, began complaining to anyone who would listen that the prodigal Brody Steele had returned home at last. Everyone who’s listened to country music recently knows who Brody is. He was opening for Killian Granger on his world tour, for Pete’s sake. What I didn’t know until I moved here was that he was from Cherry Peak.
“People can be assholes. We both knew him in school. He was two grades above us, but he was a nice guy back then and still is now, from what I hear, if not a bit broody. The old folks in this town just give him a hard time because of who his family is. I guarantee they wouldn’t give a crap about him if he wasn’t a Steele, even with the fame,” Poppy grumbles.
“Who’s his family?” I can’t help but ask.
Bryce sucks on the straw sunken deep in her iced coffee before saying, “Steele Ranch is the biggest cattle ranch in Southern Alberta. He was supposed to stay and help the business but chose music instead. A lot of people in the community hold that against him.”
I find it hard to think poorly of those who choose themselves over the expectations of others. A part of me feels for the guy.
“That’s unfair.”
Poppy dips her chin in agreement. “It is.”
When my phone chimes from my coat pocket, I reach behind me to where my coat drapes over the back of my chair and pull it free. My already aching muscles in my abdomen scream at the stretch.
My scowl is immediate when I read the message.
17805559540: Ignoring a man’s apology is rude.
A furious growl slips from my lips as I swipe open my phone and shoot daggers at the text. Bryce and Poppy lean toward me, and I glance up just in time to catch the curious looks they give each other.
“You’ll laugh if I tell you,” I mutter.
Poppy shakes her head furiously. “You have my word that I won’t.”
“Ditto,” Bryce says.
Huffing, I extend the phone to them. Poppy snatches it from my grip right away, and Bryce laughs at her. For the next few moments, they scroll through the messages I’ve exchanged with the rude stranger. When they get to the one that sparked my distaste, Bryce clucks her tongue.
“He’s an ass,” she says.
“So, it isn’t just me, then? That was an insult, right?”
“I think it was more of a case of a tangled tongue than an insult, but it was still rude,” Poppy adds a second later, handing back my phone.
I purposefully made sure he knew that I had read his message last time, and he’ll know the same thing now. The question is whether I reply this time or if I do what I should have done at the beginning of this exchange and delete the number.
“You should reply. Tell him off,” Bryce suggests.
I tap my thumbs against the side of the phone before typing out a message.
Me: Tell me one good reason why I should accept your apology.
Showing the girls the message, I wait for them to approve of it before sending it off a second later. “I feel like a teenager fighting with the mean girl at school over email.”