The Do-Over by Valentine Layla

Author:Valentine, Layla
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

James

It was early that Saturday morning—even earlier than I usually got up. But that was part of the plan—we needed to get to town, over to Amy’s parents’ diner, before they opened for breakfast. And that meant an early start.

I checked my watch, seeing that it was a little after three. Amy was on her way over, and I figured we’d be able to get there in thirty minutes. I’d start painting with plans to be done by seven.

I was more nervous than I’d been in a long, long time. Hell, I’d been less nervous before some Superbowl games than I was that morning.

I was going back to Clark Ford, back to the town I’d sworn I’d never return to. And I had no damn idea how the people there were going to react. My overtures might not mean a damn to them. Hell, they might run me out on a rail the second one of them clapped eyes on me.

I was taking a risk. For all I knew, I was on the verge of making the mistake of a lifetime. But there was no way I could back out then. Amy was on her way over to pick me up, and however nervous I was, that’s exactly how excited her mood had been.

The headlights of her car cut through the morning dark right about the time I took the last sip of my coffee. She pulled up to the porch, a big smile on her face.

“Morning, sunshine!” she said as she rolled the window down. “You ready to do some good deeds?”

I grumbled as I stepped off the porch. “About as ready as I’m going to be.”

I’d brought the paint and gear out the night before and began the process of loading it into my truck. Amy hopped out of her car and came over to me, clapping her hand down on my shoulder.

“Aw, it won’t be so bad. A little paint here, a little paint there, and the place will be as good as new.”

“It’s not the painting I’m thinking about,” I said as I loaded the final paint can. “It’s everything else.”

She nodded. “And that’s why I didn’t mention it. You don’t need to worry about that for a second. We’ll head into town, slap some paint on the front of the diner, and that’ll be that. When Mom and Dad come, they’ll see what happened and who did it.”

“Your dad’s not going to get peeved about it?” I asked as Amy grabbed the bucket of paint brushes and rollers, loading them into the trunk. “I mean, it’s his diner and all.”

“He might grumble at first, but he’s been so busy working the counter that he’ll be deep-down thankful. And my mom might even throw in a slice of pie or two to really say thanks.”

“Or she’ll throw it at me,” I said. “We’ll see.”

Amy gave my arm one last squeeze before opening the passenger door to my truck and climbing in. And without my even thinking about it, I flicked my eyes over and checked out her perfect behind.

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