Wordhunter by Stella Sands

Wordhunter by Stella Sands

Author:Stella Sands
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-06-10T00:00:00+00:00


Thanks, Atticus Finch. I’m with you.

“Howdy!” the bartender said standing by their booth. “Fix y’all up with some libation?”

Maggie smiled. Ms. Barker would have called that a ten-dollar word. “Use one whenever you want to impress someone,” she’d say. Right now, Maggie wished more than anything that she was back in Ms. Barker’s class attempting to figure out the intricacies of diagramming—and thinking that would be the most difficult task she’d ever have to tackle.

“What do you recommend?” Jackson asked. “Something local?”

“Craft beer your thing?”

“Sure,” Jackson said. “Your pick. Got anything to go with it?”

“Depends on what you’re after. Plenty of fresh fat oysters. Fried green tomatoes. Key lime pie donuts, apple fritters.”

“Anything chocolate?” Maggie asked.

“Best Kentucky Bourbon pie south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

Looking at the menu hanging on a chalkboard behind the bar, Jackson said, “I’ll have dill pickle chips and fried wings.”

“Best choice,” said the bartender, who doubled as the waiter.

“I’ll have the pie,” Maggie said.

She took out a pen and started making a list. “I’m keeping tally,” she said. “I’ll pay you back when we’re home. I didn’t bring much cash.”

“Long as you’re here, you’re my guest. Or adopted daughter. Or whatever.”

“Sidekick works,” she said without looking up.

“Come on,” Jackson said. “Cheer up. I hate seeing unhappy people.”

“You guys choose one of these brews for your next round.” The bartender set down two glasses. “And if this ain’t the best damn pie you ever ate, it’s on the house.”

“It’s not,” Maggie said before taking a bite.

“Ha! Two on the house.” The bartender saluted her.

For the next half hour, Maggie and Jackson barely acknowledged each other. Jackson devoured his wings and ordered a second round, and Maggie concentrated on the pie.

“Hey, you see that?” Jackson pointed to the mini juke box at the end of their table. “Haven’t seen one of these since Alabama.” He put in a dime. “Your choice. Pick a song.”

“Why are you being nice all of a sudden?” she asked. “Totally out of character.”

Jackson looked out the window. “I get why you’re here.”

Maggie slid over and flipped the pages on the juke box. She pushed the buttons for “The Gambler.” In honor of Lucy, of course. Maybe the fact that the song was there was a good omen.

A couple passed by their table. “Come on! We can’t be dancing alone.”

Jackson stood up. “May I?”

Maggie took his hand and they walked to a small center area left open for dancing. As the song played, Maggie’s body remembered her sixth-grade dance, and she found herself side-stepping and pivoting, like she’d been doing it every day of her life.

“Not bad,” Jackson said.

“Your mama did a good job in the manners department,” she said as she sang along.

You’ve got to know when to hold ’em

Know when to fold ’em

Know when to walk away

And know when to run

Jackson put his arm around her waist when Randy Travis’s “Forever and Ever, Amen,” came on—and he held her tight.

His hand felt good on her back. For a few seconds, Maggie suspended disbelief and allowed herself to enjoy being in a man’s arms, in Mr.



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