Blue Ridge Reunion. Mia Ross

was saying. These days, a girl couldn’t be too careful. So, since she was out of options, she decided to make the best of a bad situation. “All right, then. I appreciate the offer.”

      “And lunch,” he said, motioning her toward his truck. “By the looks of that suit, you don’t eat near as much as you should.”

      Appalled by his comment, she pulled up short. “Are you saying I’m too thin?”

      “Got that right.” The dented passenger door groaned loudly as he opened it for her. “Some of Molly Harkness’s chicken and dumplings should do the trick.”

      Oh, the Southern diet, Chelsea lamented. She loved the taste of fried anything smothered in gravy, but the effect it had on her waistline was another issue altogether. “I’ll just get a salad, thanks,” she announced as she sat on the threadbare seat.

      “Over my dead body,” he grumbled, shutting the door and climbing in the other side. Raising an eyebrow at her, he crossed his fingers and turned the key. After a few tries, the cranky engine roared to life, and Paul circled the turnaround and headed for the main road.

      “You’re not really going to try and tell me what to eat, are you?” she demanded.

      “Somebody should.” Eyeing her in the rearview mirror, he shook his head. “When’s the last time you had a steak?”

      She honestly couldn’t recall, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. Instead, she disregarded the question and used the old-fashioned handle to roll her window down. A breeze scented with wild roses and honeysuckle drifted into the cab, and she took a deep breath of it. “It smells like summer, doesn’t it?”

      “Sure does.” Pointing over to the right, he said, “I cleared a path along the creek last week. Boyd loves it, and it gives me a break from all that oil and sawdust.”

      “That sounds nice.” Secretly, she envied him his flexible schedule. While he was working very hard, it was on his own terms, not dictated by someone else’s clock.

      “My brothers and I used to have a lot of fun at that old swimming hole down at the other end,” Paul continued. “We’d grab some watermelons and a radio, then meet our friends there in the morning and not go home till dark. Those were some good times.”

      His nostalgic rambling trailed off, and he tuned the radio to a local station. It was noon, and while the national anthem played, Chelsea realized she’d missed a lot by being so driven during high school. Friends, fun and lazy days at the swimming hole. If she’d known then what she knew now, she’d have enjoyed herself more.

      “Chelsea,” Paul said gently, as if her silence made him uncomfortable. When she met his eyes, he went on. “Not everything here was bad, y’know.”

      “I didn’t say it was bad,” she corrected him. “I said it was limited.”

      “Uh-huh. And how’s the world treating you these days?”

      “Fine.” That got her a skeptical look, and she couldn’t help laughing at herself. “Okay, it’s tough. But I’ll figure it out.”

      Eventually.

      “When you do, clue me in, would ya?”

      “Like you’d ever need help from me,” she scoffed. “Mr. Valedictorian and MVP of everything.”

      “That was a long time ago,” he reminded her in a somber tone. “A lot’s changed since then.”

      The unexpected confession piqued her curiosity, and despite her vow to remain detached, she couldn’t help wondering what he was referring to. “Such as?”

      After a moment, he slanted her another one of those maddening grins. “Such as, when did you get so gorgeous? Last I knew, you were this shy thing with thick glasses and a book in front of her face all the time.”

      She wasn’t falling for that lethal Barrett charm. He and his brothers had been dipped in it at birth, and she didn’t doubt that most women went for it in a big way. Not her, though. She recognized trouble when she saw it and had always preferred to give those boys a wide berth. But she wasn’t too mature to admit that knowing he thought she’d grown out of her ugly-duckling phase pleased her immensely. “I got contacts and learned to be more assertive. Don’t forget, I skipped a grade, so I was a year younger than all of you.”

      “Smart as a whip, that’s what I remember,” he commented with what sounded like genuine admiration. “You scared the rest of us to death.”

      “And you blew the curve for our class GPA. I had to work like a dog to keep up with you, and you never cracked a book. It was completely unfair.”

      “Keep up with me?” he echoed as he left the wooded road and pulled onto the upper end of Main Street. “Were we competing or something?”

      “Of course we were.” Exasperated by his lack of understanding, she blew out a frustrated breath. “You were one of five kids, and if you messed up, one of your brothers could pick up the slack. I was an only child, so I had to get everything just right. The top colleges love valedictorians, and that meant I had to be one. Period, end of story.”

      “Well, now, that explains a lot.”

      As he parked the truck along the curb, she nailed him with her coolest look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Unfazed, he swiveled to face her and opened his mouth to speak. Then he apparently changed his mind and shook his head. “Forget I mentioned it. Let’s eat.”

      Ordinarily, she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. But the chances of them seeing one another after today were infinitesimal, so she decided to let the argument drop. Once her car was fixed, she promised herself, she’d head back to Roanoke, where she belonged. And stay there.

      Hailing from the days when the railroad churned its way through Barrett’s Mill, The Whistlestop was a historic gem. Some enterprising old-timer had purchased a heap of a trolley car, gutted the interior and placed it on a section of track parallel to the sidewalk to form the front of the most unique restaurant she’d ever eaten at. Behind it was a modest-sized building people flocked to from all over, just to sample some of the owners’ mouthwatering down-home cooking.

      Like the rest of the town, it hadn’t changed much, but the oval sign over the entryway caught her eye. With beveled edges and an antiqued finish, it showed an artist’s rendering of the building over a stylized script that was old-fashioned but easily readable from a distance. The combination of traditional and modern was the ideal effect for the diner that anchored the town’s tiny business district.

      “Who did the new sign?” she asked.

      “No idea. Ask Molly.”

      Despite their terse exchange, he politely circled the truck and helped her out. As Chelsea stepped down, she caught a whiff of fresh corn bread and barbecue that made her stomach rumble with anticipation.

      Obviously, he noticed it, because he pulled open the vintage glass-front door with a chuckle. “What was that you were saying about a salad?”

      Just this once, she thought. After all, a little Southern food wouldn’t ruin her diet forever. Although she detested being wrong, she gave in and laughed at the smug expression he was wearing. “Maybe I’ll take a peek at the menu, just to be on the safe side.”

      “Good choice. Hey, Molly!” Peering over a set of swinging doors into the kitchen, he held up a hand in greeting. “Come see who I found wandering the old mill road.”

      Molly Harkness was all of five feet tall, and she had to prop one of the doors open to discover what was up. When she caught sight of Chelsea, her face brightened with delight. Pushing between two busboys, she emerged wearing a flour-covered apron that proclaimed her Best Grandmama Ever. “Is that Chelsea Lynn Barnes I’m lookin’ at?”

      Paul’s use of her full name earlier had irked her. Hearing it now, spoken with such affection, made her smile.