The Road to Rose Bend by Naima Simone (best book club books of all time txt) 📕

based on your actions or inactions? To be accepted and cherished simply because you were...you?

Cherrie had once believed she knew the answer to those questions. Believed she’d had a great shot at obtaining what Daryl and Belinda had. But time and an unexpected health scare had ripped off the blinders she’d been desperately clinging to.

God, it’d been one helluva year.

And it was only July.

“Rachel and Jared will have that kind of marriage. How can they not, with you and Daryl as an example?” Cherrie murmured, circling a fingertip around the base of her empty glass. “And thank you for inviting me to their engagement party. You guys are like my family here in Rose Bend, and I’m honored to celebrate with you.”

“Like family?” Belinda slid an arm around Cherrie’s shoulders and squeezed hard. “Cherrie, there’s no ‘like’ about it. You’re family, plain and simple.” Belinda smacked a kiss on Cherrie’s cheek. “I love this time of year. Not just because of the motorcycle rally, but because every July brings you back to Rose Bend. Brings you back to us. And just let me know when you and that boyfriend of yours are ready to take the next step. We’ll throw you the hugest party right here, too.”

Well, that would be a problem. She inwardly winced, brushing her dark, red-tipped curls out of her face. One, she’d been with Kenneth for three years and he’d never made the trip to Rose Bend, Massachusetts, with her, claiming it wasn’t “his type of thing.” And two...

Two, Kenneth was no longer her boyfriend. Which kind of made it hard to have an engagement party with him.

“Actually, Belinda—”

“Hey, ladies. Can I refill your drinks?”

Whoa. That deep, low rumble rippled through her like a tranquil stream meeting the wildest river. She didn’t need to turn around to confirm who it belonged to. Her every instinct, every taut muscle, every pulse beat identified its owner.

Belinda whipped around on the barstool, and Cherrie turned much slower. As if the extra few seconds could prepare her for coming face-to-face with the man who’d captured her attention since she’d stepped foot into the bar an hour earlier.

“Yes, please,” Belinda chirped. “I’ll take another Sam Adams. Thanks, Maddox. Hey, I know you’ve been busy—and thank you again for letting us have Rachel’s engagement party here,” she said, reaching across the bar and squeezing his hand. “You probably haven’t had the chance to meet a friend of mine and Daryl’s. Maddox, this is Cherrie Moore. Cherrie, I’d like you to meet the owner of Road’s End, Maddox Holt.”

A big hand with short, clean nails entered her line of sight, and Cherrie traced the surprisingly elegant fingers up to a thick wrist, past a heavily tattooed arm, onto a broad shoulder, and finally, to the face of angles and slants that edged too-harsh and slammed right up against beautiful.

A ginger.

In the dimmer lighting of the bar, she’d assumed his hair was a dark brown. But this close, the light directly above them revealed the rich auburn strands that gleamed like fire and the longer strands that tickled his sharp cheekbones and the deep red scruff that covered his jaw and emphasized that carnal mouth.

Aw, hell. She had a weakness for gingers. She had ever since Corey Rowe stole her language workbook in the eighth grade and drew anatomically correct dicks all over the inside cover. Yes, today that would be considered sexual harassment. But back then? She’d crushed on him harder because he’d cared enough to draw his very best.

With a silent, almost defeated sigh, Cherrie pressed her palm to his and wasn’t surprised at the electrical current that tingled from their clasped hands up her arm and zipped to her breasts. And lower.

Oh God.

This wasn’t good.

“Nice to meet you,” she murmured, then snatched her hand back and unobtrusively rubbed it along her denim-clad thigh.

His crystal blue eyes narrowed on her. Huh. Maybe not as unobtrusive as she thought.

This sooo wasn’t good.

“Same here,” he said, then nodded at Belinda. “Be right back with your beer.” And true to his word, moments later, he returned with a brown bottle with the blue label. “Here you go, Belinda. What about you, Cherrie?” he asked, and she fought not to let him or Belinda see the shiver that rocked through her at the sound of her name on his lips. In that voice.

“No, thank you.” She shook her head and reached for a smile. But came up short. “I’m good.”

“One glass of wine?” Belinda tilted her head, studying her. “This is a celebration. You know Daryl and I will make sure you get back to the campground safely.”

“No, really, I’m good. I plan on leaving on the early ride tomorrow, so I’m limiting myself tonight,” she lied. Even though it was a small fib, she still hated deceiving Belinda, who was like the aunt she’d never had. But Cherrie hated bringing up how her whole life had changed by one random visit to the doctor. Especially not here, at Rachel’s engagement party. And definitely not with Maddox within hearing distance. “I’m not going to risk not hitting the road for anything.”

“One more glass...” Belinda trailed off, squinting across the room. “Excuse me for a minute. My husband is demanding my presence.”

From the smile flirting with the other woman’s mouth, Cherrie didn’t think she minded being summoned. Snickering, Cherrie shook her head. And ignored the pang of loneliness, and perhaps envy, that vibrated in her chest.

“Here.” A refilled glass appeared at her elbow. Cherrie glanced up with a frown and met Maddox’s steady gaze. “It’s nonalcoholic wine.” Seriously? Her eyebrow winged high. Why would a dive bar serve nonalcoholic anything? A corner of his full mouth quirked up, but didn’t form a smile. And she should not be sitting here wondering what an uninhibited, full smile would look like on him. “Sometimes it’s easier to serve a different...option than convince somebody they need to be cut off. It’s the reason we have nonalcoholic beer, too,” he explained,