The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

resident gay of Huckabee.”
Blake laughs, her entire face lighting up in the morning sun, trickling in through the storefront
window. “Nice to meet you. I’m Blake.”
She doesn’t even raise an eyebrow at his gay comment. It’s good to know she isn’t homophobic. It
can be pretty hit or miss around Huckabee, but I guess where Blake grew up things are probably a little
different.
“Are you here visiting?” he asks her.
She shakes her head, the bag in her hand crinkling noisily. “No, I just moved here with my dad.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry,” Paul says, shaking his head mournfully.
Paul is not a fan of Huckabee. Which is absolutely fair, because Huckabee has been really hard on
him. He was always a little smaller, a little quieter, a little darker, and a little gayer than anyone at
Huckabee High, and people weren’t shy about letting him know that. When he came home for
Christmas break last winter with a boyfriend, it was like meeting an entirely dierent person. Like he
came into his own the second he put his suitcase in the car and drove past the town limits. It’s honestly
no wonder he drives back to visit his boyfriend every chance he gets.
Sometimes I wonder what that would be like. To go somewhere where no one sees someone else
when they look at me.
“It doesn’t seem too bad,” she says, pulling her wallet out of her back pocket, her eyes flicking to me.
“I mean, there are a lot of cows.”
I laugh as she pulls out a couple of ones, crisp and free of crinkles.
“How much for the donut?” she asks.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, waving my hand at her. We get a free baked good of our choice every
day, and I feel like being generous.
“For real?” Blake asks, surprised.
“Yeah.” I nod to Paul. “Think of it as an apology donut from all of Huckabee.”
“Thanks,” she says, smiling down at the bag.
“Don’t mention it,” I say with a shrug. She reaches out and puts the money in the tip jar. “I’ll see you
in a few hours,” she adds as she heads for the door, flashing a big smile in Paul’s direction as she pulls it
open. “Bye, Paul!”
“Bye! Come back soon!” he calls, waving until the exact second the door clicks shut. He lets out a
low whistle as we watch her walk down the street, her outline disappearing around the corner and out
of sight. “What is she doing stuck in a place like Huckabee? I mean, why on earth would Johnny Carter
move back here?” He pulls off his blue gloves with a snap and tosses them into the trash can.
I shrug and reach out to adjust the stray napkins spilling out of the dispenser. “I don’t know.
Something to do with her family.” At least that’s as much as my dad mentioned. He was predictably
light on the details.
When I push a stray hair behind my ear, I realize he’s raising his perfectly even eyebrows at me.
“Well, she definitely wants to be friends with you,” he says as he grabs the empty donut tray.
“What? No.” I shake my head. “She probably just wanted a donut.”
“Emily, come on. You know Nina’s Bakery sure as hell isn’t on Yelp. Nothing in this fart of a town is
on Yelp,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads for the kitchen sink. “She definitely just came to see