Free Hollywood on Tap by Avery Flynn

base of her neck loosened, and she rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder.
    Next, she took her green pen and filled in the appropriate information to the best of her knowledge. She’d need to wait for Sean to double–check the complete listing of who was present when each event took place, but she could at least get the basics down. Humming to herself, she filling in the orderly columns with her neat handwriting. Her blood pressure settled back into its normal level—right in time for Sean’s reappearance.
    He hesitated at the base of the steps and her pulse did a quick jig. She tightened her grip on the green pen.
    He’d put on a black Sweet Salvation Brewery shirt, covering up the miles of sinewy muscles—the memory of which would take an atom–splitting blast to dislodge from her brain.
    “Sorry.” He ran his hands through his thick hair, pushing the waves away from his face and exposing the small scar above his eye—the same one that reminded her of something she couldn’t remember. The more she tried to bring the shimmery recollection into the light, the further it faded into the background.
    “Sorry for what?” Being uber hot and utterly frustrating?
    He shrugged. “I overreacted about the beer.”
    “Don’t sweat it. The floors look amazing. If it was my house, I’d have probably taken off my shirt to save them too.” Oh my God! What was she saying? Change the subject, now, Natalie. “Soooo…” She drew out the word into several syllables while she fumbled for something to say. The notebook on the coffee table snagged her attention. “I made a chart so we could see if there was any overlap on people at each accident site.”
    “Of course you did.” Sean crossed the room in a few long–legged strides and sat down beside her on the couch.
    Having him so near turned her brain to mush again and she reached up for the comfort of her pearl necklace.
    He wrapped his fingers around her hand, stopping her before her fingers reached their destination. “What’s the story with the necklace?”
    “It’s a boring story.” She gulped over the lump that had formed in her throat. “You don’t want to hear it.”
    “I do.” He squeezed her hand, his thumb grazing the top in a circular motion that eased the tension eating away at her.
    Part of her wanted to touch each pearl twelve times. The other part wanted nothing more than to steal a little of Sean’s strength by continuing to hold his hand. Instead, she opted for sanity and slid her fingers from between his. She clasped her hands together in her lap, anchoring herself to reality. “So you know about my family, right?”
    He nodded his head.
    “Yeah, they aren’t your typical family. Running moonshine, stealing cattle, drunk and disorderly, public protests, and, according to rumor, my grandmother burned down the local Department of Motor Vehicles.” MeMaw had sworn six ways to Sunday that she hadn’t done it. The fire marshal determined an electrical short had started the blaze, but the good people of Salvation rarely remembered that part. “Plus my Uncle Julian lobbied Ruby Sue for years to add pot to her pecan pie. He said it was the only thing that could make it better. Like I said, not typical.”
    “I’d call it…” Sean stared at the ceiling while he no doubt searched for the right euphemism for crazy. “Unique.”
    “That’s one word for it.” She chuckled. “But if you were the kind of kid who made her first organizational chart in Crayola in pre–school, you’d understand how off–putting that kind of chaotic life could be. I had my first anxiety attack in middle school. I hyperventilated during the science fair when my dad got into a fight with the principal about the school canceling the drama program. Olivia was big into that and it wasn’t fair that they’d cut funding for no good reason.”
    That night was seared into her brain. The embarrassment. The panic. The weight of all those judgmental eyes staring right