Butter Queen
Abby Knox
Copyright © 2020 by Abby Knox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
Proofread by Kasi Alexander
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations
This story is dedicated to the blonde bombshell who told me to try finding the picture first, then telling the story.
Butter Queen
Rocket has her eyes on the prize. An ingenious pageant maven, this high-achiever never let her poor upbringing hold her back from her dreams. At this year's state fair, she's got that Butter Queen crown in her sights. When she falls for a hot substitute pageant judge, however, her ethics outweigh her desire to win at all costs.
Hotshot Navy pilot Jet just wants to spend his time on leave eating state fair food on skewers and hanging out with his best friend Henry. When the Butter Queen pageant comes calling, in desperate need of a new judge, the always-helpful Jet does what any good citizen would do. This decorated military officer soon finds himself ill-prepared for one bodacious bombshell contestant to blow the doors off at every turn, so he might as well hang up any attempt to remain unbiased pageant judge.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Abby Knox
Coming this autumn…
Chapter One
Jet
The plane tires screech on the pavement, the cabin jostles the passengers, and the senior lady seated next to me deepens her death grip on my forearm.
I pat the top of her hand and smile reassuringly. "This is all normal. Nothing to worry about."
In reality, I'm remembering smoother landings of my F-18 Super Hornet in the middle of a thunderstorm, and I'm wondering who gave this pilot his or her license. But I don't say those kinds of things to nervous grandmas on commercial aircraft.
When the plane slowly taxis to the gate, the lady lets go of me and exhales loudly, chuckling at herself. She adjusts her pink T-shirt with the sparkly lettering that reads, If Mom says no, ask Nana.
"Thank you for keeping me calm, young man." The truth is, I'm not that young anymore. And, I've done almost nothing to earn her praise other than happily chewing on the strawberry hard candies she handed to me out of her purse, one after another, while I listened to stories about her two wild grandsons waiting to see her at our final destination.
I was happy to humor her; I've been gone for too long on active duty, and I'm just relieved this war is over. Aside from that, this lady reminds me of my nana. She never got to see me off when I left for training in the Navy Reserve or had the chance to clip out articles about my accomplishments. She never got to proudly frame a photo of me in my pilot uniform and place it next to an image of her late husband in his Air Force flyboy uniform from back in his day. Speaking of Pop, I would have loved to exchange flight school stories with him, but I never had the chance. I'm not one to brag, but I think he'd be proud of me.
"Have a nice visit with those grandbabies, ma'am," I say, handing over the floral suitcase from the overhead bin that I helped my seatmate stow when she first boarded.
"Oh, thank you. I'll bet you have a sweetheart who's looking forward to seeing you." She smiles at me, eyes full of hope. I hate to disappoint her.
I shake my head. "No, ma'am, no sweethearts yet. But my stomach is looking forward to some sweet corn at the state fair," I reply, patting my stomach, my mouth salivating at the memory of grilled and buttered corn on the cob.
When we clear the jetway, and I begin to head toward baggage claim, she hugs me with surprising strength for a tiny woman. "Don't wait too long to find that sweetheart. Keep your eyes open at the fair, she just might be there."
This is just typical grandmotherly advice, but her words land hard in my gut. My last relationship ended soon after I enlisted. My ex couldn't handle the possibility of me getting called up to active duty, and we were too young to get married. Since then, I've been focused solely on my career and pretty much closed off to any idea of dating.
The grandma and I say a friendly goodbye, and I head to baggage claim and grab the rest of my shit before heading outside to wait for my ride. The blast of warm, humid air that greets me is nothing like what I've gotten used to overseas. People around me are sweltering, but they don't even know. I'm just happy to be on dry land.
What else reminds me of home is my vintage pickup truck pulling up to the curb right now.
My best friend Henry pops out of the driver's side and grabs my bags, tossing them into the bed.
After a quick and awkward bro hug, I gesture for him to hand over the keys. I pause for a moment to stroke the hood of my truck. "I hope Uncle Hank has been nice to you, Betty."
Henry hops in the passenger side. "Let me know how the rebuilt transmission feels."
"Thanks for taking care of her," I say. "And let me know how much I owe you."
Henry waves me off. "Consider it your homecoming gift. Thanks for letting
