by Dylann Crush
Presley paused for a beat, maybe waiting for Dwight to confirm he was joking. When Dwight didn’t speak, Presley shook his head and spoke into the mic. “Thanks, everyone, for coming out this weekend. Vendors will be here all week, and we’ll be back with more music and competition starting Friday night.” Presley clapped Dwight on the shoulder and nudged him toward the rest of the group, who posed for a photo.
When they were all done, Presley moved toward Dixie. “One for the record books, eh? You ready to wrap things up?”
She’d never been so ready to be done with a weekend of work than she was today. Her feet hurt, her brain still spun from the influx of new names, and her heart pounded with anxiety at the next item on her schedule—her evening with Presley.
“Sure.” Dixie followed him back toward the Rose as the stage crew started breaking down the setup and the crowd dispersed. She took in a deep breath, relishing the sense of accomplishment from a job well done. If only the next two evenings could go as well as the events at the Rose had gone. For some reason, she had a feeling she was in for a wild ride instead.
Chapter Seventeen
Dixie evaluated the woman in the mirror. Winged eyeliner accentuated deep-green eyes. Red lips had been outlined, plumped, and puckered. Her hair was expertly styled into finger-wave curls that cascaded over creamy shoulders exposed in the spaghetti-strap sundress.
“I don’t know, Liza. I don’t even look like me.”
“Of course you do. All I did was take what God gave you and play it up a little.”
Dixie leaned forward on the stool in front of her gram’s dressing table. Thank goodness she and Mrs. Mitchell had gone to a senior singles night at the VFW with a few other lady friends. “Where did I get cleavage like this?” A deep cleft appeared between her breasts. She imagined dropping a bite of food over dinner, never to be seen again.
“You’ve had it all along. Are you uncomfortable? I don’t want you to feel awkward at all.”
Dixie had bypassed that an hour ago when she’d stuffed herself into the polka-dot sundress that clung to her ribs like a second skin. She wasn’t sure why she’d decided to let Liza talk her into a makeover. Maybe she wanted to know how it would feel to look like one of Presley’s regulars. Maybe she wanted to see if it would make a difference to him.
“You want to try the shoes?” Liza dangled a pair of strappy sandals from her fingers. They matched the red of the polka-dot dress perfectly.
Dixie shrugged. “May as well. In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“That’s what Gram always says,” Liza said.
“What time is it?” Dixie fastened the post of an earring.
“Almost eight. Now those are super cute.” Liza bent down to admire the dangling floral earrings.
“Thanks.” Dixie tossed her hair out of the way to fasten the other one.
“When are you going to start making jewelry again?” Liza fingered the tiny metallic flowers. “I adore them.”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like I have anywhere to sell them.”
“You’ve got a place online. Maybe you just need to promote it more. I could help.” Liza straightened and met Dixie’s gaze in the mirror. “You look gorgeous.”
Something in Dixie’s stomach fluttered around. She pressed a hand to her gut, trying to still the flip-flops going on inside. “Thanks.”
“All right. Now stand up and twirl in front of the mirror. I want to take it all in.” Liza flounced onto Gram’s bed.
Dixie gave a tiny twirl, trying to catch a full 360-degree view of herself in the large mirror propped against the wall.
“You’re stunning. Absolutely gorgeous. He’s going to be squirming in his jeans tonight.”
Dixie hadn’t decided yet if that would be a good thing. Yes, she wanted to see Presley’s eyes light up in appreciation. But could she really pull this off? And what would she do when it was time to actually go out on a real date with Chandler?
Before she could gather her wits about her, a heavy knock sounded at the door.
“That must be Presley.” Liza jumped to her feet, rubbed her hands together, and raced downstairs.
Dixie gave the stranger in the mirror one more look. She crossed her fingers behind her back and offered a silent prayer that she wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of her sheltered life. She heard Presley before she saw him. He swept into the entryway and started chatting up Liza…asking about Bea and how things were going down at the diner. Before she lost her nerve, Dixie launched herself through the doorway and down the steps.
“Let’s get this over with.” She tossed her purse over her shoulder and made her way to the front door.
“Whoa. What happened to you, Fireball?”
She rounded on him. “I told you not to call me that anymore. That’s part of our deal.”
“You’re right.” He swept his arm across his middle and bent over at the waist, taking a deep bow. “I am so sorry. You look absolutely stunning, Ms. King. Forgive me?”
“You two are going to have so much fun tonight!” Liza tucked a chiffon scarf into Dixie’s purse. “To keep your hair under wraps while you’re on the road, okay?”
Dixie nodded. A little of her spitfire had seeped out with Presley’s mocking bow.
“You ready for this, Dixie? Practice date night.”
She turned to Liza. Wrapping her arms around her sister’s shoulders, she pulled her in for a hug. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” Liza stepped back, releasing her. “Give me a call tomorrow and let me know how it went, okay?”
Dixie nodded then followed Presley outside. “Where are we going?” she asked. She was surprised she hadn’t thought to ask that question before. What if her parents or Gram or anyone for that matter happened to come across her and Presley on a fake date?
“I don’t think we have much of a choice except to go back to my place.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that Dixie’s chest blazed.
“Your place?” That’s the last thing she’d expected him to say. “What in the world makes you think I’d want to spend any time at your place?” She didn’t want to sit in the same chair as the rest of his conquests or wonder the whole time if she was setting her plate or anything else on a spot that had been violated by Presley and one of his many paramours.
“You got a better idea?” He reached for the door handle. “We go anywhere in town, and people will be all up in our business before we even get our drinks ordered.”
“What about someplace farther away?” She climbed in as he held the door.
“We can go into Austin if you want. But something tells me you’d rather get this over with sooner than later. You really want to deal with a three-hour drive round-trip?”
He had a point. She had to get back at a decent time to check on Gram. The way she’d been talking about Kermit had Dixie worried she might sneak out some night and try to drive herself over to his place for a little moonlit romance.
“Fine.”
He rounded the Jeep and climbed in on the driver’s side. “Don’t sound so excited about it. It’s not like it’s a real date. I promise not to make you suffer too much. Now, you hungry?”
Her stomach growled in response. “A little.” Truth be told, she’d been so nervous earlier she hadn’t bothered to eat much. Plus her stomach was still feeling a little queasy thanks to reading over all of the exotic meat chili entries.
“I figured we could grab a six-pack and something to go and then take it home. Sound good?” He tossed a glance her way.
“Wait, do you mean at your place?”
“Unless you’d rather go out?”
She shrugged. “I don’t care. This was your idea.” She’d do well to keep reminding herself to stop thinking of Presley as a man. She tried to picture him as an object. Something with no feelings, no emotions
, no thoughts. It didn’t work. Sex appeal rolled off him with no effort on his part.
She tried to sneak a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. He looked like he’d freshly showered, and his shirt held the crispness of one that had been recently ironed. Could he have put as much effort into his appearance as she did tonight?
“You look real pretty tonight, Dixie.” He didn’t meet her gaze, just stared straight ahead, down the double-yellow lines in the center of the highway.
She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the compliment.
“See, now this is where you say thank you. Then say something nice back to me.”
She screwed her mouth into a frown. “What is this, remedial dating?”
He shrugged. “Call it what you will, but if you’re going to charm the snot out of SoCal, you need some practice.”
“Now wait just a minute.” She twisted her torso to better face him.
“It’s true. He’s slimier than a whole bucket of bait. If you want to best him, you’ll need all of your wits plus mine. Now, say something nice to me.”
Whatever. She didn’t want to admit Presley might have a point. “Okay, um, your nails look nice.”
“My nails?” He laughed. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
“Just forget it.” She cinched her arms across her waist and turned to face the window. Fields of cotton flew by. The breeze blew her hair out of the headband Liza had so carefully tied into her hair. “Oh gosh, I forgot the scarf.” She scrambled for her purse as Presley hit a pothole. Her head flew into the dash. “Ouch.”
“You okay?” His hand went to the back of her hair, smoothing down the wild strands as they whipped around her face.
“Can you shut the windows and turn the air on for once?” She lifted her head as he pressed the buttons to raise the windows.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“We’re off to a great start, aren’t we?”
“Seems to be the way things always go when we’re together.”
His mouth tugged into a grin. “How about we start over?”
“Isn’t it a little late for that?”
“No.” He whipped the steering wheel to the right and pulled over on the side of the road. “See that farmhouse over there?” He pointed to a white farmhouse with black shutters that sat about a hundred and fifty yards from the road.
“What about it?” Dixie squinted into the setting sun.
“We’re going to pretend that’s where you live, and I’m going to come pick you up for a date.”
“What? Who lives there?”
“You do.” Presley eased the truck forward twenty feet and turned into the long gravel drive. She grabbed onto his arm, intentionally ignoring the way his muscles tightened under her hand.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m doing a do-over.” The Jeep bounced over the ruts in the drive. A ragged old dog came out from behind the barn, wagging his tail and offering a friendly bark.
“Presley, this is someone’s house. You can’t just pull up in the drive like this.” Her heartbeat vibrated through her entire body, and her cheeks tingled.
He brought the Jeep to a stop then walked around to open her door. “Now you just go stand on the stoop and I’ll wait a minute then pretend like I’m coming to pick you up for our date.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s get out of here.”
“No can do. Not until I have a chance to properly greet you.”
Dixie glanced toward the house. It didn’t look like anyone was home based on the way the shades were drawn tight. “This is crazy.”
“Take all the time you need. I can wait all night.” He leaned against the side of the Jeep and examined his nails. “Nails, huh?”
“I’m sorry, it’s the first thing I notice about a man. You have nice hands, okay?”
“Aw, darlin’, just wait until you see the rest of me.”
Her face flamed at the implication. She shook it off. “Has our new first date started yet?”
“Not until you get out of the Jeep.”
“Fine. What do you want me to do?”
“Just go stand on the stoop. I’ll be around to fetch you momentarily.”
“I can’t believe you.” But yet she climbed out of the vehicle and crossed the drive to stand on the first step. “Okay, I’m ready. Hurry up.”
Presley walked to the hedge and plucked a freshly bloomed gardenia from its stem. “Why, Dixie Mae King, look at you. You sure are a sight for these sore eyes tonight.”
She couldn’t help but giggle as he held out the flower.
“Shall we?” He offered her his arm, and she wrapped her hand around his strong forearm.
“Hurry up. Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.” She kept glancing back at the house, but nothing moved. The dog, however, stuck to her side, nosing into her as they made the short walk to the Jeep.
“I’m so glad you decided to come out with me tonight. It’s going to be a good one, I can feel it.” He winked as he handed her up into the passenger seat.
“Tone it down a bit there.”
“Too much?” he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Just a tad.” She buckled in as he shut the door.
He whistled as he crossed in front of the Jeep. “I’ve got special plans tonight. I’m taking you to the Farley Inn.”
“Oh, I can’t go there. That’s where Chandler’s taking me tomorrow.” Her heart took a swan dive in her chest at the thought of showing up at the same place two nights in a row with two different men.
“Okay, then we’ll do something else.” He fired up the Jeep and sped down the long drive. “What are you in the mood for?”
Before she could answer, a pickup pulled off the main road and headed straight toward them on the drive. “Who’s that?”
Presley lifted his hand in a wave as they passed. A man and woman sat in the front seat. They both craned their necks as they drove by. “Best guess is those are the folks who live here.”
“Well, then go faster!” she urged.
“You got it.” He pressed on the gas, and they fishtailed onto the highway into what Dixie was beginning to believe might be one of the best nights of her life.
Chapter Eighteen
Presley tried not to let on the type of thoughts he was having about Dixie. They definitely didn’t have anything to do with a fake date. He’d planned on just taking her back to his place to hide out from the town and maybe driving through somewhere on the way. They could practice feeding each other french fries and he’d pretend to be Chandler. But now, with Dixie beside him, he didn’t want to pretend anymore. Something in her had lightened, seemed to shift the tension between them over the past several days. And damn if he didn’t like it.
“So the Farley Inn is out, and you don’t seem so sure about going back to my place. What’ll it be then, option A or B?” He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the radio.
“Are you going to tell me what my options are?” she asked.
“Nope. You’ll have to just go with your gut.” There was something different, more playful about her tonight.
“Hmm. Well, I typically like to go with my first instinct, which would be to pick option A.”
“Option A it is.”
“But”—Dixie held up a perfectly red–tipped pointer finger—“you probably figured I’d go with the first option, so maybe I’d better pick option B.”
“Those are some fabulous deduction skills. Hurry and make a choice. I need to know which way to turn up here.” She didn’t need to know he had no idea where he was taking her. But the longer he could delay, the more time he’d get to spend with this fun version of Dixie.
“But then you’d probably think I wouldn’t pick option B because I’d know y
ou were onto me. So I’m back to option A.”
“For sure this time?”
Dixie nodded. “For sure.”
“Okay then.” He took the hard right at fifty miles an hour. Dixie leaned into him.
“Presley! What was that?”
“I told you to make up your mind.”
“Where are we going?”
“Option A.” Five minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of Primed to Putt, the only mini-golf course in Conroe County. “How are you with a putter?”
“I’ve never held a putter in my life.”
“Good. Then I might have a chance of beating you.” He raced around the Jeep to open her door for her. She let him take her hand and help her out. That faint scent of strawberries drifted under his nose. Strawberries were quickly becoming his favorite fruit. “Right this way.”
He led her toward the putt shack, where he picked up two putters. “What color ball do you want to use?”
Dixie mulled over her choices. “Doesn’t matter. I probably won’t be able to hit it anyway.”
“How about red to match your dress then?” He held out a painted-red golf ball.
She made a move to grab it but accidentally knocked it out of his hand instead. It bounced once, then twice, and rolled into a strand of flowers. Dixie bent down to retrieve it, giving him a full-on glance at the miraculous cleavage the sundress had managed to summon. He picked up a blue ball for himself. If he was going to have to be subjected to those curves all night long, he might as well have a matching set.
He guided her to the first hole with a hand at the small of her back. “Now this here is easy peasy. You just set your ball down like so”—he dropped his ball onto the fake grass—“then figure out what angle you want to hit it at to try to sink it in the hole.”
He tapped the ball with the putter, sending it bouncing off the wooden frame of the putting green past a set of horseshoes set up as a trap and landing it a few inches from the hole.
“You certainly make it look easy…” Dixie bounced her putter against the Astroturf.
“Now you try.” He pointed to the ground. “Just set your ball down and give it a tap.”
