by Emma Hart
“Long morning?” I questioned, handing her the paper bag that held her bagel.
“Don’t. The sooner this fair is over, the better.” She shook her head and took the food. “Thanks for this. I haven’t eaten yet.”
“What’s up?”
“That guy who was just here? He called at seven—freaking seven!—to ask if I could make him a bouquet because he was proposing to his girlfriend tonight.” She sighed. “He did tip me, which was weird, but eh.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve had an erratic bride concerned that six months before her wedding is too late to change her bouquet because she’s apparently allergic to lilies, a guy who was concerned that the arrangements for his mom’s funeral were too dark and dreary even though they include sunflowers, and a teenage boy asking how much a display that asks ‘prom?’ would be.”
“It’s nine-thirty, Reagan.”
“Exactly.” She picked up the coffee and stared at the plastic lid. “Is there whiskey in this?”
“Um, no. I don’t think Annie’s café offers that.”
“Life goal: we open a coffee shop that only serves spiked coffees. Rum, Baileys, whiskey… You name it.”
“Done.” I laughed and pulled a stool under my butt so I could sit down. “So, this visit isn’t entirely to brighten your day with caffeine and carbs.”
“There’s always a catch to caffeine and carbs.” She sighed and took a seat on the other stool. “Lay it on me, shooting star.”
“I was named for a comet, not a shooting star.”
“Same difference.”
“Shooting stars don’t exist. They’re meteors. Stars don’t move, much less shoot.”
“Aren’t meteors comets?”
“Yes and no. They’re variations of the same thing. Meteors are meteoroids that hit our atmosphere, and that’s the shooting star you see. Hence the name meteor shower.”
“All right, Buzz Aldrin, settle down.”
“Remind me again why I came here to ask for your opinion?”
“Because mornings aren’t your friend.” Preston came out from the backroom, holding several bouquets of flowers in his arms.
It should have looked wrong. A six-foot-something man with wet hair and an untrimmed beard wearing sweatpant-type shorts and a faded Metallica t-shirt holding at least nine bouquets of flowers.
But it didn’t.
I was pretty sure he could roll around in a mud bath and look good.
It was unfair, really.
“Ugh. Are you still here?” Reagan asked, tearing her bagel in two. “I thought you left half an hour ago.”
“I did, but I came back because I forgot the flowers.” Preston rolled his eyes. “Who put Aunt Sue in charge of the booth today? She’s got fifty bouquets. These ten aren’t going to make a difference.”
“Mom did. She wanted a day off.”
“She’s a millionaire. Is Aunt Sue really all she can afford?”
“She’d hire you, but you’re too busy whoring your mouth out for charity this week.” Reagan glanced my way. “No offense.”
I picked up my coffee. “No, it sounded like a compliment.”
Preston snorted. “I’m doing my bit for charity.”
“Right. I thought you’d pull a Magic Mike, but whatever.” Reagan tore off a bite of her bagel. “Are you done here now?” she asked around a mouthful of it.
He held up one bouquet. “Done. I won’t bother you today, you old curmudgeon.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I know. It’s one of my better qualities, don’t you think, Halley?”
Calmly, I broke part of my bagel in two. “I’ve never paid attention to them, if I’m honest.”
“I’ll make sure I show them to you tonight, then.” Preston winked and, turning, left the store while I choked on the piece of bagel I’d just shoved in my mouth.
Reagan froze. “What does that mean?”
“We’re going out!” Preston shouted as he pulled the door open, making the bell ding really loudly.
I stood, slapping my hands on the counter, almost spilling my coffee. “It’s not a date!”
His laughter was cut off by the door slamming shut behind him.
I looked at Reagan. “It’s not a date.”
“You’re gonna have to back up. I feel like I’m missing a lot.”
I sighed and sat back down again. “You are. I think. I don’t know. I tried telling Boris last night, but he really wasn’t that interested.”
“That’s because he’s a raccoon. He uses you for your sandwiches, Halley.”
“Whatever. Basically, Preston kissed me last night.”
Reagan’s eyes widened. A moment later, she squealed and grabbed me, yanking me off the stool and almost sending me tumbling into the glass unit that was standing against the wall.
“Wow. Okay. Calm down.” The laugh that escaped me was a nervous one. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you forgetting the part where you’ve had a crush on him for years?”
“No. Funnily enough, I can’t forget about that,” I replied dryly. “I won the bet yesterday, which meant he had to kiss me. My dad showed up which delayed the entire winning process, and I couldn’t really gloat. Anyway,” I said before I went on a tangent. “He went to kiss me, and I really, really thought he was going to, but he didn’t. He kissed my cheek and tried saying that whoever won today would have to kiss properly.”
“So how did you end up kissing him?”
“I asked him what the hell he was doing, making a girl think she was being kissed when it wasn’t going to happen. I might have been a little… angrier… than I’d been aiming for, but he grabbed me as I was leaving and kissed me.”
“Damn. I didn’t know he had that in him.”
“Neither did I.”
“So what’s the date that’s not a date tonight? How did that happen?”
I sighed. “We texted for a bit last night, and he wore me down. But it’s not a date. It’s just two people who kissed, spending time together.”
“That’s a date, Halley.”
“It’s not a date!”
Reagan threw the paper bag her bagel had been in into the trash can. “No, it’s a date. You can say what you want, but it is.”
I pursed my lips. I didn’t want to call it a date, because that meant this was really happening. I had to accept that Preston was interested in me, and that meant I could get hurt. It meant I had to open myself up to getting hurt.
I didn’t want to get hurt.
Not by him.
“You’ve had a crush on him for years. Why aren’t you dancing around the room? Why aren’t you just calling a spade and spade or, in your case, a date a date?” Reagan raised her eyebrows. “Wait—is it because of me?”
“No. Well, a little bit.”
She walked around me and pulled some flowers out of a container. Water dripped on the floor as she brought them over to the counter. “Your self-confidence sucks, do you know that?”
I adjusted my glasses. “I think you got enough for both of us.”
“Halley, if you date my brother and it all screws up, chances are, he’s the one who fucked up anyway.” She smirked, her eyes flashing with amusement. “And I’m not just saying this because you’re my best friend, but you’re way too good for him.”
I stared at her. “You are saying that because I’m your best friend.”
“Maybe a little. But seriously, you have got to have a little more confidence. You know Preston doesn’t date around like most other people do. If he wants to take you on a date…” She trailed off and gave me a small, one-shouldered shrug. “He’s not doing you a favor or anything. He’s going out with you because he wants to.”
She was focused intensely on the flowers in front of her, and I narrowed my eyes. She knew something—more than she was letting on.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”
“Reagan!”
“Okay, okay.” She held up her hands, dropping the flower she’d been holding. “I’ve known for a while that he’s been interested in you. I honestly think it’s the only reason he agreed to do the kissing booth.”
I blinked at her.
And blinked some more.
And then again.
“What?” That was the only word I could force out.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She pointed at me. “He never actually told me. He didn’t deny it when I asked; he always told me to drop it. I never said anything in case I was wrong. I figured you two would sort it out if it was meant to be.”
I sagged, letting the small bubble of annoyance I’d felt disappear. “I know. I guess I’m just confused about the whole thing. Preston and I have never been friends—”
“Because neither of you were willing to admit how you really felt.”
“—So it’s come a little out of left field.”
“And you complaining that he didn’t kiss you hasn’t?” Reagan raised her eyebrows. “Look, don’t think about him being my brother. Don’t think about him being this guy you never thought would be interested in you. I’d date the hell out of you if I were a guy.”
I laughed. “I know. Maybe I’ll have my head around it by the time we’re done at the booth.”
“Well, if anything, you’ll have a good conversation starter.” She flashed me a grin from behind a curtain of violet hair. “How many other people you’ve kissed in one day is always a good start to a hot date.”
I snorted, sending hot coffee up my nose, and shook my head. “Don’t even. I have no idea what we’re going to talk about.”
***
As it turned out, there was an awful lot for us to talk about.
The day was an absolute disaster. One kid kicked over Preston’s bucket which sent his money flying everywhere, another almost spilled lemonade all over me, and one old lady who was visiting from Georgia collapsed outside the tent and was whisked away to the hospital in an ambulance.
That was before you even thought about the pigeon that’d made its way inside the booth and terrorized us all for twenty minutes until a group effort managed to usher it back out.
I still had a headache from the screaming. You’d think it came from the kids, but nope—they loved it. The screaming was all from the grown-ass women who were trying their best to win the heart of Preston Wright.
I didn’t want to be that person, but screaming about a pigeon that wasn’t interested in you wasn’t the way to win the heart of anyone.
Unless they had a serious hero complex.
Judging by how hard Preston had laughed, he didn’t have one.
I was okay with that because I didn’t have a damsel complex, either.
I was the one who’d grabbed the freakin’ bird and ultimately tossed it outside.
Yep, that was me—Halley Dawson, wildlife whisperer extraordinaire.
The one bonus that’d come from it was that both of us had forgotten about the third state of our bet. We’d wiped the day’s board clean and added it to our tally before Preston had let loose a string of curse words that would make a hooker blush.
“Just do it tomorrow,” I said, dropping my phone in my purse. “It’s not the end of the world, is it? One of us is going to win by the time this is all over, and I know I’ve had enough today.”
Preston jumped off his stage and looked at me. “Do we need to go to the bank tonight?”
I took the money tin from him and shook my head. “I won’t put my purse down tonight. I’ll run by there in the morning. I already texted Tish.”
“All right. Are you ready for our not-a-date?”
“No.”
He laughed, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine in a weirdly delicious way. “There’ll be food.”
I paused. “I’m a little more ready in that case.”
Together, we walked to the end of the tent. Preston pulled the heavy curtain aside and made a sweeping motion with his arm that said I should go first.
I couldn’t help the way my lips curled at the sight of it. I ducked out of the tent, pausing halfway to give him a mock curtsey that made him laugh, and stepped out into the heat from outside.
It was still uncomfortably warm even though the sun was no longer beating down incessantly on us. That said, it was practically freakin’ glacial after being in the tent all day with nothing more than a few electric fans that were so useless I was pretty sure they were making me even hotter.
“So. What do you want to eat?” Preston fell into step next to me.
I glanced over. His white t-shirt hugged his lean, muscular frame perfectly, and the navy-blue chino shorts he wore were loose enough that they left just enough to the imagination.
I didn’t know if I was mad about that or not.
“I really don’t mind. I’m sure any of it is better than what I can make at home.”
“Ah, I forgot you can’t cook. What did you eat last night?”
“Noodles,” I muttered. “Just noodles.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t burn them.”
“Bite me, Preston.”
“That can be arranged.”
Oh, my God.
“I didn’t mean literally,” I said. “It’s a figure of speech.”
“I know. But I was saying that, should you want it to be literal, it can be arranged.” He gave me a wolfish smile. “There’s no shame in a little nibble, Halley.” He punctuated that with a wink.
Why was my mouth dry? What was happening?
“I think sexual preferences are a little heavy for this not-a-date, don’t you think?”
“Depends on what your preferences are. Some light spanking and a neck nibble? Entirely appropriate. Threesomes and swinging? That’s a little too much.”
I laughed, quickly covering my mouth with my hand to hide it. “I can confirm I have zero interest in threesomes or swinging. You can add gangbangs, public fornication, dogging, and anal to that list.”
“No anal?”
“If you’d like to compare notes, let’s hop behind that milk bottle stall, and I’ll shove a cucumber up your ass so you can tell me how you like it.”
He licked his lips. “I prefer my cucumbers in a salad.”
“And I prefer dick anywhere but my ass. At least we agree on something.”
Preston pulled me against his side and squeezed. “One minute, you’re all quiet and studious, and the next, you’re using the word ‘dick’ like it’s a friendly neighborhood greeting.”
I peered up at him. “You haven’t met my neighbors.”
“I was under the impression they were two-foot-tall, fluffy, and ate your trash.”
“Oh, they’re the neighbors I like. It’s the others I don’t get along with.”
He released me, once again putting a little distance between us.
I mean, I got it.
This was not a date.
I’d said that a thousand times.
But it was a little nice having his arm around me.
Just a little.
Like cake on your period kinda nice.
“You want barbecue?” Preston asked as the Ferris’ barbecue stall came into view.
My stomach rumbled, answering the question for me. “A pulled pork sandwich sounds good.”
“With coleslaw and fries?”
“Keep the fries, leave the coleslaw.”
“You don’t like coleslaw?”
I shook my head. “You can have mine.”
“This is getting better by the minute.” He laughed and, after steering me toward an empty picnic table, deposited me on the bench. “I’ll get this. Sit here while there’s a free table.”
“All right, but I’m totally winning you a stuffed animal later.”
“I’m not sure stuffed animals are my style.”
“So I’ll win you one, then you feel so bad that you give it to me. How’s that?”
&
nbsp; “Done. Let me line up before this gets any crazier.” Preston gave me a half-smile, the kind that was tentative yet reached his eyes, making them brighter than usual.
My stomach flipped as he took his place at the end of the line. There were several people in front of him, but it didn’t take them long to get through the waiting customers. Polystyrene containers filled with food were handed out to customer after customer, and even though I hadn’t intended on Preston buying my food, it’d turned out to be a good idea.
By the time he reached the front of the line, all the tables were crammed full. We were on a small one so there was no worry that strangers would join us, but I had to be honest, I was more worried about people I knew hijacking this.
Small towns and all that.
Little news became big gossip in mere seconds.
Maybe that was why I was so reluctant to call this a date. All it took was for one person to see us and get the wrong—ahem, right—idea, and it’d be spread through Creek Falls by my bedtime.
I’d have phone calls from my mom, my dad, my stepmom, the girl I used to sit next to in math class, my ex-ex-ex’s grandma, and probably the clerk at the grocery store, too.
There was no ‘taking it slow’ in a small town. It was all or nothing, and I wasn’t an all or nothing kinda girl.
I was a… well, I was a freaking book girl. I believed in romance and magic and everything coming together as destiny decreed it. That’s all there was to it.
Also, Preston made me feel like a little girl.
If someone broke into my house, I’d pop out the Glock I kept in my bedside cabinet and shoot their ass.
He smiles the right kinda smile at me, and I turn into a little hot mess.
That’s right. I’d shoot someone who kicked in my front door, but I can’t cope with romantic situations.
I was an adult, y’all. It was a miracle I could pay my damn taxes on time, wasn’t it?
I also couldn’t cook, so…
Preston came over to the table with our food on a big, burgundy tray. He set it down and sat opposite me, swinging his long legs over the seat. “Why is the wine in a can?”
