“Yep, I’ll be twenty-one in a few months.”
“Nice. Gonna celebrate big?”
“Probably not, but I’m not sure. We’ll see.”
“Cool cool. You do show horse jumping. How’s that going?”
“Great. Just a lot of trainin’ right now before the season starts in the spring. Mostly doing practice runs and conditioning.”
“I love that. I only ride for fun on my friend’s ranch. But I’d love to watch you sometime.”
“Yeah, maybe!”
“Whaddya do outside of that?”
“I work at Rodeo Belle, the Western clothing boutique, a few times a week.”
“Oh that’s close to here, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, just a block or two away.”
He continues asking me questions, and I barely get a chance to ask him anything. I guess that means he’s interested? But it would’ve been nice to get some details about him.
After thirty minutes of feeling like I’m being interviewed, I tell him I have to go and check on my dad. He asks if he can walk me to my truck, and it seems harmless, so I agree.
He opens my door and thank him again for the date.
“I hope we can do it again soon,” he says.
“Yeah, maybe. I’ll let you know.”
He grabs my hand and then kisses my knuckles—something I’ve only seen in movies.
“Bye, Harlow. Have a lovely rest of your day.”
I force a smile, slowly prying my hand out of his grip. “Thanks, you too.”
Finally, he walks away, toward his car that’s a few ahead of me.
When I hop into my truck, I toss my purse onto the passenger seat and put my phone in one of my cup holders. As soon as I go to close my door, a body approaches, scaring the living shit out of me.
“Oh my God, Waylon!” My hand smacks against my racing heart, and I breathe out in relief when I realize it’s him.
He stands with a taunting grin. “How was your date?”
“Are you stalkin’ me? What’re you doing here?”
“No, I was across the street buyin’ a new phone and saw you gettin’ in your truck, so I thought I’d come over.” He thumbs over his shoulder, and I see the cell phone store sign.
“Next time, say something before you creep up on me! I thought you were a murderer.”
He smirks. “Yeah, lots of serial killers in Sugarland Creek.”
I playfully smack him. “You know what I mean.”
He chuckles. “How’d things go? Did he say anything about your heels?”
“It was fine,” I say dryly. “And no. He said I looked beautiful.”
