“So let me get this straight.” He shakes his head as though he just can’t believe the words that keep flying out of my mouth. But if I’m being honest, neither can I. “You passed by my fence and needed a mental distraction, so instead of using the doorbell like a normal person, you climbed my fence.”
“Wrong,” I retort.
“How is that even wrong?”
“I didn’t know there was a doorbell.”
“You are impossible,” he growls at me.
“I know.” And because I’m feeling a little bit insane, I bop him on the nose like he’s Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in need of a carrot treat or a candy cane. I think I read somewhere that reindeer love candy canes. Or was it a movie?
Arlo rubs his temples, then a guffaw blows out of his mouth like an unexpected fart, startling me into wondering if it was a laugh or gas.
“What am I supposed to do with you?”
“Well, can we avoid calling Davis?” I wave at my derriere. “Because I’m feeling a little exposed.”
“Love the unicorns.”
“Thank you.”
“Do they have the right day on them?”
“Wednesday is written at the top. I mean, I have to remember what day it is, and the best way is my panties. I go to the bathroom and there it is, the reminder just in case I forget halfway through the day.”
He stands there stunned, not really sure what to do before turning around and stalking to the garage.
I heave out a sigh of relief, adrenaline dropping off that cliff and leaving me unsure of what to actually do with myself. Especially considering that the seams of my jeans broke with the pressure of a nail, and I will somehow have to find my way back to the B&B without flashing the entire neighborhood myWednesday unicorn panties. This really should have been a third date scenario, but here we are.
Even though the chill of the day wraps around my goodies, I glance at the garage yard.
What is that even called? Salvage yard? Except that isn’t what I see here. I mean, sure, it could be a junkyard, but there’s only one spare car and a shed, while varying shades of green foliage grow from trunks and hoods and even a toilet. Now it’s autumn, and most of the plants sit on the dying end of things, but it’s no less beautiful.
Especially the shrubs growing out of a windshield of an old-school muscle car. Don’t ask me which, they all look the same to me. I only know Saffron’s because she made sure I understood her truck was a classic and how important it was not to crash it.
Ashamed and somewhat exhausted, I make my way to the back of the garage, where a large door opens out to the main road. Luckily, it’s closed.
“Here,” Arlo calls from somewhere up above, his voice echoing off the walls. The only car in here right now is mine, and it’s jacked up a few feet.
“What’s up there?”
“Tenth date access,” he replies, stomping down the steps. Halfway down, he tosses me a pair of sweatpants. “They should fit. If not, roll them up a few times. No one will notice on your walk of shame.”
I catch the offensive black ball of fabric. “That’s just mean.” I walk around so that my car sits between us as I toe off my shoes.
“You climbed my fence when there is a perfectly good doorbell for you to use.”
“I told you I didn’t know a doorbell existed.” I peel off my ruined jeans, and I toss them over the car at Arlo—after removing my keys and phone, of course. The latter of which is never locked.
“Ugh. Ruined.” I hear his footsteps as he clomps across the garage to hopefully throw them in a black bag that he ties before tossing them in the trash. I wouldn’t put it past the residents of this town to go trash picking.
The last thing the town needs to find is my jeans in his trash. Who knows what stories they’d concoct?
I roll up his sweats that hang off my body. Not even my voluptuous booty will keep these up, even though I tighten the strings as much as I can.
“Drive me home?” I question as I walk around, the drawstring wrapped around my wrist.
Arlo just stands there with a smug smile on his face, his mood drifting from grumpy to satisfied in two seconds flat.
