Dallas joins me, grabbing the popcorn bowl and emptying the unpopped kernels into the trash. “Oh, you know.” He adopts a super redneck-ey tone. “‘Damn, Dallas, I never thought I’d see the day you settled down.’ That kinda thing.” I take the bowl from him to wash it, and he grabs a dish towel. “Although D’Wayne said he’d shoot me dead if I broke your heart. I’m pretty sure he meant it too.”
“Aww. I’ve always had a soft spot for him.” Dallas takes the wet bowl and starts to dry it while I move on to the rest. “Iguess nobody will be too surprised when we break up then. Your reputation as a bachelor is set in stone in these parts.”
He reaches up to put the bowl back in a high cabinet while I duck under his arm to get to the fridge. This is a choreographed routine we’ve had down pat after years of movie nights and last-minute suppers. “Why would I want to invite heartbreak like that?”
“You mean falling in love with someone and throwing caution to the wind?”
He hands me the mostly empty salsa container. “Yeah. Seems crazy to me. You’ve watched Pops all these years. The man is still in pieces over my momma, and it’s been eighteen years. No thanks.”
I straighten and turn from the open refrigerator door. “I guess my parents were lucky in a way. Nobody had to go first and leave the other behind.”
“Not to mention divorce rates,” Dallas barrels on. “Half the town is full of bitter divorcees. I remember when Derek and Jenny were so gone over each other he even skipped our guys’ trip to Vegas because she got the flu. Now the only thing they can agree on is how much they despise one another.” He looks like he either wants to spit or puke.
“Maybe.” I shrug and close the door before leaning back against it. “I don’t know. None of that stops me from holding out hope. But it’s good to know yourself and what you do and don’t want for your life.”
Dallas perks up at my words. “Speaking of, I ran into a guy in Hornville I used to know a while back. A friend of a friend kind of thing. We got to chatting, and I think he might be perfect for you. He was wearing fancy-ass clothes and was on his way to donate blood, if that says anything.”
“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”
“Elias Keller.”
“Okay.” I nod. “I can work with that. “What does he do?”
“Don’t know. But we’ll find out on Thursday when we meet him for dinner at Pound Town. Figured keeping it low-key with burgers would be a good move.”
The reality of the situation settles in, and I put a hand over my stomach. “I can’t decide if what I’m feeling right now is anticipation, terror, or indigestion.”
“Better put a trash can next to the bed just in case.”
“Stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not.” I absolutely am. I’m twisting my new ring on my finger like I’m trying to draw milk from it.
“You are,” Dallas insists.
“What if this guy is a serial killer?”
It’s Thursday evening, and we’re seated beside one another in a window booth at Pound Town, Big Knob’s burger joint. Buck Silver, the seventy-five-year-old owner, is obsessed with Christmas and keeps the place decorated year-round. You’d think it would be obnoxious, but it’s a town favorite.
I woke up the morning after movie night to find the ring box and two antacids laid out on the bedside table—though I thankfully didn’t need the latter—as well as a note from Dallas that he was taking Ryder back to his mom’s. They share custody during the summer in a casual arrangement that seems to work well for everyone.
It’s been a week since I moved in, and Dallas keeps insisting on taking the couch. I offered to clean out his spare room and put a blow-up mattress in there for myself, but he’s having none of it. The sooner I move back to my place, the better. Besides, I hate feeling like Shane is in any way controlling my life. But, to Dallas’s point, if I move out now, rumors of our split will blaze across town within the hour. People are becoming seriously invested.
I spent way too long in bed that morning staring at the engagement ring—correction…fakeengagement ring—that I almost missed my first appointment of the day. When I got back to Dallas’s after work, he plonked the box on the kitchen table and gave me the stink eye. I took that as my cue that he wanted me to wear the thing.
“A serial killer who donates blood and wears dress shoes?” Dallas asks. He’s wearing one of his signature band T-shirts and a backward baseball cap that looks way better than it should on him.
I shrug. And fidget. Dallas reaches over and covers my wringing hands with one of his large, calloused ones.
“How is it you’ve had a dozen boyfriends but never been on a date before?”
That earns him a glare. “Of course I have. Just never with my fake fiancé in tow.”
“Dallas,” a deep voice greets my bestie, and I look up to see a very handsome man who looks to be in his early forties, with neatly styled dark hair and bone structure that tells me he’s likely a descendant of Zeus. Gotta love those Greeks.
When his eyes shift to me, his smile turns even warmer, as does my belly. Why have I never asked Dallas to find me dates before?
“Elias, meet Shelby Sweet, my fiancée.” I do my best not to start at his words, and we all shake hands as Elias ducks to avoida huge swath of tinsel garland and settles into the bench seat across from us.
