“You’re enjoying this way too much, Jess,” Wyatt tells me as we reach the parking lot.
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes.”
“She’s interesting,” I say. “Smart. Funny. Stubborn as hell.”
“She’s a Thompson.”
“So?”
“So Dad’s going to have our heads if this goes sideways.”
“It’s a fundraiser, Wy, not a marriage proposal.”
“With the way you’re looking at her, I’m not so sure about that.”
I stop walking and turn to face both my brothers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Boone says with a grin, “you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The look that says you’re thinking about doing something stupid.”
“I’m always thinking about doing something stupid. That’s my charm.”
“This is different,” Wyatt says. “This is Thompson-level stupid.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But it might be worth it.”
Miller’s Fieldat ten a.m. is as appealing as a root canal. The grass is wet with dew, the air smells like cow manure from the neighboring pasture, and someone has set up orange cones in what I can only assume is meant to be our practice course.
Callie’s already there when we arrive, standing next to a card table loaded with fabric strips and looking like she’s reconsidering her decision to show up.
“Morning, sunshine,” I call out as we approach.
“It’s too early for your charm,” she replies without looking up from the table.
“It’s never too early for my charm.”
“Trust me, it is.”
Wyatt and Boone flank me as we reach the table. Wyatt’s wearing his usual scowl, and Boone’s grinning like this is the best entertainment he’s seen all year.
“So,” Callie says, holding up a fabric strip, “we need to practice not falling on our faces in front of the entire town.”
“I’m excellent at not falling on my face,” I tell her.
The universe immediately punishes my hubris. I step forward confidently and my boot finds the one gopher hole in a five-foot radius. My ankle rolls, I windmill dramatically, and barely catch myself on the table, which wobbles dangerously.
“You were saying?” Callie deadpans.
Mayor Davidson appears with his notebook and way too much enthusiasm.
“Excellent! Our first team is here and ready to practice. Now, the three-legged race requires coordination, communication, and trust.”
“We’re doomed,” Callie mutters.
