“What are you so worked up for, man?” Foster asks.
How do I explain what I’m feeling? “Just spending a few minutes with her was enough to tell me she’s special. “I want to be her date to all the things. The end.”
Foster chuckles. “That was just adrenaline talking from almost dying face down in your soup.”
“Nah, it’s not like that. I can’t explain it, but it’s something a hell of a lot more powerful than adrenaline.”
The front door chimes, and Foster takes off to wait on customers.
If I said what I really felt, Foster would probably drive me to counseling.
So I keep that feeling locked up. That’s just for me. And Riley.
Because I know she felt it too.
I only have a few days until the gala to prove to her that I’m not just a pretend date.
I wanna be the long-haul guy.
I wanna be her date to all the things. Period.
Chapter
Five
Riley
People in this town are weird today.
The residents of Songbird Ridge have always been a bit on the quirky side. Me included. But today, they’re being extra bizarre.
When I stop at the Red Hen convenience store for my Wednesday morning chemical fix—a Diet Dr. Pepper and peanut M&Ms, only on Wednesdays—Ellen Wood behind the counter asks if I’ve seen Rowdy this morning. When I ask her why, she gives me a knowing smile as she rings up my groceries.
In a hurry to get to the studio, I don’t stop for coffee, but pause to tip Jared, who runs the little kiosk, Cardinal Coffee, on the corner. He knows on Wednesdays I consume diet soda instead of coffee, but I also stop to give him a tip. Today, Jared winks at me.
And then, coming around the corner to the gift shop building, where my studio and apartment take up the second floor, I bump smack into Foster from the athletic store. He squints at me in that grumpy way of his, but there’s a smirk inside that bushy beard.
Something is up, and I don’t like it.
And now, it’s throwing me off while I’m trying to do my work.
Instead of sitting down at my easel, I’m puttering and pacing around the studio, waiting for Rowdy to show up.
Well, that’s fine. I don’t want to be working on anything too absorbing when he gets here. If I’m in the zone, I’ll be crabby when I’m pulled out of it.
As I’m staring at a blank canvas, I debate whether to try something different. Maybe I should paint my view of the town from here.
I go to the window, and who do I lay eyes on but Rowdy at the coffee stand. My stomach jumps in an oddly pleasant kind of way.
He’s wearing a handsome sheepskin coat, well-fitting jeans, tidily combed hair, crisp new sneakers, and expensive-looking sunglasses. Yesterday, he wore a wrinkled flannel shirt, work boots, and his hair was all over the place. Today, from a distance, he looks sort of chic, polished, and, well, hot.
Oh, my.
Rowdy walks away from the coffee stand with a full drink tray.
What is he doing? He must be stopping somewhere before he comes over. But he’s supposed to be here in two minutes, according to my schedule.
Who am I kidding? Guys like Rowdy never show up on time.
