“Yeah. I didn’t get to finish my second bowl of Bianca’s chicken soup.”
Evelyn’s eyes go wide. “I heard you almost died.”
What can I say? Word travels fast in Songbird Ridge.
I take this opportunity to gently circle my arm around Riley’s shoulders. Does she look a little jealous? I’m probably reading into it. But still, I feel like including Riley in the conversation and letting the whole room know she came in here with me. “If it weren’t for Riley, I would have.”
Riley looks downward and mumbles, “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Evelyn curiously seems to agree with Riley when she says, “Truly, there are about two dozen people at the Bluejay who would jump to save your butt any day, Rowdy. And by the way, thanks for helping me with my freezer. It’s working so much better now.”
I respond that I’m glad to hear it, but I feel the need to keep including Riley in the conversation. “You have to try Evelyn’s peach pie, Riley. It’s amazing.”
Riley twists her mouth thoughtfully, and it’s awfully cute. “I am pretty hungry. I’ll take a slice of peach pie and a couple of those white chocolate truffles, please.”
We take a seat by the window, and Riley looks flustered. “You don’t have to tell people what I did. Evelyn’s right; there are lots of people in there who know the Heimlich. Especially that server who seems to like you a lot.”
She bites her lip, and it does something to me. Something stronger than how I felt as we held hands. Her full bottom lip puts thoughts in my head about kissing. Savoring. Sucking.
Deeper, more intense images invade my brain as I stare at her mouth, temptation becoming harder and harder to resist.
“Bianca and I graduated together. I pretty much only see her at homecoming reunions and when I eat at the café. She’s like a sister to me. Just so you know.”
We share a quiet moment,and I hope I’m being clear enough.
Finally, Riley says, “Do you…have…”
“A girlfriend? No.”
“A wife?”
“No.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly. “The reason I ask all these intrusive questions is that, well, I have a favor to ask you.”
I laugh. “Uh-oh. You don’t need your electricity rerouted, do you? Because I charge $100 just to show up. Unless we’re friends. Are we friends? If you say yes, then you get a friend rate.”
Riley chuckles and once again looks at the ceiling as if she would like some help from on high. “If I ever need electrical services or a freezer fixed, then yes, we’re friends. The favor I need right now is less complicated than that. But it might be weird.”
I lean forward. “Go on.”
She takes a deep breath and then blurts, “The town is demanding my attendance at this year’s art gala and auction.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t normally go to these things, because I’m not good at talking to people.”
My heart goes out to her.
“You’re pretty good at talking to me.”
She shakes her head and laughs a little. “Maybe that’s the case. But I’m supposed to impress some big donors. Or some big art collectors who are coming down from Winston-Salem and whatnot. And well, I’m really terrible at small talk. And you? Literally everybody loves you.”
“Not everybody. Some of the cops are not going to be subscribing to my Substack anytime soon,” I joke.
Riley exhales. “Don’t ever tell me the story behind that, because I might change my mind. I would like you to come with me to the gala. I need to look less like the socially backward hermit that I am. If you’re there, that would make me look less…weird.”
Is this a date?
