I’d need to apologize to him eventually, but not tonight. Not when Bale had me riled up in more ways than one.
He wanted me to hate him? For what? Being hot then cold, publicly cocky but privately tender, and doing his best to keep his shit together like the rest of us? That wasn’t worth hating, but it was arguably worthy of a swift kick to the balls to bring his ego down a notch.
Fear him? Pfft, no. I hadn’t run because I was scared, I ran because I had common-fucking-sense. There was no chance in hell I was going to stop and interrogate him on how much self-control he had in his scarecrow form.
Honestly, something told me Bale was all bark and no bite.
The punny thought made me chortle quietly to myself.
Smoothing out the front of my dress as I approached the edge of the central gathering spot, I tried to melt the tension from my shoulders.
Scanning the crowd, there were still a hefty number of Falstonians celebrating the beginning of the week’s activities. Lamp posts and strand lights illuminated the open space.
Tony Gilbert, the town’s auto mechanic, was sitting on the edge of the stage. He swayed side-to-side, dangerously close to toppling over each time as he drunkenly belted out off-key lyrics to a song the band wasn’t even playing.
Off near the main entrance stood a cluster of women in their early forties. Each of them held a paper coffee cup, but I was willing to bet it was so-called “mommy juice” of the wine variety by the way they giggled and whispered too loudly.
I got halfway across the space only to remember that I still hadn’t gotten any apples. Dammit. Showering away the shifter-sludge would have to wait an extra five minutes.
Hm, I wonder if Bale gets the same residue.
Drawing a deep breath to cleanse the thought from my head, I backtracked to one of the tables that had bushels and bags of apples that lookedtooperfect.
You know the type. Too round, too shiny, and smelledtoo sweet. The type of apple that you suspected had conned Snow White into landing herself into a coma.
The plump woman sitting on a metal folding chair behind the table smiled at me with far too much cheer. Her cheeks donned enough blush to compete with the color of the fruit she was peddling.
“Hi, honey!” She greeted me enthusiastically. “You need a few more apples?”
Offering a polite smile, I nodded. “Yeah, just a small bag, please.”
She clapped her hands like a five-year-old, giddy and obnoxious. As she gathered a half dozen apples for me, she kept glancing at me. It was like she was debating whether or not to say something.
Finally, she nestled the final apple into the brown mesh bag, but didn’t hand it over yet.
“You’re Wade’s oldest, right? I heard you have a fascination for books.”
Dreaded small town small talk. I obliged her by keeping a small smile on my face. “That would be me,” I confirmed.
She launched into a story that I only half paid attention to about her great-aunt’s neighbor, who had a collection of supposedly rare coloring books.
Digging around in the sewn-in pockets of my dress, I searched for the cash that should have been tucked in them. Panic was beginning to set in that I had lost it somewhere between the dance, my shifting, and my swift escape from the guys.
Just when I was about to interrupt her story, a presence appeared at my side, and a smooth baritone voice spoke up.
“The apples are on me.”
Looking to my right, there stood Chadwick Dennison. Wavy auburn hair, all lanky limbs, brow bones that stuck out too far, and a mustache too thin to be considered anything other than creepy. The only distinguishing feature from his twin brother, Malcolm, was the flesh-colored mole tucked against the bottom curve of his left nostril.
He flipped open his wallet dramatically, pulling it open wider than necessary to make a show of the thick stash of bills inside it. After retrieving just enough to cover my purchase, he tossed the money onto the table.
The night air almost carried the payment away with a gentle breeze, but not before my hand slammed down on top of the bills. A resounding thud came off more aggressively than I had meant for it to be.
“Chad, right? Thank you, but it’s really not necessary.” It may have come off sounding polite, but it was anything but. He seemed the type of man that, after he pays for you once, considers you indebted to him forever.
Leaning in close—too fucking close—he gave a smile with more teeth bared than a cornered jackal.
“It is my greatest honor to help Falston’s most beautiful flower.” His words came out with a purr. His hot breath fanned over my face, reeking of something likeburnt sugar mixed with curdled dairy. Too sweet and abrasively foul.
