“I’m a guy. Trust me, he’s panicking. And this mess with Gigi is his own damn fault.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The night before the County Fair, Free stops by my duplex. She has a paper with her, the extra-credit one I was supposed to help her with ages ago.
“I’m sorry,” I say as we sit down. “I’ve been so busy.”
“It was a blessing in disguise because I finished it myself!” She grins at me.
“All of it?”
I can’t remember Free ever finishing a paper on her own. Everything else, yes. Papers, no.
“Thanks to Blake.”
I suck in a breath. “Blake helped you?”
“He didn’t actually help me write it. He encouraged me to try to do it on my own. He said he thought I might be selling myself short.”
Huh. “That was decent of him.”
“I know. And so I did. Isn’t that cool?” she says proudly. “And I got an A.”
“You didn’t even need the grade to graduate,” I tease her. “You’re definitely making the rest of us Henwoods look like huge slackers.”
She takes a long look at my face. “I saw the afghan ‘Gigi’ gave to Logan.” She puts air quotes around “Gigi.”
I sigh. “It wasn’t on purpose, okay? I was knitting it here at home, for myself maybe, or…”
“For Logan,” she says.
I laugh. “It’s a hundred degrees out, but I knitted an afghan while I sat in my sixty-seven degree, air-conditioned house.”
Free looks at me. “You okay?”
I nod and she touches my arm. “You’re so much prettier than her,” she says. “And you know he knows it, too. And you can kick her ass in the target contest tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to compete with another woman. That’s not the kind of situation I want to be in.” I sigh. “Gigi’s a nice girl. She and I don’t exactly mesh, but I’m going to try harder.”
“You seem like you’re trying pretty hard,” Free says. “And I’m going to be rooting for you at the fair.”
“Thanks. I’m sure it will help.” I hug her goodbye. “You’re all grown up, aren’t you?”
“Lord, I hope so. But I can tell it doesn’t get any easier.”
“I wish it did.”
God, I wish it did.
Chapter Forty-Four
I get to the Darcy Fairgrounds early on Saturday. I don’t want anything—traffic, crowds, or personal issues—throwing me off my mark today. I’m the first contestant here, so I go to the sign-in area and give my name. Mayor Huggins greets me warmly and wonders aloud if anybody will beat me this year.
“Somebody new perhaps?” he says. “I don’t think any of our regulars stand a chance against you, Ms. Henwood.”
I thank him, but inside I’m trembling. Because if ever there were a year to beat me, it’s this one. I’m distracted, plus I’ve made the contest personal, two of the worst things a shooter can do.
As current champion, I have the honor of shooting last.
