“I do. But so do you,” she says, then waves goodbye.
I check the time on my phone. A zing of anticipation thrums through me. Only twenty more minutes till our appointment. As I grab my canvas bag from a hook in the foyer, a name I haven’t seen in more than a year flashes in my texts. My ex, Eric Patrick. Intrigued, I click on it.Hey, hey! How’s everything, Ripley? Looks like Darling Springs is about to become the darling of the movies. Maybe I should open another fusion café there after all! Would love your thoughts on that! You know the town so well.
Um, no.
I stare at the message for a beat longer. The guy ditched me because he was tired of small-town life. Now he wants to profit from it. I do have a terrible track record with men, but I also know how to use the delete button.
I lift a finger and with much fanfare, I send his text to the trash, then move on to the next one. I tap out a text to Sheriff Simmon about her new pup, then head to the little shop on thefarm. Ramona wanted to talk to me yesterday about how to handle a complicated situation with a friend, who lately only ever talks about herself.
I rap on the door even though it’s open and she’s organizing shelves of lavender lotion. “So how are you feeling today about our chat?”
She blows out a thoughtful breath. “Well, it’s just a lot. On the one hand, do I say something the next time we’re hanging out? On the other hand, what if she’s going through something, and this is her way of coping?”
I nod sympathetically. “You never really know what someone’s going through. But maybe you can try and ask that?”
Ramona seems to consider what I’ve said. “Maybe I will. Thanks, Ripley,” she says, then nods to the gate. “Where are you and the sexy warden going?”
I smile at the nickname, then tell her my plans.
“Oh! I want a boyfriend who does that with me,” she says, a little impressed.
Better squash that notion, stat. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
She snickers.
“He’s not,” I say, more insistent.
“I mean, maybe not yet.”
“See if I get you a treat again,” I tease, then I turn around and head toward the sexy warden.
He’s waiting for me.
At the gates.
With our bikes.
But I like to keep him on his toes. Literally. “Guess what?”
“You signed us up for that pole dancing class after all and you’ve got spike heels in that bag?” he says, nodding toward my shoulder.
I pat the bag, making sure he can’t see it. “Good guess.” I mean, he’s not far off when it comes to what I’m carrying with me. “But that’s not what I was going to say.” I gesture toward my pickup, parked down the road. “We can use my truck today.”
He holds out his hand, clearly asking for keys. “I’ll drive.”
“My truck?”
“Presumably it has a steering wheel, brakes, and gas?”
“Yes,” I grumble.
“Then I’ll drive,” he says.
“But it’smytruck.”
“What if there are paps in town and we need to lose them?”
“There’s not going to be a high-speed chase.”
