“No, he’s not named because of anything alcohol related. It’s a long story.” That I’m not going to share because I’m shouting. Not only is my music blaring, a jaunty tune is being piped through a series of speakers on both sides of the gazebo. I lean and hit the button on my phone to at least stop my music.
Ian and I stare at each other.
He glances to the left, shaking his head a little. “Well, welcome to Wanted, Winnie.” Then he makes a face. “That was a lot of Ws.”
“Word,” I say, as a joke.
He doesn’t laugh.
Ian is clearly no fun, even if he is sexy and a little smoldery.
Which means I need to focus on the issue at hand—reversing my truck.
“I had no idea there was a festival going on or I would have gotten here yesterday.” Barrel is now whining and scratching at the window. I try to pull him back by his collar but he’s having none of it. He’s strong and he smells fair food.
“You can park behind the hardware store. They have a big lot and the owner won’t mind. I’ll let him know.”
“Great. Awesome. So…where is the hardware store?”
Ian opens his mouth.
But before he can answer, Barrel manages to put his paw exactly where the button is for the window. I realize a second too late the window is gliding down, and before I can react, Barrel leaps out of the window like he’s been doing agility training his whole life.
Spoiler: he hasn’t.
Which means that he collides with Ian’s chest, who tries to catch my wriggling dog.
But Barrel slips through his grasp and spills onto the street.
“Barrel!” I shout, throwing open my door.
I accidentally nail Ian in the shoulder with the door, sending him stumbling backward.
He trips over the hose that he was talking about earlier and goes down.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping out of the truck. I misjudge the distance, and I fall hard, my palms scraping the asphalt.
But I barely notice because my eyes are on Barrel, who has tasted freedom and is galloping off full speed ahead into the Spring Fling Festival.
A little girl screams, startled by Barrel’s flyby. Her corn dog hits the ground and he’s on it.
As I try to untangle my feet I see my dog disappear behind a lemonade stand with her corn dog in his mouth like a fresh kill.
Strong arms haul me to my feet but before I can acknowledge his help, Ian takes off running after Barrel. “I’ve got him!”
The truck is still running.
Several people have gathered around. “Can you turn the truck off?” I ask the woman closest to me. She’s in her fifties, with pink hair, wearing a sun visor and colorful pants and earrings, and looks trustworthy.
In the midst of tossing a handful of caramel corn in her mouth, she gives me a thumbs up and climbs up into the truck.
Good enough for me.
I’m off in the last direction I saw my dog. “Barrel! Come to Mama!”
So maybe I’m only ninety-five percent confident about this new beginning.
Chapter Two
