‘Your fictional boyfriend isn’t going to keep you warm in bed at night.’
‘Clearly you haven’t read any of these books,’ Bel said dryly.
‘I’m being serious, Bel. You need to start looking for a real man.’
‘And where do you suppose I start looking? It’s easy for you, Miss I-married-my-high-school-sweetheart. You got thelast eligible male within a hundred kilometres who still has all his own teeth.’
‘There are lots of eligible men around,’ Emma said.
‘Like who?’
‘Well … there’s … Terry O’Shea,’ she said.
‘He’s in prison.’
‘Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Well, what about his brother—Mitch?’
‘He’s in prison too—remember? They werebothin the tow truck dragging the ATM down the main street.’ To their house … where the police found it after following the scrape marks down the road. Not the brightest gene pool, clearly.
‘Tex … whatever his name is. You know the one who works at Stumpy Richardson’s workshop.’
‘The one who got Kylie Smith pregnant and already has a baby with her older sister?’
‘He did? How come I didn’t hear about that?’
‘Because you don’t work in Dwyers’ general store and hearallthe gossip.’
‘Wow. I’m really out of the loop.’
The bell dinged as the door opened and both women turned to see the newcomer. Emma gasped, drawing his attention.
‘Emma. Bel,’ he said, nodding briefly at them before heading for the aisle of groceries the small store stocked.
‘Dean Preston,’ Emma said in a loud side whisper. Her eyes lit up as she swung back around and stared at Bel with growing excitement.
‘Absolutely not,’ Bel hissed back, horrified.
‘Why not?’
‘Are you kidding me? He made my life a living hell in primaryandhigh school.’
‘That was a hundred years ago.’
‘Still not long enough to forget,’ Bel snapped. Dean Preston’s return to town a few months earlier had only been the topic of general conversation for a few days, which said a lot for how boring the bloke must be now. There was absolutely nothing of interest for anyone to gossip about.
‘I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner,’ Emma said, ignoring her friend’s warning glare. ‘He’s perfect.’
‘He’snotperfect.’
‘Did you see his butt in those jeans? When didthathappen?’
Bel rolled her eyes. ‘Would you keep your voice down?’ she said in a low voice as she tried to keep an eye on the man in question, praying he was far enough away not to overhear. A nice butt in jeans wasn’t exactly an oddity around here—jeans were, after all, the main wardrobe staple of the majority of the population, although Bel could admit that some men wore them a little better than others. Dean Preston was possibly one of those men. His dark brown hair was a little long around the ears and on the top, a clear testamentto the fact he was too snowed under to have found time for a haircut recently, and his dark beard was probably not grown as any kind of fashion statement but because it was easier than shaving every day.
‘Ask him out.’
‘What?’ Bel immediately clamped her lips closed as her voice almost echoed off the walls. ‘You are out of your freaking mind,’ she added in a hushed but furious tone.
‘Everything okay?’
