“Ugh!” I shove his big, dopey, muscly shoulder. “Nobody thought to call me and get me down there? You'd better keep the town out of this, Wentworth.” Especially Muffie with her list of available men. I shudder at the thought of who could be on herradar. This is a small town. Speedo Kevin, a man who earned his nickname, is most likely in the top five.
“Oh, I'm trying. I’m just letting you know. The meeting got heated.” He waits for my reaction.
There’s something else Ike hasn’t said. I feel the impending doom of it. I see it in the obnoxious sparkle in his eyes. He says he wants to stay out of this, but Ike is having the time of his life. A guy doesn’t keep a job as the town manager for the weirdest town in New England without being somewhat diverted by its soap opera drama. I also know he’ll do almost anything to bring in tourists, including marrying my best friend and living in a lighthouse with her or egging people on when they turn a simple bet into a circus.
He scratches his beard. “People are invested in this, Stevie. Literally. There’s a lot of money on the line, and a lot of people who want to see you with a boyfriend. The select board was asked to have you, Marlow, and Diana agree to more specific terms of the bet.” At least he has the decency to pretend to cringe at the request.
A sharp laugh finally escapes. “Fine. Okay. We can nail down the terms. When are we having this town meeting to discuss the finer details of my nonexistent love life?”
“We scheduled an ad hoc town meeting for Wednesday night.”
He's serious?
Stubbornness flash-boils inside me like water in hot cooking oil. “I have a prior engagement,” I say with a disinterested sniff.
“You do?” Ike is surprised.
“No, but you didn’t know that.” My phony disinterest is replaced by whining, but I can’t seem to stop it. Today has been a roller coaster. “What if I had plans and you scheduled this meeting without me?”
He laughs, throwing his arm around me in a half hug. “Does six o’clock work?”
“No,” I grumble.
He squeezes my shoulders again, then lets me go. “We’ll see you there.”
He's about to walk away when something with a diesel engine rumbles into the empty spot next to my car. Ike and I follow the sound. It’s a white truck with thick black bars in front of the grill, the whole thing covered with chunky, dark mud.
Adam.
He climbs out, slamming his door, and dragging his fingers through his messy hair as he joins us on the sidewalk. His clothes and boots are caked with mud as well, and he’s breathing like he ran here. He looks like he clambered straight out of a wetland. “Hey, Stevie. Ike.”
What on earth has he been up to?
“Hey, man.” Ike juts his chin toward Adam’s truck. “Everything good?”
“Hazards of the job. It’s been one of those”—he puffs out a laugh, turning to me—“weeks.” He chokes on the word. Then his jaw tightens, and his gaze moves to my feet.
I want to ask him if this is why he wasn’t here to crash my date, but the pressure I feel from the impending town meeting shuts my mouth. As far as Ike is aware, I hardly know Adam. I need to keep it that way, but I can feel Ike’s eyes on me. So, I’m trying not to stare at Adam’s face, his square jaw, his whole chest ... area, his arms, his fists on his hips, or even the muddy jeans that fit him really, really well.
After who knows how long, Ike chuckles. “Well, be safe out there.” He pulls the door to the diner, leaving us on the sidewalk. “Stay out of trouble, Stevie,” he calls over his shoulder.
Chapter 19
Stevie
Ike is gone, and Adam and I are alone on the sidewalk in front of the whole town. And I can’t pull my eyes away from his muddy jeans. What has he been up to tonight? I want to ask him more questions and have a long conversation like we did last night.
There’s unmistakable hope in his gritty voice when he asks, “Is your date over already?”
My gaze darts to his face. When we talked last night, I learned that Adam’s eyes do the talking. They also ask a lot of questions. He looked at me so deeply it was like he wanted to see everything about me—my past, present, and future. Right now his eyes are asking if I made a Love Connection tonight. Then he sees something on my face that makes his brow furrow.
“What happened?” he asks carefully, but embers are burning beneath the surface.
“What?” I swipe my fingers over my cheeks, just in case. Did some of those tears accidentally fall out? I don’t think they did, so I answer honestly. “Nothing. All goooooooood.” What am I saying? I blame Adam’s jeans for my loose lips.
His eyes tighten. “Hmm.” He steps closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when I said I would be.”
The sad little ache that started to form when he didn’t show up starts to ease. I bite my lip. “The guy had headlights on his Crocs.” And I feel rotten after spending ten minutes with him, but I don’t mention that.
