Page 48 of You Fall First

Like what she was doing is any less important.

As if.

Apparently, they grabbed turkey sandwiches at Pickles downtown, then they went to the library for some weekly story hour for kids. I had no idea the librarian even did that. Then again, I’m just a guy who can’t get a four-year-old to touch something other than grilled cheese.

“So, Dutton ate turkey, huh?” I make the turn toward downtown Harvest Hollow, fighting the urge to speed there. “You must be more persuasive than I am.”

“Just a few bites,” Jo says. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

“You’re at the park now?”

“Yep. We’re finally feeding the ducks.” She lowers her voice to a volume I’m guessing Dutton can’t hear. “He totally rejected the idea at first. Voiced a pretty strong objection, actually. That’s why we ended up at the library. And that was after he shot down the rest of my suggestions. Story time was sort of my last-ditch effort.”

“Oof.” I cringe. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“To be honest, I take some small comfort in the fact that I’m not the only one he says no to.”

“Hardly.” She chuckles. “I got plenty of no’s today. And some tears. The poor guy fell and scraped his knee running out of the library.” There’s a beat, then she says, “Hey, Dutton. Are you going to tell Uncle Noah all about your leg full of Band-Aids?”

In the background, Dutton shouts, “I have blood!”

I chuff a laugh. “Can’t wait to hear all about it.” I reach the turnoff that leads directly to the town square. “I’m about five minutes out.”

“See you soon. We’re the ones by the water with the sack of stale bread.”

A smile hits my lips, part relief, part gratitude.

“I’d offer to take you to dinner as a thank you, but at this point, you’re probably done spending time with a preschooler.”

There’s a pause. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind getting a bite with a couple of cowboys. Unless the offer was rhetorical, which is totally fine. You don’t owe me anything.”

“No.” My pulse kicks up a notch. “Not rhetorical at all.”

“Dinner it is then,” she says. “Just you, me, and Mr. Band-Aid.”

Right. The three of us. A prickle of disappointment hits my gut.

This is not a date.

“You sure you aren’t too busy?” I hedge, giving both of us an out.

“Either way,” she chirps. “A girl’s gotta eat.”

Chapter Thirteen

Jo

Dinner is, in a word, unromantic, and this shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

The goal, after all, was simply for Noah to thank me, which he did profusely.

For a solid hour.

Thank you for stepping up on such short notice.

Thank you for bandaging Dutton up.