Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(27)
Author: Mimi Strong

Dalton tossed the next stone, and then another, not waiting for me to take a turn. He threw the stones harder and harder, grunting with effort, but he couldn’t beat my record of eight.

A vehicle approached on the road behind us, tires crunching on the gravel road. The brief spotlight of the headlights as Vern turned the car around momentarily blinded me, taking my night vision. In the darkness, I got to my feet and started moving toward the waiting car.

Dalton got to his feet and carefully swiped the rocks and dirt from his pants. I could hear his hands swooshing on the fabric. Still, he hadn’t said anything to me.

And what was there to say? Marry me for good publicity? Because you stupidly signed a contract agreeing to do ANYTHING if you blurted out my secrets?

I walked up to the car in silence. Dalton jogged up ahead of me and stood in front of the car door.

“You’ll think about my offer?” he asked.

“Offer? You mean your demand?”

“Think about it.”

“I don’t have to think about anything. The agreement I signed says I’ll do ANYTHING so that’s what I’ll do. Tell me what day to show up, and I’ll be there.”

“Are you sure?”

He was still blocking the door. I just wanted to get in the car and go home, away from Dalton and the hypnotic hold he had over me. I could pretend I thought the wedding was a nuisance, and that I didn’t want it to be for real, but that wasn’t entirely true.

I mean, really.

Marry the swoon-worthy Dalton Deangelo?

What girl wouldn’t?

“Whatever.” I waved my hand for him to move away from the car door.

“You’ll marry me?”

“Should I wear my hair up, or down? I’m thinking up. When are you thinking we do this? Saturday? I’ve got the day off work.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad you have Saturday off work. I’ll send Vern to pick you up at your house as early as you can manage. How’s six?”

“Sure, six.” Like I was going to sleep at all the night before.

“You’re the best.” He leaned down to kiss me.

I held a hand up between us. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

“Right. I guess I just got swept up in the moment.”

“I’ll kiss you when they do the kiss-the-bride thing.”

“That’s all I get?”

“Dalton, you’d better watch yourself. You only want me because I’m running away from you, but I’m not playing a game, so you’d better watch out.”

“Watch out for what?”

“You chase me because I run, but one of these days I’m going to run right into your arms, and then you’ll find out exactly what kind of man you are.”

I grabbed the door’s handle and used the door to shove him forcefully out of the way. I pulled the door shut quickly behind me and said to Vern, “Drive.”

Vern did as instructed.

After a few minutes, Vern said through the opening, “I haven’t been to that pie place. Chloe’s, I think it’s called?”

“Chloe’s Pie Shack?”

“If you insist,” he said chirpily. “Or I could take you straight home, if you’d like, but I’ll admit I’d like to try their famous pie, and it’s no fun to go alone.”

“I usually go there with Shayla, and we get two flavors and split them so we get a bit of each.”

“Shall we swing by the house and pick her up on the way?”

“No, Vern. We’ll go, just the two of us. I wouldn’t want to share you with her.”

“Very well, then.”

Smiling, I turned and looked back out the rear window of the car. We were miles from Dalton’s cabin by now, but turning and looking back helped, somehow.

The things I’d said to him as I was leaving—about him only chasing me because I kept running away—I wondered if it was true. People say that about men, but they also say little boys in school pull your pigtails because they like you.

After a quiet drive, we pulled into the parking lot for Chloe’s Pie Shack, which shares a building with Burt’s Burger Barn (Burt is Chloe’s father). The place was busy for a Wednesday night, but Vern and I got a nice table in the corner. A few people smiled our way, probably thinking I was out with my father. I scanned the restaurant for familiar faces, but didn’t see anyone I knew by name. (Contrary to what some people think, not everyone in a small town knows everyone else.)

A redheaded boy around sixteen came by with our menus and two skyscraper-tall, thin glasses of ice water.

“You’re one of Adrian’s girlfriends,” the boy said. “He’s not working here anymore.”

“I know,” I said, giving him the stop-talking-now stare.

Vern and I looked over the menus and ordered the Mile-High Lemon Meringue, and the Choco-Ruby, the latter being a raspberry-rhubarb combination with chocolate lattice on top.

We mostly talked about the food and restaurant. Vern felt the sugar dispensers and chrome napkin holders were “perfect.” I suggested we hold the wedding reception there. He barely twitched an eyebrow, but didn’t say more.

The Pie Shack was warm with laughter and body heat. Part-way through the pie, I took off my jacket, which was the red-checked one Dalton had loaned me. I’d forgotten I was still wearing it, and I’d forgotten about the ring, which was still in the box, in the pocket. My finger twitched, as though my finger knew about the ring and craved gold and diamonds. Dalton was rich, so the ring would definitely be impressive.

Vern asked me what I studied in college, then I asked about his background. To my surprise, he’d been a commercial pilot for a couple of small airlines before he got into his current line of work. He’d enjoyed flying, but never got accustomed to the changes in air pressure from going up and down several times a day, day after day.

“Your digestive system shuts down up there,” he said as he chased the last few crumbs around the plate. “And I enjoy digestion too much.”

“Me, too.”

The waiter came by, and Vern said to me, “What pie should we order to take home for your housemate?”

I glanced over at the specials board and ordered the Spooky Custard Berry for Shayla.

I hadn’t thought about getting takeout for Shayla, but Vern really impressed me with his thoughtfulness. It made me wonder how much worse Dalton would be at dating if he didn’t have some coaching from Vern.

We left the restaurant, and on the drive home, I asked Vern, “Did you pick out the engagement ring?”