Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ASH
I 'm running late meeting Rusty at the diner, which is nothing new. What is new is the fact that Rusty still hasn't responded to my texts this morning calling him my "lovah."
Was it rude? Did I cross a line? Was the thought so disgusting to him, he couldn't bring himself to even text a puking emoji back? He was so good at faking the other day, I assumed the text would be hilarious! And … cute, too. Rusty always makes me feel like everything I do is adorable.
My fingers tap against my steering wheel faster than a stenographer types, and I chew on the inside of my lip.
I'm not used to feeling self-conscious with him.
What's changed?
The radio is on in the background, and one of my favorite songs comes on, so I turn it up. The DJ is speaking over the acoustic intro.
"I know plenty of people are angry that the tour is already sold out, but we have two tickets to the Columbia concert up for grabs for the first caller who can tell us YouTube sensation Lucy Jane's first viral hit.
" Double or Nothing ," I yell at the radio, although this is such a gimme, anyone could get it.
"And now," the DJ continues, "here's the first single from her new album: Strawberry Fields for Never."
I'm singing along as I approach the stop sign on Poplar, but a shirtless man catches my eye.
A shirtless Chick Hanks, to be accurate.
I turn down the music and call through the open window of my Subaru. "Nice tummy waffles, Chick!"
He waves at me before shoving a hose into a hole in his otherwise immaculate backyard. He leaves the hose and runs over to another hole in the yard.
I know I don’t have time, but curiosity gnaws at me, so I pull over and watch. Chick grabs a burlap bag and stands over the hole eagerly.
"What are you looking for, a leprechaun?"
Before he can answer, a gopher pops out … of a different hole.
"Dagnab it!" he screams, chasing after the gopher. But it scurries away too fast for him and disappears into another of the holes. "I'm gonna fill these holes with cement!" he yells to the gopher. "See how you like my yard then!"
I purse my lips to hold back a smile. "You really do have a lovely yard, Chick."
"Oh, go on," he fumes. "Git."
I git.
I'm thinking about gophers when I pull into a spot on Maple Street right in front of the Jane & Co. office. I pull out my phone as I walk down the street to the diner and skirt past people without paying attention to anyone. How do you get rid of gophers ?
I'm looking up humane "gas" bombs as a server directs me to my usual table. "Hey sugar," she says, "is Rusty joining you?"
My head flies up. "Huh? He's not here?"
"No, but I'll leave a menu for him, too. I'll be back with your sweet tea."
"Thank you!"
I sit and instantly pull up my phone.
Rusty still hasn't responded to my joke. Is he okay? Or have I … broken him? Broken us ?
My lungs constrict painfully. I cannot lose Rusty.
The bell over the front door rings, and I hold my breath. But it's not him. The next chime isn't, nor is the one after that.
I go back to our text thread and obsessively read through days and weeks and months of messages to see if there's any clue for what went wrong, what I did, how I drove away the best man? —
"Hey gorgeous," a warm, alluring voice says before the mouth attached to it kisses my cheek next to my ear.
The lips pull the sensation from my limbs and body and shift it all to the nerve endings in my cheek. In an instant, those nerve endings have developed a preternatural ability to sense every graze and every stir of breath.
Wowza.
"What was that for?" I ask breathlessly.
Instead of answering me, he grabs my hand and tugs me to my feet. I hear a few gasps in the diner as Rusty wraps his arms around me, holding me close. And because I'm Olaf and I like warm hugs, I put my arms around his waist and get close.
Rusty's nose touches my cheek as he whispers into my hair, "Philip is still in town and showed up at the Canasta club with a sob story about trying to get you back," he says while we sway in a full body embrace that has everyone in the diner staring at us. "The whole town will find out about us any second now, and I don't know what you want me to do? — "
"Kiss me."
Rusty spins me into a dip, and his face nears mine. With his bright hazel eyes dancing, he touches his lips softly to mine in a sweet, light kiss.
The kind your kindergarten boyfriend gives you. In kindergarten .
I smirk, and the movement makes his lips bump into my teeth. "Is that it?"
"I'm trying to be respectful," he says, and he's smiling, too, and that only makes me smile more now we're just teeth bumping into teeth.
"This weak little peck isn't going to sell anything," I say. I plunge my hand into his hair, knocking his hat off, and I fuse our mouths together for a kiss hot enough to melt the polar ice caps.
Oh. My. Lanta.
I'm kissing Rusty.
Rusty is kissing me.
Is it supposed to be this fun? The only other guy I ever kissed enough to judge was Philip, and it always felt like he was taking something from me. My pride, my will. He was so demanding. Even during those first few months where he was on his best behavior, I felt so lucky ! Like I was trading in my quirky card to finally be accepted by some imaginary in-crowd.
This is nothing like that.
This is delightful.
Delicious.
This is a shot of Red Bull, giving me wings.
This is …
Fake.
Everyone in the diner is cheering as Rusty pulls me back up. Someone tosses Rusty's hat back, and he uses it to cover his face while I bury mine in his neck. Rusty laughs, and I try to.
No, not try. I do . Rusty isn't playing me. This isn't a game, but it can be fun. It should be, dang it! That kiss was dynamite! I refuse to worry that Rusty is somehow rejecting me by fake dating me. He's doing it to help me. To protect me from another Philip fallout.
He's fake dating me because he cares so much about me.
Why wouldn't I appreciate that?
"I'm sorry," Rusty says into his hat with endearing uncertainty.
"Uh, no," I say. "You don't apologize after kissing someone like that. You say 'you're welcome.'"
He drops his hat as people surround us. "Are you thankin' me?"
I laugh.
"Could y'all stop flirtin' already and tell us what in the world this is?" Tia gestures to us. "When did this happen?"
"I don't want to speak for Ash," Rusty says, "but it's been brewin' for a long time. We only decided to take things public this weekend, though."
"And?" Tia asks. "That's not good enough! What is a 'long time?'"
Rusty's face still hasn't cooled from our kiss. "Oh, stop. Y'all know I've been in love with her since the minute she rolled into town last spring."
"Yeah,” Tia says, “but I didn't realize she knew."
Huh?
"She didn't," I say. “Rusty’s a man of surprises.”
"When did you start to like him?" Tia asks.
I don't know when she pulled us down, but the three of us are sitting at the table, and half of the diner is gathered around like we're on a talk show. I didn't realize how invested people would be in this, but it makes sense. Rusty is remarkable. He's the guy you call when you find a snake on your porch or your battery dies in your car. I don't just mean me, either. I mean the town. He's also a hot commodity, whether he knows it or not. The single women in the room must despise me for taking him off the market.
All eyes are on me.
Wait, why are they all looking at me?
Rusty grabs my hand. "Yeah, gorgeous. When did you start to like me?"
Bless this man.
I'm about to make something up when the image of him asleep across my desk last night flashes in my head. The smell of eucalyptus and mint. The feeling of pressing my thumb between his eyebrows and smoothing away his worry.
"A million little moments," I say, because the best lies are mingled with truth, right?
"Oh, come on. There has to have been a moment," Tia says. Why is she pressing me so hard? And why does it feel wrong to lie when this whole thing is fake?
"It was at the wedding," a voice says behind me. Sonny Luciano.
Sonny, Parker, and Lou have all arrived, and all three are wearing the smirkiest smirks that have ever smirked. Their expressions scream we’ve been waiting for this. Are all of my friends secretly actors, or something?
Everyone is immediately dazzled by Sonny, who gives Rusty a fist bump.
"Which wedding?" Tia asks Sonny.
"My grandma's a couple months ago. I was telling Ash that I thought Rusty's tummy waffles were better than mine? — "
"What are tummy waffles?" Chick Parkinson asks.
"They're abs, Chick. Try to keep up," Nana P. says. Chick sucks in his belly.
"Ash and Rusty were dancing, and when the song ended, she came over and sat next to me, but she kept looking over at Rusty," Lou says. "It was like she was trying to figure something out. "
"What was it?" Tia asks.
"If his abs really were that hot," I say, and everyone laughs. And I mean everyone, Rusty included. "I'm teasing, Hotcakes," I say, although the memory of touching his torso the other day flashes like lightning in my mind. I blink it away and look at Rusty's strong, handsome face and the goodness that radiates from him. "I asked myself, if I could pick anyone in the world to fall in love with, who would it be? And the answer was clear as day: Rusty."
Tia covers her mouth with her hands. "Are you jokin' me right now? You literally picked the man you wanted to fall in love with and then fell for him?"
If only. "Not quite. But it made me see him differently."
Why does Rusty have a pained look on his face?
And why do I feel that pain directly in my heart?
"What in the Sam Hill is going on here?" a voice booms from the kitchen.
We all spin around to see a fuming man in a Hawaiian shirt.
The owner: Bill.
Rusty clears his throat. "We'll take our lunch to go."