Chapter 18 ZACHERY HATES ON A MEET-CUTE
Chapter 18
Z ACHERY H ATES ON A M EET -C UTE
I shouldn’t do that.
Sing to her. Dance with her.
I keep those parts of myself tamped down. Breaking them out feels wrong for someone who is a notorious rake. I generally aim to woo women just enough to keep them on my arm, but not so much that they mistake my attention for real feelings.
Those I keep to myself.
And yet, as I change into jeans and a short-sleeved button-down for the festival, I realize that behaving that way comes naturally with Kelsey.
I’m not trying to convince her to enjoy her time with me. We just do.
I don’t have to overcompensate for my lack of recent IMDb entries. I can simply be Zachery Carter, employee to Desdemona Lovechild. Just like her.
It’s easy.
But the next part won’t be. Unlike the first time she forced a meet-cute at the beaver lodge, I’ll be nearby to witness this one.
And I’ll have to let her succeed.
If he’s worthy of her.
No, that’s not going to happen. Nobody is worthy.
But at least I can protect her from the bad ones. The creeps, the stalkers, the assholes, the entitled.
Ninety percent, I figure.
I have no doubt I fall into that category most of the time. But not with Kelsey.
I am at my best with her.
The bathroom door pops open. “Oh!” she says, her eyes wide. “I suppose we should be careful about this, since I end up right in your room.”
I picture her tangled up with some Dillville buffoon, and me innocently walking in. I flash with an instant of rage.
“We better pretend the other door doesn’t exist,” I tell her, mostly as a warning to myself.
“Right.” She comes into my room to sit on a chair and watch me fold clothes. “So how do we want to play this?”
“The festival?”
“It can’t look like we’re together or else I can’t meet-cute with someone else.”
“I could be your brother.”
Her face scrunches in the cute Kelsey way. “I guess it’s all about body language. But if I see a prospect, we should part ways.”
“Acceptable. I’ll make myself scarce.”
“And don’t be too obviously, well, you know, you .” She snatches a ball cap out of my open suitcase. “Wear your celebrity disguise. Livia recognized you straight off. If we get a crowd of fawning women, I’ll have to ditch you.”
“Right.” It’s rare I get recognized these days, but once it happens, there’s no way to return to anonymity. Even people who don’t know who you are get caught up in the rush of meeting someone who might have been famous at one point. I tug the Lakers hat low on my brow.
She frowns. “Do you have any other hats? You’re telegraphing we’re from California.”
“I do.” I shuck the Lakers hat and pull out a nondescript black one. “Better?”
“Definitely. Sunglasses?”
She wants me to go full celebrity incognito. It’s fine. My main pair are in the car, but I have a spare. I dig around the side wall of the bag until I find the case.
I slip them on. “Now am I good?”
She nods. “With the change of clothes, maybe Livia won’t out you instantly.”
“If we see her, you can scoot away so she doesn’t immediately make the connection.”
Kelsey elbows me. “And I’m conveniently out of the picture so you can make your connection.”
I want to point out that this would defeat the purpose of her moving aside, but I let it go. Kelsey logic is not to be corrected. In the end, she’s always right.
But she’s wrong about me wanting to make a connection with Livia. Dallying with anyone in this small town is wrong on about sixty-five levels. The most important of which is, I can’t be distracted if Kelsey needs me.
It’s why I’m here.
I hold out my elbow, and Kelsey takes it. She’s wearing the yellow dress and tennis shoes and looks like purest sunshine. The bow in her hair is an innocent touch.
Dillville is going to eat her up.
It’s my job to make sure nobody eats her alive.
We head down the stairs together. The front door automatically locks behind us, so we cross the street and enter the festival grounds. As we approach, she lets go of me to start our brotherly charade.
Booths are set up, mostly temporary pavilions you can pick up at a sporting goods store. A few have added rustic details, like a rough-hewn wood table or wrapping the metal poles with fabric.
It’s green as far as the eye can see, with plenty of pickles. There are cartoon ones, inflatables, and others constructed from papier-maché. Most of the workers at the booths are dressed head to toe in green and white, and some wear period costumes, like Livia.
The festival surrounds the playscape at the center of the park, with the line of booths backed by trees. It moves on to the baseball field adjacent to the park, and the concession stand seems to be the source of power for a temporary stage with a green awning.
A barbershop quartet is in the process of testing the sound. They all wear round flat-topped hats with striped shirts. Green, of course.
“This is absolutely delightful,” Kelsey says, her hands clasped together. She looks like Sandy from Grease with her big bow pulling back her bright hair. And all that yellow. Even the white shoes. I wonder if she did it on purpose.
But I don’t ask.
“It looks early to scout a future husband.” There’s precious little in terms of a crowd yet. Most of the people are setting up to work.
“He could be serving.”
“Hard to take a stroll with him, then.”
She frowns. “True. But I’ll keep my options open.”
“What flavor of meet-cute are you after?”
“I don’t think I want to trip and fall again.” Her cheeks pink up.
“What does that leave? There’s no elevator. We decided the confrontation one was risky.”
She studies her surroundings. “There was picking up the wrong order. That would be easy here if he’s in line to get something. I could order right behind him, and then pick up his instead of mine.”
“That sounds adorable.” I hate it already.
“There’s also getting rescued.” She points at the midway games, throwing darts at balloons, knocking over pins, and other feats of skill that are likely rigged.
“Are you going to put yourself in the line of the squirt gun?” One of the games is a race where you move your horse by squirting water into a target.
“No, just by losing and being sad about it. See if someone will step right up and win for me.”
“That one seems unlikely.”
She clasps both hands together next to her cheek and flutters her eyelashes.
“That’s good,” I admit.
“See?” She drops the act.
“We’ve watched entirely too many romantic movies.”
She laughs. “We have.”
We walk the festival for a good hour, eating sandwiches on pickle bread—I wanted to call it “dill dough,” but Kelsey read my mind and warned me that I better not dare start gossip. We drink sweetened pickle juice and try pickle fudge.
But nobody seems quite right. Too young. Too old. Too married.
I’m pleased, actually.
Then both of us see him at the same time. Kelsey halts walking.
He’s buying a paper bag of pickle popcorn from a vendor. His sandy hair falls near his eye. He has a decent build and dresses well enough in jeans and a collared shirt.
And no ring. He has a younger girl with him who is clearly his sister. She takes the popcorn from him and runs off. He laughs and shakes his head.
“He loves his baby sister,” Kelsey says, her voice all breathy.
He buys a second bag of popcorn, all smiles with the elderly lady packing it. She blushes as she gives it to him.
So, the women like him.
Damn it.
The bag is spilling over with popcorn, a few kernels falling to the grass.
“I’ve got it,” Kelsey says. “You’re an actor. Follow my lead.”
Ooookay.
She takes off across the grass, gesturing with her hands. “Zach, don’t run off with your girlfriend before I find Dad—OOF!”
She runs smack into Popcorn Boy, knocking a huge amount of the contents of his bag onto the grass.
“Oh, no!” She turns to him. “I’m so sorry! I spilled your popcorn!” She looks up at him with pleading eyes, begging for forgiveness, and I swear to God she missed her calling on the screen.
But I follow her lead. “Way to go, sis. I’m late. I’ll find you in a bit.” And I take off, going only so far as a few booths before pausing and pretending to answer my phone.
“It’s okay,” Popcorn Boy says. “There was more than I expected in there anyway.”
“Can I buy you some more? I feel terrible.”
Watching her doe eyes makes me melt. Popcorn Boy is riveted. He better be.
“It’s fine.” He tilts his head. “Did your brother ditch you?”
“Yeah. It’s fine. We’re on a family trip. I’m not from here.”
“Oh? Where are you from?”
“Alabama, originally. You grow up here?”
Damn, that girl can manage a segue.
“Not quite here. Durango. But it’s close.”
“So you’re visiting, too?”
He grins at her, and I have to force myself to unclench my jaw.
“I am. My family is here as well. I guess our two crews had the same idea.”
“I guess so.” She looks at the popcorn. “I had the pickle fudge. Not my thing. How’s the popcorn?”
“I haven’t tried it. You want to?” He holds out the half-empty bag.
She huffs. “I wasn’t born yesterday. This could be terrible. We’ll take the plunge at the same time.” Her eyes sparkle as she looks at him. That’s not faking. She likes him so far.
I can’t watch.
I walk farther down, where they’re still in my field of vision but I can’t hear their every word.
This job sucks.