Chapter 18 – Emergency Romance Book
Rosalie
Despite knowing where this cooking class was being held and what we were cooking, I was not prepared. I like to have fun, but this is a party.
Apparently, it’s BYOW, as in, bring your own wine, red or white.
We were all carded at the door to make sure we’re over twenty-one, and the class provided one complimentary glass which I’ve barely touched.
However, several class members brought their own bottles and shared them around.
The two older ladies behind us are big Frank Sinatra fans.
Loud fans, and getting louder by the minute.
It’s really weird, since we’re basically sitting in what looks like my high school chemistry lab.
Trey has joined them in singing, now that his fourth glass has hit his system. If I hadn’t driven here separately, I’d be freaking out right now. I’m just relieved they all plan to share rides home using a designated driver app I also wasn’t told about.
“Why didn’t you tell me this was a drinking thing?” I ask Trey once he gets past the chorus and doesn’t know the rest of the words. I guide him back toward our shared workspace. He leans against the counter rather than attempting to get back up on his stool. Good call.
“This is a lot of drinking,” he admits. “I’m not usually a wine guy, but, when in Rome!”
He’s incredibly honest when he’s tipsy. Maybe too honest. He talked the entire time we made linguini with marinara sauce.
I now know he got fired from his high school lifeguarding job when he started a conga line on the way up to the slide and four people tripped.
I know he’s killing it in sales, and his boss gave him a secret pay raise.
I know his mom thinks I’m too tall. I’m the same height as Trey, five foot five.
Height is not an issue for me, but platform Converse sneakers are, I’ve decided.
They make him look like he’s wearing hockey skates, and not in a hot way.
Not that I’m into hockey romance books, but I’ve seen the covers.
Being completely sober, I do not share my opinion on his footwear. For all I know, his mom picked them out.
Trey raises an eyebrow and leans into me. “I didn’t know we’d be drinking, but Glenda back there showed me how to download the app to get home. She’s my best friend. Well, maybe not my best, best friend. She doesn’t have a cookie apron on.”
“Good point. What are you going to do with your car?”
“That’s the best part. The app sends a driver to drive your car home. Glenda doesn’t drive. She’s gonna ride home with me. Do you think this date is going well?”
“Ours or your date with Glenda?”
He laughs like this is the funniest thing I’ve ever said. “Ours, silly.”
“It’s going well.”
It is not. But honestly, I’ve had worse.
The food was good, I haven’t spilled anything on my cute sweetheart-neck blouse (thanks to my apron covering it up), I’ve gotten plenty of time to experiment with the pasta machine, and nobody’s been rude to me.
An even bigger plus? In thirty minutes, I’ll be on my way, and I’ll have a cookie apron from my new best bud.
Also, the night is young. It’s only half past seven. There’s a lot to be grateful for.
Kambryn was so right about what to bring Trey as a gift. She has so much gym swag at home, and he seems to love the bright orange drawstring backpack I brought him with the matching water bottle. Speaking of…
“Trey, do you want me to fill up this water bottle for you? You’re going to have quite the hangover tomorrow if you don’t drink some water and get something to eat. You’ve barely touched your pasta.”
He looks down at his plate and wrinkles his nose. “Wanna know a secret?”
“Not really.”
“I like boxed macaroni and cheese better.” He turns around and puts his palms down on Glenda’s workstation dramatically, making her and her friend giggle. “Do you ladies like mac and cheese?”
They all start singing about pizza pie and love again, and I pull out my emergency romance book from the large slot in my purse where I keep it. Kambryn made so much fun of me for bringing it along, but who’s laughing now?
I’m just getting to the good part where the cowboy and his new bride run into town for supplies. All the busybodies give her a hard time in the millinery shop, and he pulls one of those famous you’re-talking-to-my-wife moments. Tell ‘em, Dusty.
But then Trey sidles up next to me, and says in a low voice, “Pardon me, ma’am. It’s clean up time. That there looks like a purty good book with all the lassoing and whatnot.”
I am officially pulled out of the moment and maybe ruined for mail-order-bride books forever. Thanks a lot, Trey.
In his defense, the book is called Lassoing a Lady. Which makes no sense. Who would want to be lassoed like a cow?
I laugh when he starts riding an imaginary horse around the room, at least until I glance over at the doorway and see Liam leaning against it with an unreadable expression on his face.