Chapter Seven
Lottie
I am not prepared for the effect of Anthony’s smile.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters—still smiling—and laughter tumbles from my mouth. I haven’t felt this carefree in ages.
Maybe it’s the spikes of grass coating his pants or the hair sticking up in every direction. Maybe it’s the risk he took with a suit he can’t even get cleaned in this town. Maybe it’s just him.
Perish the thought. I can’t let myself think this way. “Be right back.”
Inside the backdoor, I grab a towel, then pour lemonade from the pitcher I prepared for Felicity after lunch.
It’s an odd Sunday. Usually I have lunch with my family, but Easton slept the whole morning, Mom said. Something about overworking himself. I believe it. I also suspect his faith is…struggling. He wouldn’t be the first in our family. Probably not the last.
Amelia met up with a group of friends in Des Moines for some impromptu high school reunion, and Blaine was invited to lunch with her boss. The look on Felicity’s face when I told her no lunch at the farm today tore at my heart. I set up the slip-and-slide to soften the blow.
Never imagined it would soften Mr. Suits from next door, too.
“Here.” I hand him the towel and tell myself I should glance away. The wet shirt sticks to the planes of his chest. Somebody makes good use of an Atlanta gym membership.
“Come on, Mom!” Felicity tugs on my arm. “Go with me!”
Dang it. I told her I didn’t plan to get wet. Anthony threw those plans to the wind with one look.
“Hold on a sec, hun.” I hold out a glass of lemonade. Anthony tosses the towel over his shoulder, his eyes meeting mine in one unguarded second. My breath sputters at the intensity in his eyes.
“Thank you.” His voice is deep and soft, almost husky. It holds something I can’t define. Something I definitely shouldn’t. I shove the cup into his hand, which is a mistake.
Our skin connects. My callused hand against his. His is softer but very much masculine, and my stomach curls like a coiled cow’s tail. I jerk my hand away, knocking against the glass so that lemonade spills over the rim and seeps down the sides.
I don’t apologize as I back away from him. I clench my fist at my side. The skin tingles where our hands touched, and feelings ricochet inside of me with alarming strength.
“Well, I declare, I do not believe my eyes!”
Anthony flings around at the voice of Doris, and I peer around him. Not only Doris. My mom stands beside her at the back corner of my house. Her eyes are wide—and pleased.
“You two enjoying yourselves?” she says, her tone drenched in suggestion.
I’ve never seen Anthony blush until now. Red washes up his neck until his ears can put a ripe tomato to shame. Doris is tapping her toes on the grass, and Anthony scratches his head.
“We were just—Lottie set up this thing—Felicity asked—I decided to give it a try.”
He is floundering. Floundering. I’m gonna go with the theory he’s never been this lost for words before, which is adorable. And the fact that I find a bumbling, blundering man adorable is problematic.
Good thing he doesn’t belong here. He’ll be gone before I know it. If I can only put some distance between us before he leaves to ensure my heart won’t leave with him whenever he does.
Clutching his suit coat and glasses, he flees the scene without a goodbye, disappearing around the corner of the house with Doris. Out of sight—but not out of earshot, as Doris loudly proclaims, “If you don’t ask our Lottie out, I’ll evict you. I see the way you look at her, and it isn’t right.”
Now, it’s my face burning as Mom chuckles and steps closer to palm my cheek. “For once, Doris and I are in agreement about something.”
“Mo-om! You can’t be serious.”
She shrugs. “Why not? You’re single. He’s single. You guys get along, which I didn’t expect at first. That whole opposites-attracting thing.”
“I can’t, Mom.” I bark out the words and spin around. “Call me if you need me, Fel.”
Her face falls, and I know I’ll have to make it up to her later, but she doesn’t complain. She lets out a whoop and flops onto the slip-and-slide for another trip down the backyard. I stalk around the house and into my open garage. On the back wall hangs a dart board. Blindly, I grab a fistful of darts from the cubby where I keep them on my workbench and let one fly. It misses. I send another one, my eyes narrowed. Bullseye.
“All I’m saying, sweetie, is that John’s been gone a long time. You’re alone, and you don’t have to be.”
But in fact, I do. “You don’t understand.” I snap my hand back and release. Another miss. I’m not usually this sloppy, but I’m distracted. In so many ways. Why did Anthony have to come over?
Actually…why did he? Does he like me?
Longing snaps to life within me. This cannot be happening. I cannot fall for the grump who doesn’t belong next door. Even if he’s not as grumpy as he wants people to believe. I just can’t.
But how can I explain myself? Mom doesn’t know I’ve been funneling John’s monthly support checks to Easton. She’d never approve. It’s not her business, anyway. It’s my money. Mine and Felicity’s. Felicity has her needs met, and that’s what matters. After Felicity, the farm is top priority. I can’t let some out-of-towner come in like a derecho storm and cause massive destruction to all the crops in my life.
Silence is thick between me and my mom as I aim and throw, aim and throw. I run out of darts and pluck them from the board and start over.
“You don’t understand,” I whisper again. Mom puts her hand on my arm.
“Not all men are like John. Or your father.”
My hands falling to my sides, I face her. “I know that, Mom.”
Her eyes search my face, and I can only hope she doesn’t read me as well as usual. “Then give Anthony a chance, sweetie.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Maybe he doesn’t want a chance. He doesn’t even belong here.”
A throat clears. Of course Anthony is back, standing in my garage, clean, dry, and looking generally amazing. And of course he heard me. My face is hot again, and I glare at my mom.
“Well.” She doles out a smug smile. “I’ll leave you two…to yourselves.” As she passes Anthony, she gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Make sure to bring him by the farm soon, Lottie.”
I want to melt into a puddle on the cracked cement floor. “I’m sorry,” I croak and peek at Anthony when I’m sure my mom is gone. He’s stroking his thumb across his upper lip, and I do not want to think about his lips.
He says nothing, only takes several steps toward me. I move with him, backward, into the depth of my garage.
Shouldn’t we be moving outside? Toward daylight? Other people? The public?
“Darts, is it?” His sights are set on my dartboard, not me, and I allow myself a quiet but deep intake of air.
“One of my stress relievers.”
He fingers a dart where I dumped the pile, then picks one up. “Do I stress you out, Lottie?”
My face heats so fast, I see a red haze. “My m-m-mom.” Can I please close my dysfunctional jaw? I swallow and try again. “My mother was stressing me out. She doesn’t understand real life anymore. Maybe she’s lived on a farm too long?”
This is my sad attempt at a joke, and to his credit, Anthony gives me his second smile of the day.
“Neither does Aunt Doris.” He turns back to the dartboard, his eyebrows dropping low in focus before he flexes, holding the dart in position. My eyes are drawn to his arm. He’s never worn a short-sleeve shirt before in my presence. This red Polo is giving me an eyeful of muscle I could only imagine being under that suit coat.
When he releases the dart, it hisses as it flies through the air, then ping! The dart sinks into home—in the bullseye, right next to mine.
“Good one.”
He jerks his chin up at my words, then turns to face me, folding those arms over his chest. Suits or not, he’s not the Miss Priss I originally pegged him for.
“We’ll never get them off our backs if we don’t humor them.”
Not the words I’m expecting. My mouth opens slowly, my brain struggling to catch up. “What are you suggesting?”
Why does he look so calm, so matter-of-fact, when my heart is trying to cartwheel straight up my esophagus?
“A date.” He holds up his finger. “One and only one date.”
I press a hand to my throat, trying to push my heart back down. “A fake date?”
His half-beat pause is telling. My heart thunders in my chest.
“Yeah. A fake date.” His eyes don’t meet mine head-on. Does he want it to be real? If so, he must have his own reasons—like me—that it can’t be.
When I don’t answer, he looks perturbed. “What, am I that bad? I’ll be a gentleman and pay.” He throws in a wink, and I’m a goner.
“Oh, fine. One fake date to pacify the meddling mothery women in our lives.”
He nods, face impassive. Is he pleased about a date with me or resigned to this turn of events neither of us asked for? “Are you free tomorrow evening?”
“Not until seven. I have a piano lesson to give after work.”
“Seven’s fine.” He moves past me, then pauses in the garage doorway. “Do you like pho?”
“Pho?” I repeat. “Never had it. But I don’t have time to go all the way to Des Moines for a fake date.”
“All the way to…” Clarity makes his eyebrows rise. “There’s no pho restaurant here, is there?”
A grin begs for release. “No, sir. Not on your life.”
He sighs. “Let me guess. There’s also no dry cleaning service in Red Rock Place.”
“Nope.”
His eyes rake over me. “If you and my mom weren’t both here, I’m not sure this place would be worth a dime. See you tomorrow, Lottie.”
“Bye,” I call out in a strangled voice. Why did he have to go and lump me in with his mom, as if I matter that much to him? Right after he asked me on a fake date?
My heart is creeping up my throat again.
Go back where you belong. I swallow frantically. I need that ticker to get me through this so-not-fake date tomorrow.
What am I doing? What did I agree to?
“It’s fake, Lottie. It’s just…fake.”
Only…I don’t want it to be fake.