Page 51 of The Fake Out

He took a brownie, ate it in three bites, and smiled. “That was great.”

Sue elbowed Mama. “Did you hear that, Lucy? He said it was great.” She turned her attention to me. “Mae, he’s a looker, for sure. I’d let him get to second base, at least.”

“I might let him go for a home run, if you know what I mean,” Iris said, just in case we didn’t.

“Iris,” Mama snapped. “Watch yourself.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “I would.”

“Baseball gets all the good innuendos,” Chris said. And then he winked at them.

Which caused my mother to giggle and Sue to mutter something that sounded like, “Batter up.”

“Time to go. We are going.” I pushed Chris toward the door. “I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

“You can keep her out as late as you want, Chris,” Mama called. “Don’t rush back on my account. You two have fun.”

When I closed the door behind us, Chris stopped on the porch and grinned down at me. “You don’t like roses?”

I shrugged. “Nope. But you didn’t know.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Tulips. Carnations. Lilies. Gerbera daisies. Irises. Peonies. Wildflow—”

“So pretty much any other flower except roses?” Smiling, he brushed a piece of hair from my cheek.

The movement was done so casually I wasn’t quite sure how to react. My cheek buzzed in the spot his finger had touched me though.

“Why did you do that?” I asked. My voice more an accusation than a statement.

“What?”

“Touch my cheek.”

“PDA Clause.”

“We aren’t in public.” I waved a hand wildly around. “There’s no need for a display of affection at the moment.”

He leaned down and whispered. His breath smelled like toothpaste and cinnamon gum and the thought drifted through my brain that I liked that combination an awful lot. Irritated, I reminded my brain I was not interested. At all. “Pretty sure someone is spying on us from that front window.”

I whipped around just in time to see the curtain flutter. “Can we go?”

When we got to his truck, he opened the door for me. “Let me get this straight. You don’t like roses, frogs, or Monopoly?”

“That about sums it up.” I climbed into my seat.

“You are full of surprises.” He leaned a little closer, a smirk lingering at the corners of his mouth. “And, by the way, I like your dress. It suits you.”

“Thank you.” I clicked the seatbelt into place and ignored the curl of pleasure in my stomach at his compliment. “Now let’s get this over with.”

TWENTY-ONE

My name must be John Deere. Because I’m a-tractor-ed to you.

—LAURA B.

“Why do you hate roses?” Chris asked after five solid minutes of awkward silence on our drive into town. It should be noted I was mostly the awkward part.