Page 22 of Matchmaking On The Menu

I adjust my grip without thinking. Right, there it is. The bolt loosens cleanly. I huff out a quiet breath. There’s a shift in my chest, small and almost unnoticeable.

“I’m Beverly, by the way.”

“Mm-hmm.” I stiffen and wait for the inevitable question of reciprocation, but she’s so involved in her own stories she doesn’t think to ask. Thankfully. But then…

“You’re not from here.”

“Nope.”

“I knew it. You’ve got that… look.”

I glance up. “What look?”

She smiles.

“Dangerously handsome with a voice that should come with a warning label.”

I freeze. “A warning label?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she says. “You sound like one of those narrators. You know. The ones in those very inappropriate audiobooks.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “I haven’t been privy to those audiobooks yet. So, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, delighted. “Their voices are always deep and smooth. Slightly sinful. Honestly, if you asked me to do something questionable, I’d probably agree before thinking it through.”

Alrighty. I tighten the last bolt. “Is that so?” I mutter because what else do I say?

I stand, wiping my hands on my jeans.

“Tire’s good.”

She beams like I just performed a miracle. “You’re a lifesaver. You must come to the harvest festival as thanks.”

“I’m good,” I say automatically.

“Oh, nonsense. The whole town will be there. Food, music. My daughter, Peyton, needs a bit of convincing, but she might come home for the festival. She’s gorgeous, by the way. You could meet her.”

“Noted.” I’m honestly stumped for anything else to say. I could literally be a serial killer and this woman is pimping me out to her daughter.

“And there’s a masquerade,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

That makes me pause.

“A masquerade?”

“Yes!” she says. “Everyone wears masks. It’s a whole thing. You’re not supposed to recognize anyone. It’s very exciting.”

I tilt my head. A disguise. No expectations. I doubt I’d be recognized in this small town, but it’s good to know that possibility could be completely eliminated. No one would know who I am. Or expect me to deliver.

“Huh.”

She smiles like she’s just won and hops in the front seat. “You want a ride?” I can’t miss the double entendre. Interesting, she’s trying to set me up with her daughter and still flirts with me. I wonder if it’s a small-town thing.

“Nah, I’m good. Thank you. Don’t forget to get the flat repaired.”

She waves a hand and giggles. “That’s what husbands are for, right?”

I smile instead of shaking my head. This is getting even more interesting.