Page 68 of The Cul-de-Sac War

Evie jerked her head to Bree. Had Evie penciled in her eyebrows properly, everyone would’ve seen them fly to the sky. “Oh yes! The fishing reel! For trout fishing. Yes, indeedy. I did buy that.” She clutched the box to her chest. “Because I want to fish. So badly.”

They stood silent for a moment, Gerald rubbing the back of his neck while it turned red, and Evie batting her lashes at him at 90 miles per hour.

Good grief.

Bree had put the bait in their hands. In their literal hands. All the two of them had to do was take the next step.

Say it.

Bree squinted through the window, willing Gerald to say the words.

Seconds ticked by.

C’mon, man, say it.

SAY. IT.

Bree exhaled and pushed herself off the window. She walked to the stairs, then loudly hopped off the bottom step and marched through the living room like she hadn’t a care in the world. Halfway through, she stopped as though noticing the two of them for the first time. Her leg halted in the air, and she pivoted toward them.

“Oh? What’s that, Evie? Looks like a . . . fishing pole?” Bree set her hands on her hips. Put on her serious face. “Evie, have you got someone to show you how to fish? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of going out to the Holston all alone, when you can’t swim—”

“You can’t swim?” Gerald interjected.

“Of course I can swim—I’m just—” Evie began.

“I can take you out sometime,” Gerald said, quick as a beat and then halting as though realizing what he’d said. “I’d just . . . uh . . . I’d hate to see a lady such as yourself out there, stuck in high water.”

Bree nodded, fingers pressed to her lips. “But can I trust that you will keep my dear, dear friend Evie safe?”

“Oh.” Gerald was nodding. “The safest.”

“I don’t know,” Bree said. She folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe you ought to get some good swimming lessons under your belt first, Evie.”

“Lessons? Oh, well . . .” Gerald had his hat off now and was playing with it in his hands. “I don’t mean to puff myself up, ’course, but I did happen to be on the swim team back in high school. We got third place in state.”

Bree popped her hip out as her eyebrows rose. “Oh really? Is that so?”

“If we could, maybe, find a pool—” Gerald began.

“Like the one that’s open at Virginia High Tuesday through Friday from four to seven and every Saturday from nine to one?” Bree said, and then shrugged. “Because I’ve heard that’s a good one.”

Bree left the two of them and moved to the dining room, knowing her job was done. They could handle the details of their date without her hovering.

With one major checkmark on the day’s to-do list done, Bree snagged her plate from the dining room and moved to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter with her plate and glanced through the window. Chip stood there inside his own house, moving around his own kitchen.

She would’ve surrendered some of her frustration with him, even just momentarily, had the sign not caught her eye.

Still there. Mocking her.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL.

PS: THANKS FOR THE SERENADE

Of course, she was well aware she started the paper-to-window memos. If THIS ISN’T OVER for Bree, then apparently it wasn’t going to be for him either. Bree took a brooding sip of the now lukewarm coffee and began to list Chip’s faults in her head. First the rude driving, then the water line, then the repeated assaults from his dog, then the fact he lied to her about the Invisible Fence, then knocking on her door at three in the morning to give her the fake message that he had moved it, then daring to chuckle to himself every single time something bad happened to her because of him . . .

She wasn’t losing her mind, was she? He really had put up that sign, even if no one else was there to see it. He was toying with her. And what had she done so far? What had been her act against him? Nothing. Just a single, tiny little episode involving music and tap dancing.

If she could just figure out how to drive him half as crazy as he was driving her.