Starfire (Erotic Romance) (Peaches Monroe) (13 page)

“Offer? You mean your demand?”

“Think about it.”

“I don’t have to think about anything. The agreement I signed says I’ll do ANYTHING so that’s what I’ll do. Tell me what day to show up, and I’ll be there.”

“Are you sure?”

He was still blocking the door. I just wanted to get in the car and go home, away from Dalton and the hypnotic hold he had over me. I could pretend I thought the wedding was a nuisance, and that I didn’t want it to be for real, but that wasn’t entirely true.

I mean, really.

Marry the swoon-worthy Dalton Deangelo?

What girl wouldn’t?

“Whatever.” I waved my hand for him to move away from the car door.

“You’ll marry me?”

“Should I wear my hair up, or down? I’m thinking up. When are you thinking we do this? Saturday? I’ve got the day off work.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad you have Saturday off work. I’ll send Vern to pick you up at your house as early as you can manage. How’s six?”

“Sure, six.” Like I was going to sleep at all the night before.

“You’re the best.” He leaned down to kiss me.

I held a hand up between us. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

“Right. I guess I just got swept up in the moment.”

“I’ll kiss you when they do the kiss-the-bride thing.”

“That’s all I get?”

“Dalton, you’d better watch yourself. You only want me because I’m running away from you, but I’m not playing a game, so you’d better watch out.”

“Watch out for what?”

“You chase me because I run, but one of these days I’m going to run right into your arms, and then you’ll find out exactly what kind of man you are.”

I grabbed the door’s handle and used the door to shove him forcefully out of the way. I pulled the door shut quickly behind me and said to Vern, “Drive.”

Vern did as instructed.

After a few minutes, Vern said through the opening, “I haven’t been to that pie place. Chloe’s, I think it’s called?”

“Chloe’s Pie Shack?”

“If you insist,” he said chirpily. “Or I could take you straight home, if you’d like, but I’ll admit I’d like to try their famous pie, and it’s no fun to go alone.”

“I usually go there with Shayla, and we get two flavors and split them so we get a bit of each.”

“Shall we swing by the house and pick her up on the way?”

“No, Vern. We’ll go, just the two of us. I wouldn’t want to share you with her.”

“Very well, then.”

Smiling, I turned and looked back out the rear window of the car. We were miles from Dalton’s cabin by now, but turning and looking back helped, somehow.

The things I’d said to him as I was leaving—about him only chasing me because I kept running away—I wondered if it was true. People say that about men, but they also say little boys in school pull your pigtails because they like you.

After a quiet drive, we pulled into the parking lot for Chloe’s Pie Shack, which shares a building with Burt’s Burger Barn (Burt is Chloe’s father). The place was busy for a Wednesday night, but Vern and I got a nice table in the corner. A few people smiled our way, probably thinking I was out with my father. I scanned the restaurant for familiar faces, but didn’t see anyone I knew by name. (Contrary to what some people think, not everyone in a small town knows everyone else.)

A redheaded boy around sixteen came by with our menus and two skyscraper-tall, thin glasses of ice water.

“You’re one of Adrian’s girlfriends,” the boy said. “He’s not working here anymore.”

“I know,” I said, giving him the stop-talking-now stare.

Vern and I looked over the menus and ordered the Mile-High Lemon Meringue, and the Choco-Ruby, the latter being a raspberry-rhubarb combination with chocolate lattice on top.

We mostly talked about the food and restaurant. Vern felt the sugar dispensers and chrome napkin holders were “perfect.” I suggested we hold the wedding reception there. He barely twitched an eyebrow, but didn’t say more.

The Pie Shack was warm with laughter and body heat. Part-way through the pie, I took off my jacket, which was the red-checked one Dalton had loaned me. I’d forgotten I was still wearing it, and I’d forgotten about the ring, which was still in the box, in the pocket. My finger twitched, as though my finger knew about the ring and craved gold and diamonds. Dalton was rich, so the ring would definitely be impressive.

Vern asked me what I studied in college, then I asked about his background. To my surprise, he’d been a commercial pilot for a couple of small airlines before he got into his current line of work. He’d enjoyed flying, but never got accustomed to the changes in air pressure from going up and down several times a day, day after day.

“Your digestive system shuts down up there,” he said as he chased the last few crumbs around the plate. “And I enjoy digestion too much.”

“Me, too.”

The waiter came by, and Vern said to me, “What pie should we order to take home for your housemate?”

I glanced over at the specials board and ordered the Spooky Custard Berry for Shayla.

I hadn’t thought about getting takeout for Shayla, but Vern really impressed me with his thoughtfulness. It made me wonder how much worse Dalton would be at dating if he didn’t have some coaching from Vern.

We left the restaurant, and on the drive home, I asked Vern, “Did you pick out the engagement ring?”

Without pausing, he said, “No. He came up with that himself.”

“I sense disapproval in your voice, Vern.”

He chuckled and pushed the button to jokingly raise the glass between us by a few inches.

~

Vern dropped me off at home, and I ran into the house and up to my room.

Instead of looking at the ring, I folded the red jacket around the box and stuffed everything in a dresser drawer next to my bed. The red foil heart-shaped balloon my family gave me a week earlier had completely deflated, and the crinkled heart gently settled on top of the jacket.

When I woke up Thursday morning, I stared at the closed drawer for a long time.

I didn’t look, though. I left the drawer closed and went to work early.

At the bookstore, I settled into my comfortable routine. Plenty of customers came in to check out the tables of deals on select books. Like most bookstores, we’re able to send back unsold books. They get returned to the distributors. Overstock is not a problem in the book business, except for with a few smaller distributors, where Gordon pays for the books outright, but at a steeper discount to offset the risk. Customers really don’t care about the business model of a retail store, though. If you’re moving locations, they expect a sale, regardless of the economics.

After lunch, our delivery man, Carter, came in with three boxes on his wheeled cart.

“Those can’t be for us,” I said, shaking my head. “No new inventory until the move. I don’t need more things to pack.”

Carter stopped and pretended to have hurt feelings, both hands over his heart. “You’re not happy to see me? I’m crushed.”

The new ink on his arms had healed, and countless bright-hued fish swam up and down Carter’s arm amidst fine, red-gold arm hairs.

“Of course I’m happy to see you.” I smiled and stared up at Carter’s friendly eyes, blue with an inner ring so pale it looked white. He and I had been friendly since he moved to Beaverdale to play guitar and enjoy the small-town life. We’d flirted a few times, but never dated. The topic had only come up once he’d found out I was with Dalton. As I stared up into Carter’s eyes, fringed by pale gold eyelashes, I wondered if he was in my bookstore to further complicate my love life.

“These boxes aren’t for you,” he said.

“I’d celebrate being right, as usual, but people take it the wrong way. Maybe it’s the song and dance I do.”

He grinned. “Do you know I’m the other guy?”

“What other guy?”

“I’m dating Golden, who’s seeing Adrian, who’s—”

“I know the rest!” I put my hands on my hips and looked at Carter through the new filter of him dating Golden. They would make a cute couple.

“My other girl is my guitar, though. My dating life isn’t as exciting as yours. I have thought about asking out Kirsten, from Java Jones, but I don’t know.”

“So, you’re just here to let me know we’re in the same dating chain?”

“And to say hello, because I’ve missed delivering to you.”

His adoring gaze started to feel weird.

Some customers came in the door, putting an additional layer of awkwardness on the conversation.

Carter and I talked a little about the store’s upcoming move, and then he left with the three boxes, which were actually for the music store a few blocks over.

After he was gone, I wondered if he’d come over to ask me on a date, turning our dating chain into a circle. Little did he know I was pretty booked up, what with the upcoming wedding.

~

Ten minutes before closing, Adrian came in, wearing shorts and running shoes with a sleeveless shirt that showed off his long, muscled arms.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said.

I stared at his face, at the light glinting on the short beard growth on his face. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and he had what always looked to me like brown sugar granules along his jaw.

“Of course I’m hungry,” I said. “I’m totally hungry for our… date tonight?”

“You forgot all about me.”

I was standing behind the store’s counter, so I did what I always do and dumped out the pen holder for a good sorting.

“Remind me what we have planned,” I said, smiling down at the pens as I arranged them by color.

“We’re getting a quick bite to eat then hiking out to Phantom Bog.”

“Hiking?” You’d think I’d remember agreeing to something so ominous. “Oh, right. Good thing I’m already wearing my most rugged sneakers. Do I need hiking boots? Because I don’t own hiking boots, so we’ll have to do something else, instead.”

He leaned on the counter and peered over at my footwear. “Nice try, but those are fine.” He paused, his face inches from mine. “Do I get a kiss hello?”

I kissed his cheek and he leaned back again, satisfied. “Want some help closing up shop? You count up the float while I get the sandwich board and lights.”

“Yes, boss.” I started punching the end-of-day codes into the credit card terminal.

As Adrian helped with the closing, I counted up the totals. I had to keep restarting my count because my mind wandered.
This is nice
, I kept thinking. Having Adrian help with closing and winding up the exterior awning for me… it was downright fucking romantic.

What the hell was I doing messing around with Dalton Deangelo when I had the guy of my dreams within reach?

Eyes open, Peaches.

Over the past few whirlwind weeks, I’d forgotten about the promise I’d made to myself many years ago, to keep my damn eyes open. Life isn’t about closing your eyes and making a wish. That way leads to denial, disappointment, danger, and a bunch of other D-words. Smart people keep their eyes open and make their own good fortune.

CHAPTER 13

We got takeout from Burt’s and drove west in Adrian’s mother’s car.

People in Beaverdale will argue over the name of Phantom Bog. Some people say it’s named after the Phantom Orchid, which is native to Washington State. This rare orchid only blooms in conjunction with perfect soil conditions and a specific fungus it has a symbiotic relationship with. Local legend says this chlorophyll-devoid orchid will only blossom near the fecal droppings of Forest Folk.

These local supernaturals are not anything you’d want to encounter in the wilderness, unless you enjoy the company of human-sasquatch-hybrid cannibals. According to local parents, Forest Folk eat the toes of children who don’t clean up their bedrooms, and they have Santa Claus on speed dial. (Unlike regular sasquatch or yeti, Forest Folk have telephones.)

If you happen upon a giant, hairy beast in the local forests, don’t stop for photos. Run for your life. Not even lumberjacks would survive an encounter. Forest Folk regenerate body parts instantly, so even if you have an ax and chop off their terrifying arms, they’ll grow new ones and use the old ones to beat you to death. Or so the local legends go.

What were we talking about again? Oh, right. Phantom Bog.

Some people say it’s named after the ghosts that float up at dusk and go to their night jobs, making the floors of old houses squeak extra loud.

Speaking of scary things…

GRRRR.

A growl pierced the calm of the car as we drove through the woods. In the back seat was Cujo, the retired police dog who was living out his golden years with Adrian’s family.

“I forgot he was back there,” I said, fanning my face with both hands, which we all know is the best method for making your heart slow down to its normal resting speed.

“We can’t go hiking without protection,” Adrian said. “The Forest Folk will gobble our toes.”

“They only eat your toes if you’re naughty.”

Adrian turned and raised his golden eyebrows, his cool blue eyes wordlessly reminding me of our session dry-humping at the skating rink, and then the oral showdown in my kitchen.

Were those things actually naughty, though? We were both consenting adults, being honest with each other, and any minute now I was going to casually let him know I might be dating another man soon—my husband.

Cujo growled again, and I hunched down guiltily in my seat. The dog was totally onto me, sensing my guilt.

Cujo and I had a “meet cute” story in which he thought I was a perp running through the forest, and I thought he was a mutant cannibal sasquatch, and he took me down like a bag of chips at a stoner party. We’d tried to make friends since that, but I could see in his big, brown eyes that if I so much as darted sideways quickly to avoid a bee, he’d gleefully make me eat dirt. Even there in the car, he was staring me down. I should have given him some of my burger, even though Adrian had a “no people food” rule.

Adrian pulled the car over to the side of the dirt road, and we rolled bumpily to a stop near the trees. To the left and right of us were some ruts in the ground, from other vehicles, but other than that, the spot didn’t look any different from anywhere else along the road. If this was the condition of the parking lot, I had some concerns about the hiking trail.