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I laugh. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she says with a shrug. “I try to indulge her as much as possible. I’m afraid she’ll have a heart attack if I start breaking her rules, too. She’s positively scandalized that Mason and Lark are living together before they’re married even though they’re engaged and have a wedding date set and everything.”
I grunt, my smile fading as I pull out my phone. “She’s not going to like me, is she?”
Melody makes a noncommittal noise. “We’ll have you wear long sleeves the first time you meet her to make sure she falls in love with you before she sees the tattoos and decides you’re a hooligan escaped from prison. Or a drifter. I’m not sure what a drifter is exactly, but she’s afraid of those, too.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say while I secretly hope to avoid meeting Nana for as long as possible.
But then, meeting the family—even the old-fashioned, probably a little crazy members of a family—is part of building a real relationship. And with every minute I spend with her, I’m more certain that’s what I want with Melody.
Something real.
Something that will last long enough that getting along with her family and friends is ideal, especially if my blood relatives continue to be unsupportive. We’ll need someplace to have Thanksgiving dinner.
I’m already thinking about Thanksgiving, and it’s only September. Yeah, I definitely want this to last at least two months, and hopefully a hell of a lot longer.
“I’ll call John,” I say, scrolling through my outgoing calls. “If the shop’s not busy, he might be able to come pick us up.”
“Or we could walk.” Melody loops her arm through mine as we amble down the side of the road in the short grass as the crickets in the ditch beside us begin to chirp in the cooler evening air. “That would be an adventure.”
“An adventure that would take all night and end in pain and suffering,” I say with a pointed glance at her feet. “Your shoes aren’t made for that kind of walk, woman.”
She hums thoughtfully. “You’re right, but…” Her eyes light up and her grip tightens on my arm as she adds in an excited whisper, “Or we could hitchhike. I’ve never even thought about hitchhiking before.”
“Good. It’s not smart to hitchhike alone. Especially if you’re a pretty girl,” I say, the rage I felt when I realized Melody had been attacked rising inside me again. I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to her. It makes me hate that we live in a world where so many assholes prey on women even more than I did before.
“You’re absolutely right, but I won’t be alone,” she says. “And the chances of someone we know driving by are pretty high. Between the two of us, we’re probably on a first-name basis with half the town.”
I turn my phone over and over in my hand, deliberating. If I call John to do me a favor tonight, my roomie will be less inclined to do me a solid tomorrow night, and I’d much rather call in a favor to have another date with Melody.
And she’s right. We do know half the town. At least. Maybe more. I do have ten brothers and sisters and all the connections that come along with a sprawling family tree.
“Okay, we’ll give it a try.” I slip my phone back into my pocket, laughing as Melody pumps her fist in excitement. “But I go up to the window if anyone stops. You stay back and get ready to run if anything weird happens.”
“Do you really think something weird is going to happen?” she asks, sticking her thumb out and giving an experimental waggle.
“Probably not, but with our luck today…”
“I think we’ve had good luck today,” she says. “Except for the car. I had a wonderful time this afternoon.”
“Me, too,” I say, leaning in to brush an impulsive kiss across her cheek. “We should do it again sometime.”
“We definitely should,” she says, looking as if she’s about to say something else when her gaze shifts over my shoulder and her eyes widen. “A car!” she cries out, bouncing up and down on her toes. “Get ready!” She steps to the edge of the road and sticks out her thumb.
“But that car’s going the wrong way, Mel,” I say, laughing at her obvious excitement.
“So?” She waggles her thumb back and forth, looking like she’s doing some strange disco move. “Maybe, if we’re really sweet, they’ll turn around and drive the other way.”
“I’ll leave the really sweet part to you,” I say, marveling when the old white pickup truck slows, pulling over on the opposite side of the road and stopping a few feet away.
The window of the truck rolls down, and an old man wearing farmer’s overalls and a faded blue tee shirt sticks his head out. “You kids all right?” he asks in a creaky and cautious voice.
