Page 42 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

"And you thought this would help your dating profile, how?" she asked horrified.

"Not the profile," he admitted. "Just … people should know I have a heart."

"Okay," she said cautiously. "Heart aside, what else?"

Spud's eyes twinkled like he was about to confess a series of crimes disguised as good deeds. "There was the time I tried to impress a date by cooking a seven-course meal. In just an apron. Almost set the kitchen on fire. She left halfway through the salad."

Vivi tried to picture the aging man with a belly the size of a bowling ball in nothing but an apron and skin. "I would have left when you answered the door."

"That's romantic flair," he defended. "Ambiance. Fire alarms and all."

"And?" she prompted, bracing herself.

Spud leaned in like he was sharing state secrets. "I took a woman I met at church to a dinner show and she got up and left."

"Do I want to know why?"

"I didn't know burlesque meant they showed their, uh, their assets."

Vivi laughed so hard she almost dropped her clipboard. "Spud! Why are you still single?"

"I'm telling you!" he said, exasperated but proud. "Women don't get me. That's the problem. I'm honest, bold, charitable and ambitious!"

"Honest, sure. Bold, okay. Charitable, maybe. Ambitious, definitely. But dateable?" She tilted her head. "Questionable."

Spud's grin faltered slightly and he shifted on his feet. "You're still gonna help me, right?"

Vivi chewed the inside of her cheek, studying him like a puzzle she might actually be able to solve. Could there really be someone out there who'd survive his antics, laugh at his terrible stories, and still want him at the end of the night?

She didn't know.

But suddenly, she decided she was going to find out. She was going to put her mind to it, dig through every corner of this small town, and not stop until she found his second Louise. If anyone could wrangle a heart as stubborn and as impossible as Spud's, it was her.

"Of course. But you might need a disclaimer section: Warning: unpredictable antics included."

"Right. Unpredictability included. I can live with that." His brow furrowed and he leaned closer, voice dropping. "How much is this going to cost me? Your expert matchmaking services?"

"Depends," she said, eyes twinkling. "I could charge you in cash or you could sell me the lumber for Boone's bunkhouse at cost, and we're even."

Spud froze, blinking at her like she'd just suggested he pay in unicorns. "Is this some kind of Nigerian scam?"

"Says the man who gave eighty-thousand bucks to a stripper for her mom in Russia."

"It was quite the sad story."

"I’m proposing a simple barter between us. You want a killer profile that turns your unique history into something remotely dateable? You sell us the lumber at wholesale prices and we're square."

His expression was impressed. "Wow, that's bold but fair. Lumber it is." He pointed a finger at her. "Just don't make me sound too normal."

"Too normal?" Vivi laughed. "Spud, trust me, normal isn't even on the table here. But if we're lucky, maybe dateable will be."

CHAPTER 18

Vivi pushed open the swinging doors of the Drunken Rooster and nearly stumbled backward. What should have been a one-horse, dusty-town dive looked like a flamingo and glitter bomb had a very loud baby.

Pink neon lights stretched around the walls, giant martini glasses dangled from the ceiling, and bubble machines hissed and sputtered, coating the floor in sticky rainbows. Her heart thudded, nerves prickling like static electricity. In the sunlight, Bridlewood was quaint and safe, completely predictable. Inside the Drunken Rooster, it was Vegas dressed in sequins.

Only the patrons were dressed for Sunday service—sundresses with clutch purses, kitten heels and cashmere cardigans.