Page 35 of Sterling Fight

“I just don’t want you to give up a dream, unless part of your dream is to have Greetings Ambassador own Quirky Girl Calendars.”

I don’t want anyone to own my dreams. No one else can, really. But I understand what Judd is saying. “I just want to hear them out. The offer isn’t sealed yet.” Although an estimated amount for the purchase has been suggested. The money is a lot and Greetings Ambassador has resources, but still . . .

“I appreciate your concern.”

Judd lifts his head. “I only have your best interest in mind. Your peace of mind in mind. And now I’ve just said mind too often.”

His comment breaks the tension in the car, and I chuckle, releasing the breath I’d been struggling to control.

Judd sounds like he really means it. His only concern is for me.

“I don’t have to worry about anything until mid-June. June eleventh, actually. National Making Life Beautiful Day. It feels appropriate.”

The corner of Judd’s mouth curls, like he’s fighting a smile, but not just humoring me and my quirky dates. Like maybe he finds me cute, and I wouldn’t be fully insulted at the childlike endearment.

Judd continues to watch me, and for a second, I think he’s going to lean toward me. Your classic first kiss in the front seat of a car moment. I lick my lips in anticipation, finding I’m more excited for this potential kiss than I should be. I definitely want Judd to kiss me.

The abrupt gleam of headlights flashes through the back window, and Judd and I both turn our heads like we’ve been caught having sex in the backseat instead of just sharing this innocent moment.

Judd clears his throat, as the car breezes past us fast enough to jostle the Ford. He turns his head toward the darkening road outside the windshield and rights his body in the driver’s seat. “We should probably get home.”

“Yeah.” I cough, glancing around us at the barely-there shoulder and the deep ditch to the right of the car.

Judd shifts the gear stick to take us back onto the road and clicks off his hazards.

The moment feels prophetic. Marked safe from the danger of Judd Sylver kissing me.

14

[Judd]

When we return to my house, I’m not ready for Genie and me to go to our separate corners. In my head, I hear the ding-ding-ding of the boxing ring bell. Let the fight begin. Or maybe it’s the click of a stopwatch. The countdown starts.

Whatever metaphor I want to use, I sense how little time I have remaining to reconnect with Genie, and I don’t want to waste a minute.

“Want to hang out in the great room,” I ask once we enter. “How about a glass of wine?” We need to celebrate that we made it through the family dinner rather unscathed. Other than the conversation with Stone, where he expressed his concerns for me—Where’s my head? How’s my heart?—Genie and I did pretty well pretending to be a couple.

Only I’m a terrible liar, so the times I couldn’t help myself and reached out to touch her were not an act. And the times she touched me felt real as well. Her hand was a comfort on my arm. Or placed on my back. Her encouraging smile. We were separated while eating but eventually she sat beside me on the picnic bench and my thigh pressed against hers, like my body was magnetically drawn to her.

“I could have another glass,” she accepts with a smile and follows me into the great room.

As the sun is relatively low in the sky, Genie helps herself to one of the two swivel chairs while I pour us each a drink.

“These chairs are so cool,” she says, rocking one side to side after I hand her the stemless wineglass. “I like how you can be part of the conversation square but swing yourself around to gaze out the windows without hefting the furniture around.”

Conversation square? Hefting furniture? I chuckle at how her mind works and take the opposite chair which Genie already turned for me.

The view is peaceful, and a huge reason I bought this property. The lake is aglow with reflection of the setting sun, mirroring the sky in pastel oranges, pinks, and yellows, the final color reminding me a little bit of her dress yesterday, but much prettier. The budding trees are almost gold in color, despite their green base. The coming of night feels almost magical.

A time when fireflies come to life.

“So, you’re an accountant,” Genie says after sipping her wine and shifting her chair slightly so she can look at me.

We’ve already covered my occupation, and Genie adds, “I really thought poet.”

“Are we back to those broody vibes in high school you mentioned earlier?” I chuckle and sip my own wine.

“You had them in college, too.”