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“I’ll miss her. I know that’s silly because she’s just a few miles away, but she kept Gram occupied enough to actually rest. Her visit worked out like a dream.”
I smile. “Sure. I hope she hasn’t been too much extra work for you.”
Shelly laughs. “Hardly! She’s like an anti-burden, always insisting on helping with chores every day. Faye never learned the word freeloader.”
“Well, she should be home tonight or tomorrow at the latest.”
Here comes that awkward tension again. My veins heat like they’re pumping hot oil.
I slide my hands in my pockets. We’re standing face-to-face and neither of us makes a move to leave.
I know why I don’t.
This could be my last chance to kiss her for some time.
Cupping her face with both hands, I stamp a furious kiss on her lips, knowing full well I shouldn’t be encouraging more.
There’s no future here. We both know it.
Still, it’s a fight to find the willpower to stop, to break away before we both burn ourselves down.
Stepping away in a rush, I head for the stairs.
“Later, Shel. I gotta go.”
17
Prize Pig? (Rachel)
I consider following Weston upstairs, but I don’t.
Yes, he’s the world’s sexiest porcupine, and I’m not risking an emotional sting to the heart.
There’s obviously a reason why he completely ignored my questions about the monster truck fundraisers. The rallies, the car show, the bazaar...all of it, really.
When Marty first told me the rally we went to was a fundraiser, I just assumed Weston was a participant. Not the main organizer.
I don’t know why it’s such a sensitive freaking subject.
The hot prick in his eyes when I looked at him was too much like a wounded animal.
Why?
I have to find out.
He’s gone by the time I get upstairs and find Faye scrubbing dishes from lunch. I grab a towel and help her dry them, listening as she rattles on about all the great stuff that’s bound to be at the bazaar.
Gram sits at the counter, once again looking through her recipes, licking her thumb and flipping over dog-eared pages every now and then.
They’re both bursting at the seams over the big event. The list for my shopping trip for this afternoon keeps growing. They cobble together a plan for decorating tables and running small candy giveaways for the people in attendance.
Gram has a million boxes of pens and notepads with Amelia’s logo to pass out, too. She also decides we’ll spend Friday baking cookies to sell, with all proceeds going to Weston.
Anything Faye sells from her booth will also go to him. But it’s impossible for me to ask who or what he’s raising money for. They only stop gabbing every so often to add to my shopping list.
Jeez.
At the rate they’re going, I won’t even have time to stop by and see Weston at Faye’s house.
