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More seriously, I shouldn’t want to spend the day with her, especially with the directions my thoughts keep spiraling. I should make up an excuse about the bar, wave goodbye, and march the fuck out of here with my ego and a little humility intact.
Only, the future and its gaping unknowns just won’t shut up.
She’ll be gone again in a few weeks.
There’s no telling when I’ll see her again after that—or who she’ll be with. What if she returns to Dallas a married woman?
“Yeah, you can tag along, I guess,” I say smoothly. “I could use an extra hand for those locks—or when it comes to digging through Aladdin’s cave for those shoes and hoping I don’t fall down a bottomless abyss.”
Faye laughs. When it comes to her bedroom closet, I’m hardly exaggerating.
“Shelly’ll find ’em like Hercules with a hidden yam, and don’t you worry about that pig!” she tells me. “He’s up and walking now. That silly ham, I told him he can’t go gallivanting around eating strange things off the ground wrapped up in plastic. He should know better. He’s won three blue ribbons, and two of the categories were based on his wits.”
She puffs her chest out proudly.
I shake my head, exhaling slowly.
Relief shines on Shel’s face when she hears the update. I’m sorry to say it’s probably on my face, too.
My mind flashes back to Carson Hudson and his rank-ass almonds that upset my pig.
I’m also well-aware that bastard could return any time today, and she’d be here. Without me, facing him and his bullshit alone.
Whether she needs it or not, she’ll have my support till my dying day.
“Guess it’s settled then,” I say with mock-deflation in my voice. “Come on, partner. Let’s get out of here and fetch us some shoes.”
13
Pig Dirty (Rachel)
My heart hasn’t fallen to a normal tempo all morning, and it doesn’t look like that’s changing anytime soon.
After finding the poor sick oink-baby and then having my face kissed off in the space of a few brilliant hours, I wonder if I’ve got a secret hummingbird in my chest.
As we climb in West’s truck to drive over to Faye’s house, I can’t stop staring. Darting these quick, nervous little looks his way and blushing fit to kill every time his eyes catch mine.
God.
What is happening?
It doesn’t help how Faye and Gram keep scheming away to pull us together. Apparently, when you reach sixty years old and you live in Dallas, your entire life starts revolving around strategic matchmaking and gladiator competitions over fruit.
I actually considered rejecting their ploy.
But only for a second.
I want time with Weston. Hell, when haven’t I wanted that?
I’m also well aware that when I leave town next month, it could be ages before I return.
My first full-time paid position at the museum will be intense. There’ll be hands-on inspections and reporting and community volunteer engagements out the wazoo. It’ll probably be a solid year before I can even dream about a brief vacation.
Oh, and that ten-ton mammoth in the room I’m trying so hard to ignore?
That kiss?
I still wonder if I temporarily died and got flung up to heaven by a guardian angel who looks mysteriously like Weston McKnight.
