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“Huh? You realize high school kids won’t care about the decorations at a dance,” she said quickly. “They care more about who comes with whom, what everyone is wearing, and whether or not the punch is spiked.”
“I know, but the gym still needs to be decorated. This year’s theme is ‘Sunshine on My Shoulders.’”
Violet snorted, the most unladylike sound he’d ever heard from her. He loved it. Made her more relatable and . . . down-to-earth. “Does this have anything to do with your catchphrase?”
“You might think so, wouldn’t you? But no, it doesn’t. The students at Goldenrod came up with the idea. I’m told there will be lots of sunflowers and bumblebees. We have a decorating committee, and I volunteered us to help out.”
She nodded. “Count me in.”
“You probably went to a Christian school, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Violet visibly stiffened. “You must think my head’s stuck in the sand, but I’m not completely out-of-touch.”
“You’re being defensive again, but you’re very cute when you wrinkle your nose. Like a little bunny. I’m not mocking you in any way, Violet. I was going to say I wishI’dhad the benefit of a Christ-centered education. I spent way too much time goofing off in high school. More often than not, I was in the group who spiked the punch. I’m sorry if that shocks or disappoints you.”
“Of course not.” Her brown eyes settled on him. “What you must think of me.”
He scratched his beard. “I’m not sure what you mean. Are you looking for a list?”
“Just listen and let me talk, okay?”
“Sure, but I only have about two minutes.”
“Then I’ll make this quick,” she said. “Want to know the person who disappoints me the most?”
“I’m hoping it’s not me.”
“Me!” She jabbed her thumb against her chest. “I’ve acted like a judgmental shrew.”
“You’re not—”
Violet silenced him with a look as she jumped to her feet.
“I might be quieter than you, but … most people are. And I might act more proper than most people our age, but I like to believe it’s good manners, the product of a conscientious mother who believespleaseandthank youare three of the most important words in any language.”
“They’re called the magic words,” he sang under his breath while setting up the computer. “Your mom sounds great.”
“She’s the best. Don’t change the subject. Not that I’m sayingyou’renot a gentleman because you are.” With a sigh, Violet shifted from one foot to the other. “For someone who articulates for a living, I’m doing a lousy job.”
“You’re fine.” A little scattered, but her behavior only added to his fascination.
“Don’t humor me, Hayden. I don’t deserve it.”
“Just trying to be supportive. Do the words, ‘Don’t be a martyr’ ring a bell?”
Violet stared at him. “Do the words, ‘Don’t be a hero’ strike a chord? For the record, when I pause, it means I’m gathering my thoughts to say something meaningful … and hopefully halfway intelligent. It’snotdead air, so don’t feel the need to fill it.”
What was she talking about now? “That’s all good and well, and I’m enjoying our chat, as always, but I’m going on the air in thirty seconds.” He reached for the headphones.
“I hope your show goes well tonight. See you tomorrow. Bye.” Grabbing her purse, Violet dashed out the door with seconds to spare. She didn’t look back as she hurried past the sound booth.
Is she angry?What a gloriously weird conversation. His gaze fell on something sitting on the desk—a large jar of spicy brown mustard, the fancy gourmet kind, wrapped with a violet-colored bow. Attached to the back was a small spreading knife with a stainless steel handle.
“Clever, Miss Simmons.” A peace offering?
He spied a small envelope with his name propped against the jar. A glance at the clock told him he still had eighteen seconds.Plenty of time.Hayden slit open the envelope, slicing his finger in the process. He pulled out the card inside.
Hayden,
