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“But I’m not a farmer.”
“So what? Farmers are hot.”
Cassie raised one brow, waiting her friend out. It didn’t take long. Charlie hated long silences.
“Okay, fine. No farmers. More for me.”
“You do not have a profile on Farmers Only…do you?”
Charlie didn’t answer, simply took a sip of her drink.
“I didn’t know you had a farmer fetish.” She chuckled, nudging her friend’s leg with a soft kick of her toe.
“Can it. This is about finding you a hubby, not my turn-ons.”
“Okay fine. Let’s do this—no wait.” Needing the courage, she tipped back her drink, finishing the martini in one big gulp. “Okay,nowlet’s do this.”
“Impressive, but you better stick to water for the rest of the night. No yakking on the floors. We just had them cleaned.”
“No yakking.” She raised a hand in the air. “I swear.”
But her stomach turned over, threatening to break her promise. It wasn’t the vodka—she could handle much more than two martinis in a night—but the circumstances.
Charlie started typing in her profile: height, hair and eye color, what she was looking for in a man. Someone who will marry her so the house she’d always thought of as home could be hers forever. The only place she’d ever felt a connection to family. A connection to…herself.
And she only had six months to do it. Six months to find a guy she liked and marry him. Men loved needy women who rushed them into marriage, right?
Oh crap, she needed another drink.
