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She slows and looks both ways before joining the road, though there are no trucks around. Not even the rumble of an engine. It’s so quiet you can hear the weak breeze stir the grass.
Then my new practice wife pedals away, bicycle creaking, until she’s swallowed up by Beaver Creek valley.
Five
Dani
If you asked me a few days ago to guess where Kingston Holt would take a lady on a date, I’d have said to a dirt bike rally or something like that. Maybe to a rock concert in the nearest city, or riding his motorbike through the desert, or slamming whiskey shots in someone else’s bar.
I’d have guessed something wild and carefree. Something befitting a man with cracked knuckles and silvery scars on his arms—a man who all the toughest locals give a wide berth.
So imagine my surprise when Kingston texts me the next day to say he’ll pick me up at seven. When he says we’re going for dinner and dancing. I stare down at my phone, the paranormal investigations podcast I was just listening to while I scrubbed kitchen counters suddenly going all muffled in my ears. Who cares about ghosts at a time like this?
Today’s my day off, and it has sucked.Usually I like the free day—the chance to bake and catch up on errands and stretch out on the sofa with a library book. I buy myself these tiny boxes of Belgian chocolates as a special day off treat, and I let them melt in my mouth one by one, flicking through the pages of my latest read.
Not today. Today I’ve been agitated.Pacing and fiddling. Climbing the walls with nerves, and arguing with myself in my head about why I should never, ever have agreed to this with Kingston Holt.
Even when the thought of dating him—though only for practice—makes my heart pound.Especiallythen.
So his text punches me square in the chest. Knocks the air clean from my lungs.
This is really happening.
Tonight. At seven.
“Dinner and dancing,” I murmur, scanning the short text for the dozenth time already. “Dinner and dancing. Dinner anddancing.”
Maybe I don’t know my boss at all. I’d never have taken him as a romantic. Is this gonna be fancy? Oh, shoot.
A panicked glance around my apartment doesn’t help my nerves. Oh, it’s clean and tidy enough, with paintings by local artists on the walls and a few potted plants to give bursts of life. But it’s still a shabby little one-bed with cracks on the walls, a sagging sofa, and mismatched mugs on the kitchen shelves.
Will Kingston want to come inside?
Jeez. Will his shoulders evenfit? His head will probably brush along the ceiling.
And what am I gonna wear for dinner and dancing? For a date that’s not even real? Oh lord, this is such a mess already.
Don’t know what compelled me to ever agree to this arrangement. And as I stomp into my tiny bedroom and yank clothes hangers from right to left in my closet, I nearly text to cancel at least ten times. Suddenly, all my clothes seem tired and faded. Ill-fitting with loose threads. What if Kingston thinks I’ve made no effort?
But… it shouldn’t matter what he thinks of me. After all, if hereallywanted to date me, that would be different—and he’d have said so.
So, this date means nothing. It’s only practice.
To him, anyway.
* * *
The Ellisons’ barns are lit up so bright, you can see them glowing in the side of the valley. The music is loud too, the rhythmic strumming and plucking of a live band drifting on the evening air, winding its way into Kingston’s truck cab as we get nearer.
He drives in silence, stealing glances at me out of the corner of his eye. He’s neatened up his stubble for tonight, and got a haircut somehow since yesterday. It’s still dark and thick and kinda messy on top, but it’s neatened up around the back and sides.
He smells faintly of cologne. It’s a good smell.Realgood.
But he’s wearing a black button down shirt.
“Okay,” Kingston grumbles as we swoop around a curve in the road. We’re climbing up higher into the valley, the wind tugging at my hair through the open window, and I’m glad he thought to bring his truck rather than perching me on his motorbike in this flimsy summer dress. “You’ve got feedback already, I can tell. Spit it out.”
I press my lips together, fighting a smile.
