Page 44 of Small Town Swoo
Sixteen-year-old me held up a hand.Please. This is no one’s fault but yours. You could have at least changed out of your sweatpants after painting.
Disappointed, I grabbed my dishes and headed for the kitchen.
Dash was at the sink. “I’ll load the dishwasher for you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it later. But let me give you some braised short ribs to take home for your dad.”
“Okay.” Dash backed off while I worked, standing all the way across the room. “He was looking forward to his chicken pot pie tonight. Good thing you sent two helpings because Xander ate one of them this afternoon.”
“Did he like it?” I kept my face turned away from him so he couldn’t see how flushed I was. How could he act so normal? I felt like I’d just been through an earthquake, like the ground was still shaky beneath my feet.
“He inhaled the entire thing in about three minutes, so I’d say yes.”
“Good.” After I’d pressed the lid onto the container, I set it on the table and then took our empty beer bottles out to the recycling bin on my back porch. When I returned to the kitchen, he was zipping up his hoodie.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said.
Trying not to feel like I’d just been rejected a second time, I stayed about five feet from him. “You’re welcome. Thanks for helping me paint the guest room—and for having my car fixed. I wish you’d let me pay you back.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want your money.”
Inearly asked him what hedidwant. Instead, I grabbed his SUV key fob from my purse and held it out. “This is yours.”
“Thanks.” He took it from me and toyed with it. “I promised Austin’s kids I’d take them out for pizza tomorrow night.”
“Sounds like fun.” I wrapped my arms around myself.
“You could come along if you want.”
“That’s okay. You enjoy a night out with family.”
“Okay.” This time, he didn’t say I was family too. “Then I guess I’ll see you around.”
The silence around us was thick and cold as chilled butter.
“Ari, I’m sorry again about—about what I did.”
“Don’t be.”
“I...” He struggled for words. “I like being friends with you.”
“I like being friends with you too.”
“So are we good?”
I forced a close-lipped smile. “We’re good.”
He was out of the house before I could say another word.
Two days went by.
We didn’t talk at all on Thursday, even though I thought of him every other minute and spent the evening alone, wishing I’d taken him up on his invitation to have pizza with Austin’s family. Instead, I baked an apple pie—always the most popular dessert at Moe’s—and tried to think of ways I could deconstruct it or play with thetheme. A waffle? Some kind of crumble? Apple pie bread pudding?
But as I tasted it, trying to let the flavors inspire me, all I could think about was the taste of Dash’s kiss.
On Friday, I left Moe’s a little early and got my stitches out, and even though I still had a bandage on my finger, it was a relief to be able to use my hand a little more. As I got ready for my shift at the pub, I wondered if he’d stop in tonight.
Just in case, I left my hair curly, the way he liked it. I pulled on jeans that made my butt look cute. I wore lipstick and perfume and my best push-up bra beneath my fitted Buckley’s Pub T-shirt.
