Page 18 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Delaney’s eyes flashed, dark and furious. Her hands clenched into fists, then she deliberately flattened them against her thighs like she was physically restraining herself.
Someone laughed nervously in the back.
Glamma looked delighted, like I’d done exactly what she wanted. Which made no sense.
Delaney’s face flushed red—not from embarrassment, but from pure, unfiltered anger. She was furious, and I’d caused it.
Again.
My gaze met Delaney’s once more. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.” I sat down hard and my chair groaned under the sudden weight.
My skin buzzed with that awful crawling sensation I got when I knew I’d messed up socially but wasn’t entirely sure how to fix it, which made my heart hammer against my ribs. I’d meant to show them that the event could be a safety risk. I wanted to prevent harm. To show them the logical problems with the plan.
But the look she shot me—full of hurt and rage—said she heard something else entirely.
Everly banged the gavel, the sound sharp and grating in my already overstimulated brain. Conversation erupted immediately, everyone talking at once. Chairs scraped. Voices overlapped into an incomprehensible wall of sound.
The noise spiked past tolerable, even with my earbuds in.
I shifted in my seat, lungs feeling too tight, chest constricted. My hands were slightly shaking.
I needed to get out of here.
Josh leaned over. “You really stepped in it this time.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat tightened to a painful degree.
One thing was certain—I couldn’t make it through the rest of this meeting. “I’ve got to go.”
Josh reached for me as I jumped to my feet. I needed to escape to my car where it was quiet and dark and I could breathe again.
Then I’d figure out how to fix this latest mistake with Delaney.
If it was even fixable at all.
Chapter Four
DELANEY
Something absolutely terrible had just happened.
The metal folding chair beneath me iced my skin through the flimsy fabric of my palazzos. Around me, the Ruby River Town Hall buzzed with post-meeting energy—voices bouncing off the high tin ceiling, the scent of burnt coffee mixed with the sugary waft of the baked goods from The Sweet Spot perfumed the air. Residents smiled at me as they passed, completely oblivious to the chaos Marc’s Glamma had just lobbed into my life.
So this is what dying felt like.
Death by volunteer obligation.
Voluntold.
They should put that on my tombstone:Here lies Delaney, killed by a well-meaning octogenarian with a wicked fashion sense and no concept of personal boundaries.
Harriet Mackenzie stopped by on her way past my chair and squeezed my shoulder with surprising strength for a woman in her late seventies. “I’m so excited about the classes, dear.My granddaughter does hot yoga—you know, the kind where everyone is sweating and barely dressed? So this will be much more appropriate.”
“Great,” I managed.
“And Marc!” She leaned in conspiratorially, close enough that I could smell the strawberry lozenge on her breath. “Such a catch. He’s single, has a stable job, and owns his own home. My daughter Jane, his assistant, has been trying to set him up for years, but he’s very … particular.”
My stiff smile felt like it might crack my face. “Mmm.”
