Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
His space once again invading mine in a way that takes hold of my pulse and sends it racing for its life.
I close my eyes to shut out my view of Cole and his confident stare. “We’re supposed to be doing an interview about you, not—”
“Wasn’t our agreement just to talk?” he asks, a note of humor in his voice. “Y’know, like a pair of guys just walking the dog and having a chat? Besides, isn’t this as good as an interview? You and I are getting to know each other. That’s priceless.”
My eyes open. “Priceless?”
“I have always wanted to get to know you better, Noah.” His eyes skip down my face, as if to take me in. He smiles. “I’m really enjoying my time with you.”
I turn my head away, panicked. “Thanks.”
The dog tugs on the leash suddenly. Cole smiles at me, hardly noticing his arm being yanked by the dog, then tilts his head. “Do you think it’s too late to drop out of this whole pageant thing?”
That catches me off-guard. “Drop out?”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit …” He squints upward, thinking of the word. “… demeaning? Wait. Is this off the record or on?”
I gasp. “I forgot I’m supposed to be recording this!” I slap my hands to my pockets in search of my phone.
“So … it’s off the record?”
“Nothing is on any record right now, apparently. Damn it.” I pull out my phone and quickly thumb through it for my audio recording app, which I apparently haven’t used in ages. “I was too distracted. I can’t believe I forgot. Earlier, I was—”
Distracted by images of shirtless, sweaty Cole in the field.
Working his hoe.
Gazing at me with his stupid smile.
“Maybe it’s better all of this stays off the record,” Cole insists. “I know we’re supposed to be doing an interview, but I’m having so much more fun just talking to you. Do you want to continue this at the park? We’re kinda headed in that direction anyway.”
I stop swiping through my phone—which I just discovered has only 8% battery left. Seriously? I forgot to charge my phone last night, too? But all concerns about recording and phone batteries have suddenly become secondary. “What did you mean about the pageant being … demeaning?”
Cole shrugs. “Maybe I don’t feel good representing Spruce like some kind of ‘Ken doll’ eligible bachelor, or whatever Nadine has in mind. I feel like it’s … sending the wrong message.” He turns to me. “Don’t you think this whole thing reinforces some backwards idea that beauty is all that matters?”
“But I thought you wanted to do it. You told Nadine—”
“I didn’t technically agree to participate,” he points out with a lift of his eyebrows. “Everything just happened so fast, Nadine was on a roll last night, and … I felt like I just had to go along with it to make her happy, even if it made me feel kind of … gross.”
I stare off, totally thrown by Cole’s confession.
How could he let everyone believe he’s fine with this when he fundamentally dislikes the entire concept?
“Nadine is trying to make up for setting me up with a guy this past Christmas, and it went all wrong. But I don’t want a bunch of guys from every neighboring town showing up on my doorstep. I only want one guy.”
“One guy?”
“The right one.”
I stare back at Cole, silent, surprised again.
Porridge tugs on the leash once more. And just like last time, Cole hardly notices, despite being jostled by her efforts, his pretty, dreamy eyes glued to mine, half a smile clinging to his face like a last hope. It’s like the image of his own imaginary shirtless farmer is hovering at the front of his mind, whatever dream guy he thinks is the “right one”.
I grip my dead phone tightly. “Well, maybe this pageant can bring the right guy to your doorstep. You just have to have faith.”
“What if the right guy’s already in my life?”
I squint at him, confused. “Then … Then why haven’t you said anything to him?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
I blink. What does he mean by that?
My phone complains at me again with a sad little chime. I look down at it, then sigh. “Nothing’s going right today. All I needed to do was bring my questions, ask them, and record your answers. But I showed up with the wrong notebook, a dead battery, and no clue anymore why I’m here at all.” I pocket my phone and squeeze my notebook with increasing frustration. “If I was a responsible person, I wouldn’t have let you talk me into doing this at all. It’s a mistake. It should’ve been Tamika here. Not me.”
“Wait, wait … Noah.”
“I’ll just go home. Sorry for wasting your time. Enjoy the rest of your morning with your dog.” I turn to make my way back.