CASSANDRA WILLOWSTONE
Cassie looked up and saw Ryle striding toward her. He caught up to her and then handed her the white chocolate mocha. "You forgot your coffee."
"That's not…" She smelled the sweet caffeinated heaven, and man, she wanted that yumminess. "Thank you." She accepted the cup with her free hand. "You didn't have to do that."
"The barista made it for you, though, didn't she?"
"Maybe? We used to be best friends. But… her dad doesn't like me much." She jostled her purse around, which was difficult to do holding two coffees and keeping Dorianna's dress draped over her arm, not to mention keeping hold of the Narrow's General Store bag hanging from her wrist. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing. Coffee's on me." He looked at her, his gaze curious. "Why are people so rude to you?"
"I told you, I'm the town pariah. I'd love to share my tale of woe," she said, "but if you plan to stick around Garden Grove, you'll hear all about it. Many times. From lots of people."
"I'd rather hear it from you."
It was not a story she wanted to share with him. It was nice for someone to like her, but the moment he learned the truth about her mother, he'd want to stay away.
Mom had been known as eccentric, flighty, and free-spirited, but those were tame words compared to the one most people used: crazy. And that reputation had tainted her daughters, especially after what she'd done to herself and Doug.
There'd been plenty of speculation about the mental stability of the Willowstone girls. Who wanted to date someone whose mother was a murderer? Yeah. That would be no one.
"I appreciate the coffee, Ryle," she finally said. "But I don't know you well enough to confess my family's sins."
"Why don't we change that? Let me take you to dinner."
She gaped at him. "What?"
"Dinner," he repeated. "It's a nightly ritual where people sit down at a table and eat food. And drink wine."
"You're asking me on a date?"
"Yes. And I don't expect you to tell me your family's sins." He winked. "At least not on the first date."
First date? As in, he legitimately thought there might be a second one? Her brain almost melted. "I … uh." She blinked at him, unable to articulate actual words.
"Think about it, okay?" He showed her his cell phone. "If you'll give me your phone number, I'll call you later."
She doubted it. But she rattled off her phone number, anyway.
"I'll call you later," he said again. "Have a good day, Cassie."
"Yeah," she said, still befuddled by their interaction. A date? She hadn't been asked out on a date in… well, ever. "You, too."
He nodded at her, smiling. Then he turned and strode in the opposite direction.
She realized she'd given a complete stranger her phone number and she didn't know anything about him. Was she so desperate for interaction that she was willing to accept any crumb of consideration or kindness?
Apparently so.
She knew time was ticking away. She looked at her phone's display and sighed. So much for arriving at the pickle factory on time.
After she'd dropped off everything to Dorianna and endured her snide remarks, she'd be late for work. But only by a few minutes. She hoped. The last thing she wanted was the undivided attention of Pete the Pincher.
She waited for a car to pass then she hurried across the street, down the sidewalk that paralleled the town park, and then crossed the next street. She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Miller & Miller Realty.
Through the glass windows, she could see Dorianna and her mother, Tilda, sitting at their respective desks.
From a distance, they looked like twins. Both had the same pixie haircuts and wore the same designer dresses and heels.
However, Tilda was obviously older. No matter how much face-enhancement magic she used or plastic surgery she got, she couldn't quite pass for youthful.
Both glanced up as she approached the door. Tilda's face filled with disgust—or attempted to do so. Her forehead didn't move—probably from the Botox injections she got regularly. Her mouth turned down and her eyes narrowed. But Cassie understood the sentiment she was trying to convey even without her ability to furrow her eyebrows.
She took a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and walked inside Garden Grove's only realty office.
"Dorianna," Cassie said with forced cheer. "How are you this morning?"
"Bored," Dorianna said, looking up from the paperwork on her desk. Irritation flickered across her perfect face. "You took forever, Cassandra. I almost gave up hope you'd get here." She glanced at her Mom. "Didn't I say I almost gave up hope, Mother?"
"You certainly did," said Tilda. "My daughter's time is important, Cassandra. It wouldn't do for her to be late for lunch with her new client."
"I'm sorry," she said, her jaw hurting as she tried to maintain her smile. "But I have everything you asked for." She moved further into the room, her sneakers sinking into the plush carpet.
She saw Dorianna's lips pull into a mean smile as she aimed her forefinger at her feet. A spark of magic issued from her fingertip, and the next thing she knew she was falling forward.
The moment seemed to stretch painfully slow as the coffees flew out of her hands, bursting open as they hit the carpet.
Her purse came off her arm and tumbled away. The dress slipped, the plastic ripping, and she stepped on the material as she went down.
The final indignity arrived as the contents from Narrow's General Store spilled out. She landed on her side, next to the tampons, Vaseline, and box of condoms littering the floor.
Tilda and Dorianna burst out laughing.
"You are such a klutz," said Tilda.
She and her daughter tittered some more. She felt her entire body go hot with shame. Steady, Cassie, she told herself. Get through this. You're almost at the finish line.
She sat up on her knees, shaking as she stared at the mess. She wanted so badly to cry, but she wouldn't give those two cows the satisfaction. She looked at Dorianna. She meant to say, "I'm sorry," but what came out was, "You tripped me."
The merriment in her gaze shuttered. "What are you saying, Cassie? That I did this to you?" She stood up, smoothing her dress, and rounded the desk. Her mother looked on in delight as her daughter took out her ire on Cassie. "You really should learn to take responsibility for your own messes. But you Willowstones aren't very good at that, are you?"