you wanna go fishing this weekend? I know you’ve gotta do your Rainbows thing at the Pickin’, but I figure we can head up to the cabin tomorrow night after you’re done, fish Sunday morning at dawn, and you’ll be back in time for the festivities Sunday afternoon? Been a long week, and I’d love to sneak away with my best friend to unwind for a bit.”
“Oh.” Tucker flushed a little. “Well, I guess I…”
“Excellent!” Dunn said. He leaned back in his seat, satisfied. “See, I told my mom I wanted to take Jenn Shipley out and that’s why I couldn’t make it to dinner, so if you don’t come to the cabin with me, I’ll probably have to actually ask her. But I’ve already been out with her twice! Three dates and it’ll become, like, a whole thing.” He rolled his eyes. “And Lord save me from whole things, am I right? But if I tell my mom I had plans with you and forgot, that’ll be that. Easy peasy. Mom loves you.”
“Easy peasy.” Tucker huffed out a half laugh. “You know what? Actually, I can’t go fishing, Dunn. Because before you arrived and rudely interrupted, I was about to make plans of my own.” He looked at me. “Would you like to come to the Pickin’ with me Sunday, Parrish?”
“And I said yes,” I told Miss Sara, who was sitting in an overstuffed floral-print armchair in her living room with her feet up on a hassock and Elvis curled up on the floor beneath. “I mean, there was nothing else to say. He’s the perfect man for me, right?”
Miss Sara watched me pacing the carpet and took a delicate sip of her tea to let me know she agreed wholeheartedly.
“And I like him! I do. He’s good-looking. Straight teeth. Kind eyes. He’s a pediatrician who does volunteer work, so he’s basically a saint. I like his freckles. He wants a family. Heck, if I custom-ordered a guy, it would be this guy. There is literally not a single thing wrong with him! There’s no spark, or whatever, but sparks are way overrated. And dangerous,” I added.
I grabbed a random book off one of the dark wood shelves that lined the room, flipped through it, and put it back immediately.
“You know what happens with sparks, Miss Sara? Forest fires,” I answered so she wouldn’t have to. “Exactly. And responsible adults don’t go around creating forest fires, nor letting forest fires be created around them. What Tucker and I have could be a slow burn, which is infinitely superior.”
Miss Sara uncrossed her ankles, then crossed them again in the other direction.
“I knew you’d agree!” I cried. “Slow burn, steady burn, right? That’s what they taught us in Camper Scouts, and I think it applies to basically all of…of everything… in the world. So much better than constantly putting your foot in your mouth and acting like a jerk, or misinterpreting the things he says and does, and feeling like you’re on a thrilling roller coaster but knowing in your heart of hearts that the track ends somewhere around the bend.”
I humphed, and Elvis thumped his tail in a commiserating sort of way.
“I’m gonna tell Diesel, if he wants to keep this pretense going, there’ll be no pet names or touching or… or… or looking at me with those eyes.” I nodded firmly.
“Sounds logical,” Miss Sara agreed. “No looking. What could go wrong?”
“And furthermore—” I broke off as my phone chimed with an incoming text, and I extracted it from my pocket.
It was a picture of Marigold sound asleep in her temporary crib, all sleep flushed and dark-curled, dressed in the footie butterfly pajamas I’d bought her, with her chicken pacifier clutched in her hand. My heart skipped and my brain fizzed as I read the text that came next.
DIESEL: She’s been good as gold, just like you said, Baby Whisperer. Hope your plans went okay. Sweet dreams. - D.
Well, fuck.
“Whatcha got there?” Miss Sara asked.
I handed over the phone without a word, and she grinned as she handed it back.
“Maybe you can start the not looking tomorrow,” she suggested, and I sighed.
There was not a darn thing wrong with Tucker Wright. Except, annoyingly, that he wasn’t Diesel Church.
6
Diesel
I was feeding the chickens, trying not to think about the feel of Parrish’s smooth face under my fingers or the sight of his sweet ass poking up from the kitchen floor, when Marigold giggled at something and almost lurched out of my