Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,19

on the plate next to hers.

“And Daddy can sit on the other side of you.” She set the card that said Daddy at the setting to my right.

“Perfect,” I said, because I was no better than a seventh grader who wanted to sit next to her crush in the lunchroom.

“Then Grandma at this end of the table, and Uncle Griffin and Aunt Blair across from us.” She finished setting out all the turkeys and looked at us for approval. “Is that okay?”

“It’s marvelous,” my mother said with a smile. Then she looked wistfully at the table. “Maybe next year we’ll have eight places to set.”

“Mom,” I said, shooting her a look. We’d managed to go all day without an argument, and I didn’t want one now.

“What?” She held up her hands, all wide-eyed with innocence. “I’m just saying, eight is a nice, round, even number. Don’t you think, Mariah?”

“Um, yes.” Mariah looked uneasily at me, like she wasn’t sure how to answer. “Eight is an even number.”

“See?” My mother gestured to Mariah. “Even a nine-year-old knows that you can’t sit around waiting for Mr. Right to just appear like a rabbit out of a hat. Relationships aren’t magic, Cheyenne. They take some effort.”

“I know, Mom,” I said through my teeth.

“I’m not sure you do, what with the outfit you’re wearing.” She gestured with distaste at my clothing. “It does absolutely nothing for your cute figure.”

Admittedly, my leggings had a hole in the butt and below one knee, and my vintage Queen sweatshirt had seen better days—probably in 1982. But I’d worn them for cleaning, not a night at the opera. “This isn’t an outfit, Mother. It’s sweats.”

“Mariah, do you like that outfit?”

“It looks comfy,” Mariah offered.

“Comfy is for babies and grandmothers,” my mother huffed. “You can’t go around being comfy and expecting to attract the love of your life.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t listen to her, Mariah. A good person looks beyond appearances to what really matters—your heart.”

“Not if it’s covered by that ratty old sweatshirt,” my mother muttered under her breath.

“If a man doesn’t appreciate Freddie Mercury, he is not the man for me.” Shooting her one last evil glare, I turned Mariah by the shoulders and steered her toward the front door. “Come on, honey. I’ll walk you back. I have something to return to your dad, and I could use some fresh air.”

Of course Cole got home from work while I was leaving his house in my frumpy old sweats and snow boots.

“Hey,” he said, walking toward the back porch from the garage. He took my breath away in his uniform like he always did. “How did it go with the turkeys today?”

“It went great.” I gave him my brightest smile, hoping it would distract him from my raggedy clothes and hair. “The kids had fun.”

“Good.” He stepped onto the porch and looked me up and down. “Still no coat? It’s thirty degrees out here, Cheyenne.”

I laughed. “Don’t scold me, Dad. I just left your jacket inside. Mariah stopped over and I walked her back so I could return it. I needed to cool off anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“My mother was singing her favorite tune. It’s called All the Reasons You’re Still Single. I swear to God, I might strangle her in her sleep one night. Or smother her with a pillow. Is that more humane?”

He laughed. “I’m not sure I can recommend homicide, but would a beer help? Or a glass of wine?”

“It might.”

“Why don’t you come in? Or better yet, let’s avoid both our mothers. Why don’t we escape our houses and go out for a drink?”

For a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe. Had Cole just asked me out?

“That sounds like fun,” I said, attempting to sound casual while inside I lost my shit completely.

“Have you eaten yet?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Me neither. Let’s grab a bite in town.”

I glanced at my clothes. “Do you mind if I clean up a little first?”

“Not at all, but I actually dig the Queen sweatshirt.”

I burst out laughing. “Thank you. My mother just insulted it.”

“Don’t listen to her. But I have to change too. Why don’t you text me when you’re ready?”

“Okay. I might need like half an hour. Is that okay?”

“Sure. See you in a bit.”

“See you in a bit.” I hopped off the porch and headed down the driveway, crunching over the inch or two of snow that had accumulated today, although what I really felt like doing was cartwheeling through it. Dancing on it. Scooping up giant