Take the Reins (A Cowboy's Promise #2) - Megan Squires Page 0,34
was a torn packet of mint gum on the dashboard. When Seth entered from his side and removed his hat, he shoved it onto the dash next to the gum like that spot was specifically reserved for it. He fit his keys in the ignition, then turned his head to look at Josie. “So, where are we headed?”
It was cold out—the coldest night of the season by several degrees—but Josie only had one thing on her mind. “How do you feel about ice cream?”
“Vanilla?” Josie ran her tongue up the sugar cone to slurp off the dripping ice cream melting down the side of it. “With all of the baking you do, I would’ve expected something a little more…I don’t know…interesting?”
“I don’t understand why vanilla gets such a bad rap. It is a real flavor. It’s not like it’s the absence of flavor or anything.”
“Sure, but it’s the absence of excitement.” Josie took another lick of her ice cream, savoring the cold sensation on her tongue that felt only a few degrees cooler than the wind swirling around them. “If you’re going to indulge, why not go all in?”
“That’s some pretty dangerous advice right there.”
“Maybe when it comes to life, but it’s still pretty safe when it comes to ice cream.”
Seth screwed up his mouth into a smirk and then ran his gaze up and down Josie’s upper half. He pointed his ice cream cone at her and squinted. “I think your jacket would beg to differ.”
Josie dropped her eyes to her coat. Like a messy toddler wearing their meal, she had a sticky trail of bright orange ice cream trickling down the front of her jean jacket. She was a mess that no number of napkins could fix.
“I’m just reenacting more from our first non-existent date. But instead of spilling my beer, looks like I’ve spilled my dessert.”
“Then, in keeping with that, I suppose I should offer you my jacket.” Seth moved to start unbuttoning his thick canvas coat.
“Nah. I’m fine wearing mine. As long as you are okay being seen with me like this.”
“Right. ‘Cause a guy is totally going to be embarrassed by being seen with a woman that looks like you.”
Josie tucked her chin back. “A woman that looks like me…?”
“A woman as pretty as you, Josie.” He held his cone out a few inches from his mouth and then paused like he wasn’t sure what part of his sentence she couldn’t understand. “Has no one ever told you how beautiful you are?”
“I’m not the pretty one, Seth.” She blotted at her jacket even though it was a lost cause. “You haven’t seen my sisters.”
“Why would I need to see your sisters to gauge whether or not you’re beautiful? I’m looking at you right now, aren’t I?”
A flash of heat flamed Josie’s cheeks. She wondered if they radiated enough to make the ice cream melt even more but at this point it didn’t really matter. She was a certifiable disaster. “You’re really good at this whole fake flattery thing, Seth. Really good.” She crumpled a napkin and tossed it next to her on the sidewalk.
“The relationship might be fake, but my words aren’t.”
She didn’t know how to—or if she even should—answer that, so she angled her gaze directly ahead rather than on Seth at her side where they sat huddled together on the curb just outside the ice cream shop. They had been the last customers of the night, likely the only people crazy enough to crave something so cold this time of year. Sure, they could’ve taken their desserts to go and eaten them in a cozier space, preferably one with heating, but Josie suggested they hang back a few minutes more. She loved this particular view from outside the small establishment. It wasn’t anything fancy, but the memories it held were treasures.
The empty arena where her father had worked frequently as a rodeo pickup man nestled against the backdrop of low, swelling foothills on the other side of the two lane road. If she quieted her thoughts enough, she could hear the roar of the stands, feel the energy of the thundering crowds, hear the National Anthem sung over a crackling, outdated sound system. Heck, she could even pull from memory the earthy smell of livestock waiting in pens. Bulls, broncs, steers. Josie grew up on those rodeo grounds.
Sometimes she’d slink away during the barrel racing portion—her least favorite event—to buy herself an ice cream cone with a week’s worth of scrounged up pocket