Page 7 of Mr. July

I stood reluctantly. Everything in my mind was telling me to stay away from Jake. But my heart was telling me to go find him. I wanted him. I was foolish to turn him away. What if I never got the chance to see him again? Would I live my life with that one regret?

I put a hand to my hip. “I have no fucking clue where to find him.”

We both glanced out past the beer garden enclosure. There were people everywhere. Literally hundreds of people filled the park. With the carnival and all the vendor booths, plus all the enclosed tents set up, there was no way we could find Jake.

It was like Jill had the same thought, because she put a reassuring hand on my arm. “We’ll find him. Let’s start at the most logical place—the mechanical bull. All guys like watching chicks on that.”

I rolled my eyes but went with it. Jake didn’t seem like the kind of guy who cared to watch females ride the mechanical bull for three seconds before falling to their demise. I was proven correct a few minutes later. “What other ideas do you have? It’s like finding a piece of sugar in a bowl of salt.”

“I don’t know. Let’s walk around, and maybe we’ll run into him. But first, I must have a slice of this pie.” Jill pointed at The Pie Maker’s booth.

Like it was every year, the line was about thirty people deep, but I didn’t have anything better to do. I always skipped getting a piece of pie because of the line.

“Well, at least most of the line is covered in shade.”

After I’d lost my weight in water and was absolutely parched, it was our turn to order. An older woman was all smiles and cheery like she had an AC unit pointed up her blouse.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“Do you want a slice of anything?” Jill asked.

“Um, yeah. I’ll have the strawberry rhubarb. And a water.”

“Make that two strawberry rhubarbs and two waters, please.”

The woman rang it up on her little cash register. “Twelve fifty.” She turned her head to look behind her. “Jake, two strawberry rhubarbs.”

My heart rate accelerated, and I met the woman’s happy gaze. His deep voice made a presence before his body did.

“Here, Grandma. Two strawberry rhubarbs.”

My already-parched throat closed up even tighter when my Mr. July stepped up next to his grandma. He gave me a brief glance, looked away, and did a double take. His smile warmed up my body from my toes to my head.

“Liberty Belle. This is fate.”

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