Page 95 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

Oh, boy. Now I’ll not only be trying to impress the future in-laws, but I’ll also be separated from the future husband I barely know.

I wish Zachery had come with us. He’s so good with people. He could easily deflect questions and put on the charm. Maybe I’ll text him an SOS.

“We’ll have to go into town to get ribbon,” Gina says.

“I’ll come, too,” Carrie says. “I need to make sure all the apple cider has come in, plus check on the pies.”

Gina pulls a set of car keys from her pocket and spins them around her finger. “You’re going to get a proper tour of the town.”

As we head toward a dark-green truck, I glance back at Randy.

He’s getting an elbow to the ribs from his brother as they each sling rolls of lights over their shoulders.

What have I gotten myself into exactly? Is this an accepting bunch, or is this how they recruit free help around here?

As we arrange ourselves in the front seat of the truck, me squished between Randy’s mom and sister, I think ofMidsommar.

If someone puts a wreath of flowers on my hair, I’m jumping out of this damn truck.

Chapter 32

ZACHERY: 0, WOOD: 1

The first SOS from Kelsey arrives midmorning.

Kelsey:I’ve been forced to shop in town with the future in-laws.

Me:Are you okay?

Kelsey:Forget the rom-coms. What are the early plot points of horror movies?

Me:You mean when they’re gathering unsuspecting victims?

Kelsey:YES, THAT!

I chuckle to myself. Drama. Kelsey thrives on it. I’m about to look up some good horror movie setups when another notification comes through. It’s a Google pin for where she is.

Kelsey:In case you need to help law enforcement locate the body.

Me:I think in towns like this, the sheriff is always in on it.

Kelsey:ZACH! Oh, gotta go pick out ribbon.

Me:For your wedding?

Kelsey:My funeral wreath.

No more dots appear. She’s really gotten herself involved.

I review the proposal and contract terms of the background talent company providing the extras for both the soccer movie and this upcoming biopic with a concert scene.

Everything looks fine with the proposal. I’ve typed up an email on Kelsey’s laptop for her to look over and make sound more peppy, then send to Desdemona.

I’m glad to help. Kelsey’s getting what she wants.

When I save the draft, the view switches to a page of all her email drafts. I’m about to click away, but the sheer number of them makes me pause.

Eight hundred.

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