Page 3 of Just Can't Fall for the Enemy

He frowned. “Are you all right? You don’t look well.”

My stomach turned over again. “Excuse me,” I said, sprinting for the restroom, which was, thankfully, unlocked. I heard his chuckle even through the door.

When I emerged ten minutes later, he stood where I’d left him. Lovely. He handed me my fifty back and closed my hand around it, his touch electrifying my entire arm. “You shouldn’t have to pay for that jerk. Consider this my apology for the less-mannered of my gender. What’s your name?”

I cleared my throat, relieved I’d been able to find some mint gum in my purse, but all that came to mind was a replay of tonight’s events. The fourteen children and cats and dogs and the spaghetti . . . curse that limp pasta to the sky. I wouldn’t be eating pasta again for a very long time. And the belch—thatwould be very hard to explain away.My traitorous face flamed again.

“Think of me as the dinner entertainment,” I said, shoving the crumpled bill back at him. “You shouldn’t have to pay for him either. Believe me, it was a pleasure to drive him from my town. Men like that don’t belong here.”

“Oh? Are you the town’s designated protector?”

I thought about my young friend, Nate, and felt my determination surge. “Something like that.”

He rejected the offering, shaking his head. “Please. It’s the least I can do.” He looked me up and down, making the heat in my cheeks creep down my neck. I’d scrubbed at the spaghetti sauce on my blouse, but patches of pink stubbornly remained. What kind of impression had I given him and everyone else in this room? And yet . . . he now wore a look of approval. Maybe even admiration. Was that a hint of red on his own neck?

An urge for my bed and a pint of Mintee’s ice cream overcame me. “Thank you, then. Glad you enjoyed the show.” I brushed past him to the parking lot and my car. I’d parked near the back, of course, impossibly far away.

The man actually followed me. “Question. If a guy met you at a Chinese restaurant, would he have a better chance?”

No, no,no.This was not happening. Not with spaghetti-sauce stains and probably puke on my blouse.

My car beeped as I hit the button on my key fob, and I yanked the door open to slide in. Then I gave him a tight smile. “I don’t know that I’ll be going on any more dates for a while, thank you.”Or eating dinner again, for that matter.

“Wait.” His voice held an edge of surprise. “You really won’t tell me your name?”

After that scene? Not a chance. Besides, he was obviously passing through. With any luck, I’d never see him again. “Have a good night.”

He unlocked his own car—an expensive red coupe, of course—and stood there watching me with little expression as I drove away.

Two

A light chillhung in the autumn air as I watched the woman go.

What was that about?

I stood next to my car longer than I should, half hoping she would come back, but her taillights disappeared in the distance. I recalled her little show inside and chuckled again. She’d put her date in his place without a single rude word. Impressive, especially since the guy acted like we were still living in the 1950s and women were expected to push out babies and have dinner on the table by five. I’d had half a mind to say something, but it hadn’t been necessary.

Most of the gorgeous ones would rather die than put on a performance like that. What confidence. And I didn’t even know her name.

A crowd gathered at the restaurant window, some with hands cupped to see better. Clearly, a few of the restaurant-goers had figured out who I was. My cue to leave. I folded my six-foot frame into my fusion-red Tesla. My car stood out in this town, no doubt. But that was part of the reason I bought it. A gift for myself after I received my first $100,000 paycheck. There had been many of those since, all piling up in my checking account, waiting for the day I knew what to do with them. It wasn’t like a guy who’d spent the past four years traveling needed a mansion or a garage full of cars.

Maybe an apartment, though. Someplace to call home. And companionship that didn’t require autographs and selfies at every turn. My dating life was, unfortunately, choppy and disconnected these days—the product of a career that kept me on the move. Probably better that the woman hadn’t given me the time of day.

This is the life you chose,I reminded myself.Most people would kill for the money you’re making.

As I drove down Main Street, I couldn’t help but admire its charm. On the left was a park filled with benches, walkways, and loads of enormous trees that looked even older than the town. Strings of lights gave it a romantic air with the darkening sky above. On the far side of the park stood a gazebo beneath which sat a quartet of musicians in casual dress, as if they’d spontaneously put this together. The song that floated on the air sounded slightly twangy, like an old country ballad.An older couple danced on the grass below. With its tree-lined streets and the leaves turning brilliant shades of red, yellow, and orange, Huckleberry Creek was practically a movie set.

And I would be the first YouTuber to feature it.

A wave of nostalgia rushed through my veins. A long time ago, I’d had different plans—college, followed by a steady job. Then a friend’s move and invitation for me to join him in Costa Rica became the perfect opportunity to ditch my local community college for a different kind of adventure. I started my travel channel—not the boring, informational kind but a show revealing the lesser-known tourist gold of various destinations. Before long, brands asked me to promote their stuff in exchange for hefty paychecks. Now, after only a few years of work, my channel had nearly twenty million followers.

It had become my career whether I liked it or not. Mostly I liked it. I’d even asked my assistant, Jill, to reach out to another popular YouTuber star, Guy Hadley, to see if he wanted to collaborate. So far, he hadn’t given me a glance, and I didn’t blame him. He was the most popular YouTuber on the planet with hundreds of millions of subscribers. He’d even appeared in a movie recently. Hooking him into a collaboration would launch my channel into the stratosphere. Success like that would be impossible for anyone to ignore, including my deadbeat Dad who was currently who-knew-where.

I flung the thought away in distaste. My career had nothing to do with him. Or my life, for that matter.

“Welcome to Huckleberry Creek,” I began, speaking into my phone. “Small Town Central, USA. Population 1,100. Or maybe five hundred if you don’t count the stray dogs. My first impression is that—”

A shadow appeared on the road.

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