Page 32 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

“Cupcake is just embarrassed about the gossip. You know how shy she is,” he added with a broad smile, but Daphne heard the hidden dagger in his words. The jerk didn’t think she was shy at all.

“If you call me Cupcake one more time, I will stab you in the neck, Flint.”

He met her gaze, hazel eyes flashing. “Do your worst, Davis.”

“Young love,” Grandma Mabel said with a sigh; then she patted Daphne’s shoulder and walked away.

Daphne watched her, then swung her gaze across the room to see a few people ducking away from her glare. She looked at the sheriff. “This is your fault.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you get off on driving me insane?”

Flint turned to face her, something like interest sparkling in his gaze. “Should I answer that honestly?”

“I hate you,” she spat, cheeks burning.

“Wow,” Ellie said, leaning over. “I’ve never seen Daphne so fired up. When did this all start? Have you guys been seeing each other in secret? Is that why you both moved back at the same time?”

“No,” Daphne exclaimed as Flint leaned an arm on the bar in front of her and said, “Maybe.”

Ellie’s eyes widened as she exchanged a glance with Wynn. She turned back to Daphne. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Oh, she does,” Flint said, then grunted when Daphne elbowed him in the gut. Wheezing slightly, he smiled at Ellie. “She’s a firecracker behind closed doors.”

Daphne leaned forward and grabbed one of the little plastic drink stirrers the bartender kept next to the sliced limes. She held it in a clenched fist and angled her body toward Flint. “Carotid or jugular? Your choice, Flint.”

In the dim light of the bar, his eyes were the color of whiskey. He gave her a dark smile. “Try me, sweetheart.”

Her heart thumped wildly as her lungs constricted. She was hot all over. Anger had burned a path through her, and now all she could do was glare at the sheriff as he leaned toward her, the clean, dizzying scent of him teasing her nose. She inhaled through her teeth and said, “I thought you’d changed, but I was wrong.”

His lids dropped to half-mast, gaze landing on her mouth. Daphne fought the urge to lick her lips, focusing instead on the feel of the hard plastic pick clenched in her fist. Her pulse pounded in her throat and wrists. Between her legs.

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally replied, and leaned back while he turned toward the bar to order a soda water.

The background music died down, and everyone turned to see the band take the stage. Daphne’s father hooked his saxophone to his neck strap and adjusted the flat cap on his head, then nodded to the big man who sang and played lead guitar. A moment later, ODNT was playing one of the originals on their brand-new album, and the focus of everyone at Mickey’s Bar was finally off Daphne and the sheriff.

She felt him shift closer. Felt the press of his thigh against hers. Felt the heat of his breath on her neck a moment before he asked, “Want to dance?”

When she turned her head, their faces were inches apart. She could see the little flecks of green and gold in his irises, the length of each individual lash framing eyes that were too beautiful to belong to such a vile man. Not wanting to give him an inch, she held her ground, her heart thundering when his gaze dropped to her lips once more.

It wasn’t anger blazing a path down the middle of her anymore. It was something much, much worse.

“So?” he prompted, voice low.

“Flint,” she said softly, and watched him lean a fraction of an inch closer. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she said, “I’d rather die than dance with you right now.”

She slid off her stool and grabbed her jacket and purse to walk toward the table her grandmother and mother had commandeered near the stage. The sound of Flint’s low laughter chased her all the way there.

It was a few hours later when Daphne finally left Mickey’s Bar. Her grandmother hooked her arm in Daphne’s so they could walk out together. Taxis were scarce on Fernley, and the wait for one that would be willing to drive all the way to the north end of the island to drop Grandma Mabel home would be upward of an hour. Daphne had hadmore than a few drinks to drown her sorrows while Flint watched her as he sipped soda water at the bar, so she wasn’t fit to drive either.

“Want to walk over to my place and have a coffee while we wait for Dad to finish up?”

“That sounds wonderful, honey,” Grandma Mabel replied, patting Daphne’s arm.

It was a cool night. The sky had cleared to reveal a carpet of glittering stars. The air was damp and fresh, and the two of them made the walk to Daphne’s apartment in companionable silence while their breaths puffed in front of them in white clouds. They were almost at the door when Grandma Mabel spoke.

“What’s really going on between you and the sheriff, Daphne?”

---