Page 73 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

“The proportions ...,” Teri put in, nodding, failing once again to finish her sentence.

Despite the edge of embarrassment, Daphne found her lips twitching. Eileen was obviously a delusional maniac without an ounce of fashion sense, which was oddly endearing. And the look on Flint’s face was a strange mix of horror and humor.

A few years ago, Daphne would have considered backing out. Back then, her life had been safe. Small. But now, what did she care? The only reason she was going to Eileen’s event was to get a cast-iron pot back. She’d returned to the island at her lowest. What did it matter if she had to show up in a ridiculous dress?

She was doing this for her grandmother, and for herself. She’d wear whatever was required.

“Mother—”

Daphne’s dress crinkled and swished as she twirled. The yards and yards of fabric spread out around her as she did, knocking into people’s legs and the wall behind her. The weight of the fabric was enough to knock her crutches to the ground. She wobbled and caught herself against the wall, then met Eileen’s gaze. “Thank you so much for thinking of me. I’d be honored to wear it to your vow renewal.”

Eileen gave her a sharp nod. Daphne shifted to look at the sheriff. He had his hands on his hips and was staring at Daphne’s dress like he wanted to burn it.

“Mom. Daphne. I’d like to speak to you both in my office.” He gestured toward the opposite side of the room, and his mother squeezed his arm as she brushed past. Shirley picked up the crutches from the ground and helped Daphne squish the dress out of the way so Daphne could use them without tripping over her own clothing. Then she bit her lip to hide her smile and swung her way over to the sheriff’s office.

She should’ve known the moment she saw Kathy directing their ridiculous choreography that there’d be costumes. Still, she couldn’t have predicted this.

Slumping into one of the chairs, Daphne patted the fabric down so she could see over the top of it. Flint’s face appeared, and she wasn’t sure if he was angry or trying to hold back his laughter. Maybe both.

He turned to his mother, who sat in the chair to Daphne’s right. “You never mentioned anything about a dress.”

“You never asked.”

“Daphne, you don’t have to wear that thing.”

“Of course she does!”

Daphne plucked at the fabric, watching how it shimmered under the fluorescent lights. “I think it’s nice,” she lied.

Eileen looked at her son and gave him a look that saidSee? She thinks it’s nice.

“It looks like something from a Molly Ringwald movie, Mom.”

“What’s wrong with Molly Ringwald movies? Archie’s favorite isThe Breakfast Club.”

Daphne fluffed one of the shoulder puffs. “NotPretty in Pink?”

Flint pinched the bridge of his nose, then lifted his gaze to Daphne. “You’re okay with this?”

Daphne shrugged, the fabric on her shoulders flapping like wings. “Sure.”

Eileen patted Daphne’s arm, then looked at Flint. “Calvin, look. If you don’t want to do the dance, I understand. I know you and I ... I know things haven’t been easy. It was Ceecee that got excited about the choreography, and I ...” Eileen touched the iridescent-pink fabric, feeling it between her fingers. “Maybe I’ve gotten carried away with it all. It’s just a bit of fun, you know? Something to get people talking.” She straightened her shoulders and looked at her son. “But I won’t force you to do anything. I’m just glad you’re coming.”

Daphne watched the way Eileen smiled at Calvin and felt a pang of empathy. There was sadness in the older woman’s gaze—and understanding. This wasn’t a woman who felt good about her relationship with her son, but she looked almost lost as to how to fix it. Maybe it couldn’t be fixed.

But a woman who was happy to have a silly dance with feathers and ridiculous dresses to mark her ten-year anniversary was a woman who liked to laugh, and who wasn’t afraid to laugh at herself. It was a woman who took her nine-year-old daughter’s opinions into consideration and didn’t get hung up on appearances.

Either that, or she had awful taste.

Flint sighed, gaze sliding to Daphne. “It’s up to you,” he told her.

She heard what he didn’t say: that he knew she didn’t love to be in the limelight, and he’d listen to her if this dress was a step too far. He didn’t think Daphne was the quiet, responsible good girl that everyone else seemed to see, but he still wanted her to be comfortable.

“Ceecee would be disappointed if we backed out,” Daphne responded. “She lights up every time she mentions the dance.”

“It was her idea,” Eileen admitted, lips twitching. “Mostly, I’m looking forward to showing her the video when she’s old enough to be embarrassed about it. And her father will do anything she asks,” she added with a soft laugh. “‘Wrapped around her little finger’ doesn’t even cover half of what she’s done to him.”

Daphne grinned. “She’s a good kid.”

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