Page 18 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

Daphne’s eyes widened. She met Shirley’s stunned gaze across the office, and a few heads popped up over the tops of cubicles to watch the unfolding train wreck like groundhogs checking for the first sign of spring.

Flint blinked, his head rearing back an inch. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said, stepping closer, a coy smile on her lips. “Who is she?”

Daphne didn’t know whether to be horrified or amused. A full-body cringe went through her at the other woman’s attempt at flirting—

Until a slight flush reddened the sheriff’s cheeks. Daphne couldn’t help but stare at him in horror. Was he ... Was heenjoyingthis? Hewas actually affected by this woman speaking to him like that in front of all his coworkers?

Of course he was. She was gorgeous. If Daphne did something like that, she’d be laughed out of the station. Not that she would, because it would be risky. It would be putting herself out on a limb with no guarantees of success. It would be antithetical to everything that made Daphne who she was.

Daphne realized her mouth had dropped open, so she clamped it shut.

“Uh ...,” Flint started, blinking. “She’s, um ... my date ... Listen, I know that my mother probably promised you that I would take you, but surely there’s someone else who would be better company ...”

“Maybe I like a man in uniform,” Jenna said in a husky voice.

Shirley let out a squeak as she furiously typed something on her phone. Daphne just watched on as the wallflower that she was, glued to her spot on the floor with her Tupperware container tucked under her arm. She felt unbearably plain, even though the secondhand embarrassment made her want to puke.

Then Sheriff Flint turned his head and met her gaze across the room. When he saw the look on Daphne’s face, which was probably some mix of glee, self-loathing, and horror, his eyes narrowed. He turned back to Jenna. “Actually, my date—”

A loud screech rent the air, followed by a thunderous crash. Outside the station, glass shattered, metal clanged, and the most horrifyingly entertaining interaction Daphne had ever witnessed was eclipsed by shouts of panic on the street.

Chapter 7

Smoke curled from the hood of the pickup that was embedded in the front of the corner store down the street. On the opposite corner, an old beige Honda had jumped the curb and nudged a lamppost just enough to scratch the front bumper. Three doors swung open, and three old ladies jumped out.

Calvin scanned them; they seemed unhurt but shocked. “Stay back, ladies,” he instructed them, and sprinted over to the driver’s side of the pickup truck. Behind the wheel, he could see a middle-aged man blinking at the destruction before him.

“He’s a maniac!” one of the ladies called out. She had white hair curling around her head and blue eyes flashing with indignation. He recognized her from the market; she was one of the women who had been with Daphne. Her grandmother?

“Ran a red light and swerved onto our side of the street!” The grumpiest of the three crossed her arms and snarled at them, her cane clacking against the side of the car.

Two deputies went to talk to the ladies while Calvin turned back to the alleged culprit. He opened the driver’s door. “Are you hurt?”

“Those old ladies ought to have their licenses revoked,” the man shouted. He had a beer belly and scraggly brown hair. “They’re blind if they think that was my fault!”

“You’re the one who should have your license taken!” Daphne’s grandmother yelled.

“You’re too old to be on the streets!” Spittle flew out of the man’s mouth and landed on Calvin’s cheek.

He wiped it off, then put his hands up and stepped into the man’s line of sight. “I’m going to have to ask you to calm down,” he said in his best Sheriff Voice. “We’ll figure out exactly what happened.”

“What happened is those old hags need to take their driving tests again. I could have been killed!”

“You!” The angry old lady stomped over, leaning on her cane. “Youcould have been killed? If it weren’t for Greta, you would’ve run us down!”

Calvin made eye contact with Hank and Teri, one of the female deputies on the force, and nodded for them to usher the trio of old ladies out of the man’s line of sight. He turned back to the pickup driver. “What’s your name?”

“I think I have whiplash,” he said, rubbing his neck.

“Your name,” Calvin repeated.

“Bobby Troy,” the man grumbled, peering around Calvin’s shoulders to glare at the women.

Before he could react, Calvin heard Daphne’s panicked voice. “Grandma?” Glancing over to see Daphne sprinting toward the other car, he watched her hug one of the ladies and check her for injuries before moving to the two others.

“I’m all right, honey, thank goodness. Crazy people on the roads these days. Look at that thing. It can’t be roadworthy.”

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