Page 75 of His Tenth Dance

“These friends mean a lot to Kris, Granddad. What if they don’t like me?”

“Sounds like a them-problem,” Granddad said without missing a beat. “They don’t have to like you.”

“But they kind of do,” Mission argued.

They wanted him to blind-taste all the desserts and pick a “purple ribbon winner.” But now that Granddad had said they probably didn’t expect him to pick Kristie’s, some of the pressure eased from his chest.

“Just be yourself,” Granddad said. “You’ve been out with lots of women, and the reason it didn’t work out wasn’t because they didn’t like you. You’re a real likable guy, Mish.”

Mission thought back to the conversation he and Kristie had had a couple of weeks ago—the night the rain had washed out the road. Waslikablesynonymous withsimple?

He wasn’t sure, but most of the time, he barely felt like he could handle Kristie. And now he would have to be in the room with four women and their fancy desserts—all of their eyes on him.

His stomach slithered as if he’d swallowed snakes, and he got back to his feet, because he didn’t want to be late. “I have to go,” he said. “If you don’t hear from me by morning, maybe send out a search party for my body.”

Granddad chuckled again. “You’re going to be fine, son. Try to enjoy the desserts.”

With that advice in his mind, Mission left and made the drive to Lennie’s house, which sat in a newer suburb on the northeast side of Ivory Peaks.

He recognized Kristie’s SUV as he pulled up to the curb. He gripped the steering wheel and looked out into the bright summer evening. “Lord,” he said.

But then he didn’t know how to pray for a dessert taste-testing with Kristie and her friends. He should have said no. Made up something on the farm that would keep him there that night and sent his condolences.

I’m so sorry, I wish I could, but I’ve got this…thing going on at the farm tonight.

He pressed his eyes closed, his mind suddenly full of the words he needed to send to God’s ears.

Just don’t let me make a fool of myself. Don’t let me embarrass Kristie in front of her friends. Help me to be kind and constructive with my feedback. And most of all, Lord, please bless these desserts to be delicious.

The passenger door opened, and Mission’s heartbeat rattled like a tambourine. He yelped and squished himself into the driver’s side door, startled by the sudden intrusion.

“Whoa, whoa—it’s just me,” Kristie said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “What are you doing out here?”

“Trying to decide if I should come in or not,” he admitted as his adrenaline clouded his mind.

She smiled at him. “Are you nervous?”

“Absolutely.”

She nodded and ducked her head. “I told them you would be.”

“Were you watching for me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “My dessert’s been done for a while, and when you didn’t come in….” She trailed off, looking over at him.

She wore a blue apron with an embroidered apple and her name on the front, a gray t-shirt under that, and a pair of shorts short enough that the apron covered them, with just her bare knees poking out the bottom.

“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” he said with a smile. “And I’m sure glad I am.” He leaned toward her, glad when she met him halfway and kissed him.

“It’s just desserts,” she said.

“It’s meeting your friends,” he whispered against her lips. “That’s a lot more than desserts, kitten.”

“They’re really nice,” she offered.

Mission nodded, sure they were. “Let’s not keep ‘em waiting, then.”

He got out of the truck and joined her on the sidewalk. She took his hand and squeezed it, and that meant more to Mission than she knew. She led him up the sidewalk and then the steps, straight into the house—which smelled like every bottle of extract, every tin of spice, and every fruit in existence had been opened, used, and squeezed.

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