Page 6 of Outcast
CHAPTERTWO
Emory
I wiggled my pen,drawing a curvy set of lines. On my napkin, a cloudy explosion formed over a man’s head.
Kaboom.
A mic squealed with feedback at the front of the room, making everyone at my table cringe. Dad craned his neck toward the stack of hay bales serving as a stage. Fairy lights wound around beams above our heads, and lanterns cast each table in a soft glow, transforming an old barn into a swanky banquet.
“Sorry,” Teddy Prince said as he fiddled with the mic’s volume. “I just want to thank you all for coming out tonight to support my run for mayor.Again.” He paused for the polite laughter. “This town has my heart, as do all of you. My lovely wife, Jennifer, and my daughter, Allison.” He lifted his glass. “And a big thank-you to my co-hosts, the Golds, who are like family to me, and heck, maybe one day, they really will be.”
He winked suggestively, and everyone looked at us. Looked at me. My smile froze, and I fought valiantly to keep it from twisting into a grimace.
Ever since Allison returned from her big-city job in Boston, disillusioned by her corporate experience, everyone had been waiting for me to drop to one knee.
Wasn’t going to happen. Not with Allison. We’d dated in high school, and even then, the spark was missing.
The mayor continued his speech, garnering polite applause.
“And now, I’m sure you’ve had enough of my prattle. Let’s start the music. Enjoy the open bar, folks. Dance and have a good time.”
An upbeat Luke Bryan song piped through the speakers overhead, and a few married couples took to the floor, including Allison’s parents.
Grandpa leaned over to peek at my napkin art. I tilted it toward him for a better view.
He snickered.
“Emory,” my mother said with a head shake. “I wish you wouldn’t doodle like a middle schooler.”
“You should network,” Dad said. “Every event is an opportunity for connection, and connection is?—”
“Community business,” I said with him.
Dad had pounded that one into me from a young age. Gold Community Bank wasn’t only a business; it was your friend, your neighbor, your generous uncle, if you will—though with interest rates attached.
“Allison looks so pretty tonight,” Mom gushed. “She is going to make such a lovely bride someday.”
Mom looked at me expectantly.
“Mm.” I nodded, avoiding eye contact. I knew where this was going. Same place it had been going for the last six weeks.
“You should ask her to dance,” Mom pressed. “She’s alone over there.”
“She won’t be alone for long,” I mumbled.
Allison was beautiful in that good Midwestern girl way. Her hair was a honey blonde, her skin a pale ivory but with a rosy glow from days spent in the sunshine, and her smile wide and warm.
She was a great friend, but there was no attraction there. Maybe because we grew up as neighbor kids playing in the dirt. Once you knew a girl’s favorite mud pie recipe, the romance was gone.
We ran all over together, exploring the neighborhood. She was even there when?—
I cut off the train of thought, pressing my lips tight.
Point was, we might look perfect on paper, but we were all wrong together. Too bad half the town disagreed.
“You should ask now before she gets other offers,” Mom said pointedly.
“We only miss the opportunities we don’t make,” Dad added.
