Page 39 of Mr. Picture Perfect
Dreams floating like stars in the night sky, right in front of his closed eyes and his adorably flushed cheeks.
Then his eyes opened.
Reality hit him.
He said his mystery words in a perfect monotone—whatever they were—then took off. I was left standing there with the leash hanging slack in my grip, in a silent panic, feet planted to the hard pavement, terrified of what I had just done.
My kissing crime.
I barely slept last night. I kept replaying in my head our whole conversation—or whatever I remembered of it—that led up to the kiss. The words change every time I think about it. Of course, Nan was having a snore-heavy night, so all I could hear through the walls all night was the deep rumble of her impressively potent nostrils. Also, a loose part of the flowery trellis outside my window kept tapping on the glass due to the wind, annoying me. There was no hope for catching z’s last night.
I hope I see him soon. I will apologize immediately, beg him to pretend it didn’t happen, and assure him it won’t happen again.
Then try everything in my power to not break that promise.
It’s a mere handful of minutes later that I’m placed in front of a tall, wide green screen. This is a musty room we’re all gathered in that used to be a barn, repurposed into a generalized art and photography workshop—or so said Nadine an hour ago, I wasn’t quite listening. There are only a handful of people here: a few working on the lighting, a couple by the makeup counter, and some more at a table set out with bottled waters, coffee, and juice.
Noah is nowhere to be found.
“Dean,” says a handsome older gentleman standing next to me with warm brown eyes, shaved head, and a smooth chestnut complexion. He has been similarly done up in makeup, dressed in a pair of designer jeans and a crisp dress shirt with the sleeves stylishly folded up. He has joined me by the big green screen to introduce himself. “I don’t believe we’ve quite met.”
“Hello there, Dean,” I say as it clicks. “You’re one of the other bachelors, right?”
“That, I am.” Dean reveals a pair of deeply-defined dimples when he smiles, and his eyes twinkle with charm. It’s no wonder Nadine chose him as one of the bachelors. He’ll make the women in town swoon—and likely some men, too. “Are there just three of us? Four? I’ve heard conflicting things.”
“Three, I believe.”
“Ah, three. Yes, nice number, nice round number, three.”
“Indeed! Have I run into you at the grocery store?” I ask, finding his face familiar. “Or have I seen you at church?”
“Quite likely both. I do regularly frequent them. Though you may know me better through my nephew Tyrone. Do you know him? He used to be with the police department.” He reconsiders as he looks me over. “Mmm, perhaps you’re too young.”
“Do you mean Tyrone King?”
His face lights up. “Yes! The one and only. He’s a wonderful man, Tyrone, if not a bit of a recluse with his family out in the middle of nowhere where he lives. Dean King, that’s my full name, in case you wondered, Iama King. Are you as nervous as I am, by the way?” he asks suddenly with a charming laugh. “I have never done anything quite like this. Back in my day, Ididparticipate in a talent show, but that’s as close as I’ve come, and I didnotwin. But despite my trepidation, Nadine was … well, she was convincing, I suppose you could say, quite convincing.”
I can imagine the two of them in a calamitous arm wrestling match with a manic, sleeves-rolled-up Nadine bending his arm in half and causing him to explode into tears of anguish, eventually surrendering to her request to be a part of this.
“Well, when she sets her mind on something …” I start.
Dean lets out a throaty chuckle. “You can say that again!” He nudges me playfully. “So what kind of young, lovely lady do you hope will turn up for you? You’re quite a handsome young stud!”
I hear Nan’s voice in my head all over again—He’s gayer than a sack of Blow Pops!Thankfully, she’s not here, so I smile and politely respond, “Honestly, I’m just doing this to help out Nadine. I’m not hoping to get anyone out of it.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Just in our brief time chatting, I can tell you’re a fine young man. If my granddaughter didn’t already have a fellow in her life, I think you’d be quite fitting for her.”
I’ll take that as a compliment. “Thank you, sir.”
“No, no—Dean, please, call me Dean. I already feel like a fossil standing next to you. No need to overdo with any ‘sirs’. Oh, I never got your name.”
“Cole.” I shake his hand. “Cole Harding.”
“Dean King. Oh, I’ve already done that part, haven’t I?”
A door opens across the room, blinding sunlight shining in for a moment. I see Nadine entering with a man, and the pair of them appear deep in discussion. She says something and laughs, and the man appears to react stiffly, clearly not a person of humor. Is that Burton’s father, by chance?
My curiosity ends when I see a third person trail in behind them just before the door shuts:
