Page 21 of Mr. Picture Perfect
Is he wearing cologne? Does he smell this good on accident?
Must be exhausting to be so well-presented all the time.
I try to tell him I’m okay, realize my voice isn’t working, then simply settle on a nod.
“Good,” he says, graciously accepting my nonverbal response. “I was worried about you all day. I tried finding you at the festival after the doctor discharged me, but you’d gone already.” Then he chuckles. “‘Discharged’ … sounds a bit too dramatic, huh?”
Worried about me all day? Is he serious? I lift my eyebrows. “You looked for me?”
“I … well, yes.” Cole smiles. “I’m glad you’re doing okay. That’s what I was worried about. Uh, like I said.” Then he looks off.
Why is he so worried about me? I don’t have a scratch on me.
I glance at his arm. “Is it bandaged up?”
He returns to me. “What?”
“I noticed you’re wearing a jacket. With sleeves. I just made a quick assumption, considering the temperature isn’t that low.”
“Oh. Wow, you’re … observant.” He inspects his sleeve for half a second, then seems to shrug it off. “No, I just like this jacket. Not covering up any gruesome flesh wounds. I simply wanted to … feel stylish … or something.”
He doesn’t want to admit his arm is bandaged up. He probably doesn’t want me to feel any more guilty than I already do. If that’s the reason, that’s nice of him.
But why is he being so nice?
And why is he being so extraattentive?
“You don’t have to worry,” he adds. “I’m totally fine. It looked way worse than it was.” Then he leans in toward me. “Nonecro-asphyxi-itus,” he says in a tiny, playful voice.
I grimace.
That’s not the word. At all. Not even close.
But whatisclose is his body once again—right beside mine, arm pressed against my arm, shoulder against my shoulder, and his face astonishingly close. With just a rough calculation, I’d say there’s easily room for about six more people to crowd around this large kitchen island before he would be required to squeeze in so close to me. Even then, I’m sure some of us would’ve taken a step back to allow more space.
Is this normal distance for him?
If we’re going to continue communicating, am I going to have to get used to this consistent breach of my personal security?
Do I really mind?
“Alright, alright, listen up!” calls out Nadine. Everyone draws quiet. What else does one do when Mrs. Strong calls for attention? “Everyone is here, and I can’t wait a second longer. I have got ageniusidea that I absolutely, one-hundred percent, without a speck of a doubtknowwill be the thing that puts Spruce on the Texas map once and for all.”
“Goodness, Mom, haven’t you made them wait long enough?” says Tanner. “We’re runnin’ out of ranch dip!”
Nadine swats his arm. “Shush you.” She clears her throat and places her hands on the counter. “Now it’s no secret that after the incident today, everyone’s talkin’ about our man of the hour: Cole Harding. Then Cissy asked me who he’s datin’ … and that’s when I got the idea. The iron’s hot. Now’s when we gottastrike.”
“For cryin’ out loud, Mom, the people in this room are gettin’ older by the second. Just tell ‘em what it is!”
Nadine grips the counter, leans forward, and finally lets it out: “I want to run an Eligible Bachelors of Spruce Pageant!”
Chapter 6
Cole
Tanner looks dumbstruck. Billy, too.
Paul Strong takes a silent sip of his wine.
