Page 67 of Summer Ever After
“You’re older than I was expecting,” he says.
Creepy Brian likes to rob the cradle.
“Really?” Jane shifts her weight nervously.
His gaze travels to me. “Do I know you?”
“Oh, this is Walker. He doesn’t live here.”
“That’s right. Walker Collins, the golfer. I remember when you came on the scene about ten years ago. I remember because I had just turned thirty.” He pauses. “Or was it thirty-five? I don’t know. The older I get, I can never remember my age.”
“It’s tough.” I grin at Jane, noting the mortification crossing over her face.
“Well, we better get going.” She starts walking toward the door. “Got to get the night started.”
“It was good meeting you, Walker.”
“Likewise. Have fun, you two!” I give Jane a little wave, watching as they leave together.
Am I jealous? Heck no. Not of that guy.
More like worried for Jane’s well-being.
“Oh no! I missed seeing the blind date,” Marlyss says as she puts my ranch cups inside my to-go bag.
I point out the open window. “They’re outside. You can still see him.”
She stretches her neck to get a better view of them getting inside Brian’s golf cart. “He’s, like, my age.”
“Yep.”
“That’s not Jane’s type at all. Why is she going out with someone so much older than her?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
We keep watching as they sit in his cart, talking.
“Why aren’t they leaving yet?”
Maybe because she realizes this whole thing is ridiculous.
Jane’s entire countenance falls, and I feel myself tensing. If I have to go out there and fight the guy, I will. Without warning, she hops out of his cart and rushes back inside the restaurant, face as red as the devil.
Her focus is on the floor, avoiding me.
“Everything alright?” Marlyss asks when she steps up to the bar.
My eyes swing to the window and to Brian, still outside, waiting in his cart. “If he said something inappropriate to you”—I move to stand, as if I plan to go outside and knock him out—“I swear, I’ll?—”
“That’s not necessary.” She puts her hand on me, pushing me back into my seat. “He’s not my blind date.”
Marlyss’s brows fall. “He’s not?”
“No.”
“Then who is he?” I ask.
“Um…” She smooths her skirt, glancing away as if she’s embarrassed. “That’s Greg Tolley, who just moved into the Pattersons’ Airbnb. He’s here to pick up Marlyss’s daughter, Hailey, for her babysitting job tonight.”
