Page 73 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
My sash?
Jewels?
Easily stitched?
It hits me. They’re here to collect materials for a Love Quilt. Materials from last night. Add to this casserole, and—
“What is that?” A familiar flannel peeks out of the side pocket of Faye’s bag. “Is that Hart’s shirt from yesterday?”
They try to stop me, but I’m too fast, and I yank out the shirt. My fingers search for the corner, and sure enough, the spot where the dart landed has been cut out.
No, no, no.
They’re making a Love Quilt for Hart and me. What the actual hell?!
I glare at them. “This stops right here.”
Wilma straightens so fast she almost topples over. “Stop what? This is just a friendly visit.” She tucks whatever she found under the blanket into a saddlebag-style purse.
“We brought casserole,” Faye says, innocently.
“No. No casserole. No matchmaking. No stealing my stuff for your love shrine.”
“It’s not a shrine.” Wilma picks up another cushion and peeks underneath. “It’s a Love Quilt for an inevitable love story.”
I don’t know how they get a single couple right if they’re pairing me up with Hart.
“It’s not happening.” I fold my arms over my front, his shirt still clutched in my hand.
“You two are practically folklore already. Why waste that?” Faye shrugs, and the handcuffs on her hat rattle.
“We don’t like each other. We coexist, barely. There is nothing quilt-worthy between us.”
“That’s how love stories begin. You think we didn’t fight with our husbands first? I threw a skillet once.” Wilma’s admission doesn’t surprise me.
“Okay, well, I’d like to throw a skillet now,” I say.
Faye giggles. “It wasn’t one skillet.” She turns to me, growing serious. “You’ll change your mind. They always do.”
“I will not.”
“Some folks bake pies, some folks build fences.” Faye bats her eyelashes. “We read souls.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m not playing this game with you two. I saw what you did to Hope and Levi, forcing them to build the kissing booth together because you went on a hunch about their childhood crush.”
“But they were right.” Hope licks a clump of strawberry jam on her lip.
“But there’s no secret crush between Hart and me. So this ends now.”
“Child.” Wilma touches my arm. “We’ve been matchmaking long before you were outta pull-ups.”
She grips Hart’s shirt, but I don’t let it go.
“And you don’t have to see the connection.” Faye also grips the shirt. “That’s why we’re here. You may not believe in fate, but fate believes in us.”
She tugs.
Wilma tugs.
