Page 8 of Faking I Do
Lacey. She had on tight jeans, the kind that didn’t leave much to the imagination, and a pair of well-worn boots. She must have come from riding since she wore her dad’s old canvas jacket over a flannel button-down shirt. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly feeling rather dry. She’d never looked so appealing.
“Bodie.” She met me on my way to the door. “We need to talk.”
I looked around the office. The sheriff’s secretary eyed us over her cup of tea. “I’m heading out to run an errand. Why don’t you come with me, and we can talk on the way?”
She grabbed my arm. Heat seemed to scorch my skin, even through the heavy jacket I’d shrugged on. “I have an idea, a good one. A way to save the town, put people back to work, and?—”
“Let’s go.” I pulled my arm out of her grasp and put my hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the exit.
Once we made it through the door and into the parking lot, she rounded on me. “What the heck? I come in trying to talk to you about my idea—my great idea—and you can’t even bother to give me a minute or two of your time?”
“Sorry, I didn’t want anyone to overhear. Tell me, what’s the big idea?”
Her cheeks pinked with excitement, her enthusiasm almost contagious.
“Weddings.” She climbed into the truck, bouncing onto the seat next to me. “They’re big business. Huge. In fact, the wedding industry pulls in over fifty billion dollars a year.”
“Weddings? What do weddings have to do with Idont?” I backed out of my spot and pulled onto the road. “We don’t even have a hall big enough to host a reception.”
Her eyebrows lifted, and her lips curved into a smile.
“Wait.” I eased the truck to a stop on the side of the road, then shifted in my seat, twisting to face her. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“It’s the perfect solution. I stayed up last night working out the details.” She reached into her purse, feeling around for something. A notebook. She leaned close. Close enough that I could catch a whiff of the sweet smell of hay and horses. “Here you go.”
I glanced at the notebook she’d set on the seat between us. Line after line of Lacey’s curly script covered the page. “Can you give me the condensed version?”
She huffed out a breath. “Fine. Did you know the average wedding costs thirty-nine thousand dollars? And about eighty-five percent of that goes toward the reception?”
“Those are great stats. But I still don’t see what that has to do with Idont. We’re not exactly wedding central around here.” I picked up the notebook and handed it back to her.
“That’s just it.” Next to me, Lacey practically vibrated with excitement. “Idont isn’t. But what if we change the town name to Ido? We could position the town as a major wedding destination. Ido, Texas. Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”
I stared at her—the way her eyes shone with enthusiasm, the way her mouth curved into a smile. And then I laughed. A full-on, doubled-over, deep-from-the-belly laugh.
Her palms pushed at my arm. “It’s not funny.”
“Sorry, Lacey.” I put up my hands in an attempt to protect myself. “It is funny. It’s hysterical.” I tried to catch my breath, but every time I came close I thought of my dad or pops dressed up in penguin suits, ushering in another wedding party. “Who’s going to do the food? I guess you could serve Banzai Burgers. Maybe you can offer Jonah a job as master of ceremonies. The man does have a way with words.”
She gave up on pushing my arm, deciding to whack me over the head with her notebook instead. “I never should have told you. All you ever do is make me feel stupid.”
“Hey.” I caught her hands, my heart squeezing into a tight knot at the sound of heartbreak in her voice. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
She pulled her hands away, turning to face the window. “Can you take me back to my truck now?”
“Lacey.” I reached out, brushing the hair from her shoulder. It was soft, softer than I imagined when I thought of holding her head in my hands, tilting her face at just the right angle so I could kiss her. “I’m sorry. I never want to make you feel less than you are.”
“Doesn’t matter what you think.” Her voice came out soft, low, full of hurt. “You go on, move to Swynton with your dad and your pops. I’ll figure this out on my own.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as I let out a groan. “I never said I was moving to Swynton.”
“You never said you weren’t.”
It was like arguing with the ten-year-old version of Lacey all over again. But we weren’t talking about which flavor of Airheads was the most sour. This was serious stuff. “I’m not going anywhere.” At least not yet. Not until I made sure she was safe and figured out what my dad and pops were up to.
“Wouldn’t matter to me either way.” Her shoulders curled forward, like she was trying to shield herself from me.
I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth as I maneuvered the truck into a wide U turn in the middle of the road. “Fine. Why don’t we try talking about this again later?”
