Page 65 of Good Girls Don't Kiss and Tell (Rock Canyon, Idaho 7)

Gracie put her phone in the cup holder and grabbed her Bluetooth ear piece. Once she was set up with hands-free, she called Eric.

“Hey you,” he said, his deep voice making her insides tighten.

“Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“Pip’s great-grandmother, the woman she is staying with, wants to meet me! I think she might let me see her if this goes well!”

“That’s great, babe! I’m really happy for you both.”

His warm enthusiasm made Gracie’s smile widen. “Me too. I just hope she likes me.”

“She will. I guarantee it.”

Gracie pulled out onto the main road, practically humming with happiness. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”

“You gonna come back over tonight?” he asked.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. Hard, lumpy couch or sleeping with you…decisions…”

“If you’re looking for pros, my bed is big, comfy, and I’m in it.”

“And so is your snoring…plus you fart in your sleep.”

Eric burst out laughing, and she liked the way the sound made her heart beat fast.

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but everyone farts in their sleep.”

“I do not.”

“Um, yeah, you do. It’s cute, really, ’cause they’re kind of quiet and high-pitched—”

“Oh my God, new topic!” she said, laughing. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Hey, you brought it up. I was just defending my honor.”

“Ha, an honorable man would not have described my flatulating practices.”

She could tell Eric was having a hard time catching his breath, and she giggled at his mirth.

“Okay, okay, enough. Are you coming over or what?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll see you after work. The door will be open.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

“Later.”

Gracie shook her head as she ended the call. Never in her life had she talked about farting with a guy. Well, Mike, but he didn’t count. They’d never bumped uglies.

She pulled into her driveway, still musing about the ease with which they’d fallen into bed together, and things hadn’t gotten weird. Maybe because with everything that had happened between them over the years, it was bound to happen? It didn’t mean anything; it would actually be nice to have a little something something while they were pulling off this charade.

Gracie walked through the door of her home to find her mother cleaning her kitchen. She was wearing one of Gracie’s “dirty” aprons as she scrubbed the counter aggressively. Across her boobs, the words I Like Sweet Treats and I Cannot Lie was embroidered in pink, and the straps and skirt of the apron was a mix of baked good fabric. Gracie had one of the women in town make them for her, to help out a fellow small business and because they were a conversation starter at The Local Bean.

Seeing her mother wearing it, though, was a little disturbing. She doubted her mom had ever heard the Sir Mix-a-Lot song.

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