Page 42 of Perfect Pact

Chapter 8

Beth

Atfiveminutes’tilsix, a knock sounds on the door.Deep breath.

I run my fingers through my hair one last time, unsure if my blonde curls look like I tried too hard. Not wanting him to get any ideas, I throw it up in a cute pony, add one last swipe of berry gloss across my lips, and rush to open the door.

I wish I didn’t feel so excited. I mean, I didn’t want this date, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to a night out. I can’t remember the last time I went out.

“You’re early.” I jerk the door open and throw a hand on my hip.

“If you’re not early, you’re late.” He looks so serious, I try not to laugh.

“Did you pick that up from a fortune cookie or something?”

He ignores my comment as his eyes rake down my body and back up. Suddenly, I’m self-conscious about my choice in outfit. Given my job history and lack of funds, I don’t have a lot of dressy clothes. So, I opted for my best pair of jeans, black crop tank, and enough makeup to cover the tired under my eyes.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” Dusty starts to come in, but I grab my purse off the hook and step out to join him, pulling the door shut behind me.

Is it that surprising?I want to ask, but I don’t. I bite back my smart remark, deciding to play nice for now.

“Thanks, you clean up pretty nice yourself.”

He’s definitely starting to look the part of the Montana man. Jeans that fit just right. Worn cowboy boots that don’t screamI’m not from around here in. A dark green button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Sorry about being early. I wasn’t sure if I would find the place or not. Didn’t want to be late and make a bad first impression,” he jokes. If I weren’t so hell bent on hating him, I might like him.

I look up to where his house sits and shake my head. “We wouldn’t want that.”

He opens my door, like the perfect gentleman, and helps me in before closing it and rounding the front to climb in on his own side. I twist my hands in my lap, butterflies suddenly taking flight.

“Here, I bought you a little something.” He turns to me and hands me a white box.

“Dusty, you shouldn’t have done that… this is like a casual onetime thing, I—”

“Just open it.” He flashes me another panty-melting smile.

Opening it up, I flip the top to a single raspberry lemon tart. My mouth starts watering. “You didn’t.’

“I did.”

I try to contain my excitement, praying I didn’t just moan out loud so he doesn’t know how much this affects me

“Not going to take a bite?”

“Nope. I don’t want to ruin dinner.” I smile, closing the box, and slide it under the seat. “Plus, it’ll be nice to have it. Just in case some random person buys them all for, say, a meeting or donation or whatever bogus excuse they have in the morning.”

“Good call.” He winks and puts the truck into drive. “Making a mental note to add them to the list. Thanks for the tip.”

He never stops.

We don’t make it very far up the driveway before he puts his truck in park. “Forgot something.” Hopping out, he pulls the NO TRESPASSING sign out of the ground, throws it in the back of his truck, and climbs back in.

He fills the shocked silence with small talk.

“How do you feel about fried pickles? Pony Up is known for them.”

“Love them.” I smile and keep looking straight ahead, scared he’ll see what he’s doing to me.

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