Page 33 of Careless Hope
“Signals?” Her eyebrows arched in shocked innocence, green eyes wide.
“Touching your hair, leaning in when I talk—I mean, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Doc Cressley is attempting to flirt with me.” The teasing lilt in my voice was matched by the warmth in my gaze.
A blush spread across her cheeks as sweet as the cherry pie Marge baked on Sundays. “Oh, hush. I’m just trying to play my part convincingly,” she protested, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“Convincingly? Caroline, you’re doing great. Better than great, actually.” I leaned back in the booth, the worn leather creaking under my weight. “You’ve got the whole diner convinced we’re a couple head over heels for each other.”
“Really? You think?” She chuckled, the sound as light as a mountain breeze. And just like that, the tension melted away from her shoulders, replaced by an ease that made the evening feel like more than just a farce.
“I do,” I confirmed, nodding solemnly before cracking a smile. “You’re a natural when you stop thinkin’ so hard about it.”
“Well, you make it easy to relax, I guess.”
“I guess it’s a gift when I’m in good company.” I watched as Caroline savored a bite of her pot pie. She smiled in ecstasy as she chewed and something about that had my chest pounding.
“Oh, it’s not just the company. You’re the natural one,” she teased, pointing her fork at me.
“Maybe,” I admitted. The feeling in my chest spread into a strange warmth in the glow of her attention. “But I reckon it’s mostly the company.”
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of easy conversation and laughter. There were moments when I caught myself staring at her, taking in the way the dim light played off her hair, showcasing the shades of gold, red, and brown. Or how her eyes sparkled when she spoke about her plans for the practice. The pride in her voice, the dreams she held close—it reminded me of my own hopes. We had both inherited something bigger than us, but wanted to craft and shape our legacies.
The idea that Caroline Cressley and I would have so much in common would have been laughable to my eighteen year old self. Now, it was a comfort.
I reached for the check the moment Marge dropped it off, tucking it under my arm like I was guarding a prized calf from a coyote. Caroline eyed the white paper slip, her lips quirking up in that half-smile that told me she was about to argue.
“Let me,” she started, hand hovering over mine, but I shook my head with a chuckle.
“Caroline, darlin’,” I drawled, feeling the smirk tug at the corner of my mouth. “In these parts, a gentleman always pays on the first date. He should pay for all the dates, in my estimation, but we’ll leave that for another time.”
“That doesn’t seem realistic.”
“This isn’t real,” I whispered. But it felt like a betrayal.
Caroline’s face blanched for the smallest second and I felt likean ass. But she recovered quickly. “All the more reason to let me take care of the check. Or at least split it. You’re helping me.”
“We’re helping each other, remember? And real or not, you’re gonna let me do this.”
She relented with a laugh, leaning back into the booth and folding her arms. “Alright. You win this round.”
“Good,” I said, already pulling out my wallet. “Because I plan on winning them all.”
Marge returned, and I handed the bill back with enough cash to cover dinner and a generous tip. It wasn’t just about impressing Caroline; it was about respecting the hard work Marge put into this place. The diner was like a second home to many here, me included, and it deserved every penny and then some.
I led Caroline to the door, putting my hand on the small of her back again to gently guide her before I’d even realized I’d done it.
We stepped outside into the crisp evening air, the sky painted with stars like scattered grains of wheat across a vast, dark field. Caroline wrapped her arms around herself against the chill, and I pulled her into my side to defend against the cold. This was a fake date, sure, but I was a gentleman at heart.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said as we reached my truck, the gravel crunching under my boots. “You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
“Trouble?” I echoed, opening the passenger side for her. “With company like yours, there’s no place I’d rather be.”
Her cheeks flushed prettier than a sunset, and I knew I scored a point somewhere deep down. I helped her up into the seat before rounding the truck to slide into my own.
The drive back to Caroline’s house was quiet, comfortable. We were two people, just enjoying the silence and the slow roll ofthe landscape passing by. When we pulled up to her house, I turned the car off and she hesitated, her hand on the door handle.
“Since it’s a fake date, you don’t have to walk me to the door,” she pointed out, though her eyes said maybe she wanted me to.
“Caroline,” I said, pocketing the keys. “Fake date or not, my mama raised me better than that.” I got out and jogged around to her side again, offering my hand. “You need to get used to these things because this is the stuff you should look for when dating. If a man doesn’t do somethin’ this simple, he isn’t worth your time.”
