“I haven’t even thought of my rates,” I remind her.
“You’ll have plenty of time to come up with a rate sheet. In the meantime, I’ll pay you what I think is a fair rate for your services. We can get started on planning it tomorrow.”
She tears a check out of her booklet and hands it to me. I read the number, and then I throw my hand over my mouth with a gasp.
“Is it not enough?” She reaches for her checkbook, ready to write another one.
“No. It’s way too much. There’s no way the things you want for your proposal would even cost this much.”
I try to hand it back, but she refuses to take it. “You won’t only be planning my proposal. I want you there every step of the way. We can do an engagement party, bachelorette party, bridal shower, the wedding, everything.”
I know that if I don’t accept the money, I’ll end up doing all of these things anyway. I have no doubt that Tina will make me her maid of honor. I won’t be able to sit back and watch all these events get planned by someone else—someone who might not care as much as I do about seeing Tina get the wedding of her dreams. I might as well get paid to do it. Plus, with the amount of money she just gave me, I could start my own businessandmove into a better apartment. And maybe eat something other than cheap noodles for dinner.
I look at the check one more time, reading the dollar amount again. Then I look back up at her. She watches me, eyes wide, waiting to hear my answer.
“Fine,” I tell her. “I’ll do it.”
Tina squeals, then hops up and down like an excited child before giving me a hug that nearly knocks me off balance. I laugh as she pulls away from me. I fold the check and stick it in my back pocket.
“This is going to be so amazing,” she says. “I can’t wait to start planning this.”
I take a step back toward the door. As excited as I am, I need to get out of here before Oliver shows up. “Let’s do lunch tomorrow and talk more.”
I open the door and step outside. Now that the sun is down, the air is a bit cooler than it was when I decided to wear a T-shirt and shorts. I make it to the end of the block and decide that it’s not just a bit cooler; it’s freezing. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I had brought my car.
A quarter of a mile into my walk, I decide that I don’t care what people think about me. I need to stay warm, so I start with a power walk, swinging my arms to create friction. I alternate between that and skipping just to speed myself up, and end up doing a weird walk-dance thing that probably makes anyone who’s driving past think I’m on drugs.
No sooner does the thought cross my mind, the driver of a pickup truck honks their horn behind me, then pulls up onto the shoulder ahead of me. I think about the kids who splashed me earlier. It’s not the same truck, but I slow my pace, then stop altogether, trying to decide what to do. Something tells me that if I keep moving forward, I’m going to get kidnapped. I could run back to Tina’s house—I haven’t made it very far—but then I might run into Oliver, and I’m not sure what would be worse.
The driver’s door opens and a guy steps out. I wish he had parked under a streetlight so that I could see his face. If I make a run for it, I want to be able to describe him to the cops.
“What the hell are you doing dancing out here?”
I realize as soon as he opens his mouth that I know exactly who this is. It’s the very guy I was hoping to avoid.
It’s Oliver.
ChapterTwo
The Detour
The relief that I’m not about to be kidnapped is only temporary. I’m about to tell Oliver that I’m trying to stay warm on my way home, but I’m afraid he’ll offer me a ride, and if I’m being honest, I’d rather walk another two and a half miles in the cold than sit in that truck with him.
“None of your business,” I tell him.
I start to walk again, reaching and passing his truck. He jogs up next to me. “It’s freezing out here,” he says, as if I hadn’t noticed. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Because it was warm earlier. Why are you following me?”
“I just dropped Ryan off. I spotted you while I was driving past, so I came back around to see if you needed a ride.”
“Ugh.” I groan a lot louder than I intend. His brows knit together. “I don’t need a ride. I’m fine.”
“You’re going to get pneumonia.”
“And you’re going to get your truck stolen.” I look back at where he left it. We’re a good distance from it now, and the engine is still running. He follows my gaze, then sighs, and jogs away from me.
Not long after, he pulls his truck up next to me. He doesn’t get out this time. He slows to a crawl and rolls the window down. “Get in, Priscilla. It’s nice and warm in here.”
