“If you’re not a good liar,” I add, tilting my head. “Which you’re not, so go on, continue.”
He smirks. “Well, she kept asking where I was and who I was with last night and next thing I know she knows I was with you all night. Actually, I think she already knew. Anyway, she knows we are going four-wheeling today not to a farm to see a vendor. She wants you to come for dinner tonight.”
I bring a hand to my forehead. Not the end of the world. I don’t think the Ballentines can be bought with auctioning me off to the highest bidder. We have to do it the honest way. “Well, we’ll tell ‘em the truth.”
“Unless you can scare up a plan between now and then.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to make any more plans. I’m all tapped out at the moment. It’s just dinner,” I exclaim louder than is polite.
He squeezes my hand. “It’s easier this way. The truth. We’ll have a safe place here.”
“Valid point, Soldier,” I reply, nodding.
“Not a soldier. Sailor. But thanks for trying, darlin’.”
Mrs. Ballentine rounds a corner and smiles when she sees us. I immediately pull away from Mercer and straighten my back. “Thank you so much for the invitation to dinner, Mrs. Ballentine. I’d love to. Can I make an apple pie?” I ask, glancing at Mercer. “If we have time to get back to my house to fix it beforehand?”
“Sure,” Mercer says. “Or we can make it here. Mom won’t mind.”
She interjects, “I wouldn’t mind not one bit. I’d love to see you make your granny’s recipe. Maybe catch a glimpse at the recipe card myself. That pie has won so many contests over the years.” That recipe card is all in my head, along with dozens of other dishes that make mouths water.
“Thank you. That is so kind of you. Done. Consider it a plan.” A real one. One that doesn’t involve me lying to an entire town. Mercer grabs the picnic basket, kisses her on the cheek, and I say goodbye.
Mercer dropped Bentley’s truck back to him at work and we’re driving his dad’s big truck with a four-wheel trailer hooked up to the back. He opens the passenger side door for me and hands over the basket. The drive to East Woods is about twenty minutes. I handle several emails on my cell phone while he drives, windows down. Winnie had questions about the pamphlets and there was an email I’ve been waiting for that needed an immediate response. I have just enough time to take care of pressing work as he pulls onto a dirt road. Dust mote particles float through the cab, tainting the air.
Mercer parks in a place that doesn’t look like an actual parking spot. “Taking the four-wheeler from here,” he drawls. “You ready?”
“Confession. I haven’t been out here since high school. Also, my mom knows about us. Or you know, she knows what she thinks is the truth about us. I’m deflecting the back blow as best I can, but you should know she knows in case she gets feisty and tries something we’re not ready for.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“Ice Queen didn’t hail from the Good Witch, Mercer Ballentine.”
A sleepy little smile crosses his face. My insides melt. “I dunno. I think you might be a little good witch, a little evil witch. The perfect combination.” He unclips his seat belt. I do the same. “If you’re okay with everyone thinking we’re together, I’ll be okay.”
“Oh my goodness, you think I told Tannie we’re together? Like dating together?”
His eyes widen. “Yeah, I mean what else would you tell her? Not that I was a one-night stand? That would be even worse for your reputation, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, it was easier to explain away dirty sex when it was a one-night stand.”
Mercer turns his face and stares out the windshield. He shakes his head, lips pressing into a firm line. “Should have known.”
“Oh, come on. It was all a fib, Mercer. To throw them off my trail.”
“I can’t even be your fictional boyfriend, huh?”
Grabbing the handle of the picnic basket, I bring it on my lap. “I never said that at all. It was a tall tale that Tannie gobbled up. One I knew would spread fast. That’s the thing with my plans. They are harebrained. I never know if they’re going to work. If they will blow back in my face. You’re hurt by it, and that wasn’t my intention.”
Mercer stays silent and pops over to open the door for me. I watch him work on unloading the four-wheeler. His muscles bunch every time he moves, and I recall last night. The parts that aren’t hazed by tequila. “I’m sorry, Mercer. You can be my boyfriend if you want.”
“You think I want to be your boyfriend?” He smirks, but not at me, it’s directed at the engine of the four-wheeler. “Hand me the basket.” Mercer slams a helmet on his head.
I huff but do what I’m told. He latches it to the back and straps it down with bungee cords. “You’re a confoundin’ man,” I shout. He mounts the ATV and walks it off the trailer, watching over his shoulder to make sure he’s clear.
He extends a helmet when he’s parked. My invitation. “Ask me to be your boyfriend when you smell like mud again,” he drawls, a glint of mischief in his eye. “I’ll consider it then.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but I might forget,” I say, snatching the shiny, black helmet from his hand. “Especially because it isn’t very ladylike.”
