“Sure. You ladies can knock yourselves out.” I aimed a finger at Miller. “But not you.”
He leaned toward me, his arrogance defying the laws of physics and filling the space between us. “Afraid I might find someone who’s your perfect match?”
I swallowed hard, hating how my cheeks burned. “Not at all.”
“Then you won’t mind his help,” Olivia said. “No point in wasting your time with duds.”
I still didn’t understand why Miller would get involved. This matchmaking was girl stuff. Boys need not apply. “My answer is still no, Miller, but why even bother with this?”
He leaned back in his seat again and returned his arm to his niece’s shoulders. “Because I’d be good at it. But I do feel it’s fair that I warn you.”
“Of what?”
Miller’s lips curved in a gambler’s grin. “I always deliver results.”
Chapter Eleven
The next morning I woke up with a party hangover, brought about by too much cake and not enough sleep.I’d lain awake most of the night reliving my every life mistake, one of them being my agreement to let my sisters control my dating apps. What had I been thinking? Had Sylvie spiked my lemonade? Maybe it had been a sugar rush from all the buttercream icing?
Clutching a tanker of coffee like the Holy Grail, I slogged my way to the barn. I wore jeans purchased months ago and the new cowboy boots my sisters had given me as a welcome-home gift. Both pinched in all the wrong places.
“The town water tower could fit in that mug of yours,” Ernie said as I approached. I’d gotten there extra early, wanting to beat him to the farm, something I’d yet to accomplish.
“It’s a big day.” I took a sip and surveyed the field across the way. “You ready for our first clients?”
“If I wasn’t,” Ernie said, “your thirty text reminders last night certainly would’ve helped.”
“I’m only up to my seventeenth cup of coffee, so my brain’s still a little slow, but is that sarcasm?”
“Not at all. Though I think the five voicemails were a little much.”
“It’s important we’re prepared.”
“World leaders have sent briefer plans before attacking entire countries.”
“Maybe I should’ve hired a woman as my equine specialist,” I said with a grin. “Someone who could appreciate my way with words and make better fashion choices.”
He laughed at that, a clanking, pennies-in-a-tin-can sound that rattled in his lungs. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“Do you realize you wear the same thing every day?” Ernie was on day five of starched Wrangler jeans, that black cowboy hat, and a navy blue floral Western shirt whose pearl-snap buttons gleamed.
“I’ve got a whole closet of these shirts. Saves me time. I got the idea from that Zuckerberg guy.”
“Oh, so you’ll listen to him?”
He took a piece of gum from his pocket and peeled off the wrapper. “Can’t help it if we’re fashion icons. Want me to send you some outfit suggestions? I’ll call you, text you, call about the text, then text some more about the calls.”
I pulled two halters from their hooks on the wall. “Maybe my communication last night was a little excessive.”
“Don’t forget your ten Google docs.”
At least half of those were important reads. “I’ve done this a hundred times, but today feels different.” I looked toward the direction of Milller’s house. “The bar is ridiculously high, and the time clock is ticking loudly.”
Ernie grabbed his own coffee cup. “I bet you can pull it off.”
“Together we can.” I pointed toward his pearl snaps. “You, me, and the one shirt you wear daily.”
“I told you I have a closet full of them,” he grumbled. “I’m not rewearing the same one!”
