Page 36 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

"You know how we roll," Mrs. Beaty says as if she's been turned loose on Urban Dictionary. "We've just been gettin' to know Mr. Dumfries."

"Good seeing you again, Rusty." Philip says my name like he's describing a nail.

Man, I hate this guy.

"I thought you'd be on the first plane back home," I say.

"I decided to wait to see what happens with the vote in a couple of weeks, and what better use of my time than getting to know this fine town and its most esteemed—and beautiful—citizens?"

Mrs. Beaty swats at him. "Oh, you."

"Where're you staying?" I ask.

"There's a rather lovely B&B at the farm, as you must know."

He's staying at the farm? The nerves in my hands switch from ice to fire. He's baiting me.

"Sure do. I've spent most of my life there."

"And you run … the fruit stands? That must be fun."

I grin like I'm too stupid to catch his tone. "It really is. You should come work with us for a day. If you're not too afraid to dirty up your manicure." I laugh like I'm joking.

But his fingernails are definitely buffed.

"Rusty is the hardest working young man I've ever seen," Mrs. Beaty says. "In all my years teaching, I never met a student more determined to learn."

I grab the back of my neck, hoping she won't mention my dyslexia. I'm not ashamed of it, but I don't want this Wall Street Wannabe weaponizing it, either.

Philip gives an exaggerated grimace. "I'll have to pass. I'm a 'work smarter, not harder' kind of guy."

Because us dummies have to rely on hard work to get by. I grit my teeth but smile, determined to be the bigger person.

Granny Belle isn't so determined.

"Too bad your momma didn't teach you to do both."

She folds her arms over her expansive bosom and gives him a look that screams she doesn't suffer fools gladly, as the Good Book would say.

Philip chuckles and bows his head. "Good point, ma'am. It sounds like Rusty's the real deal. I suppose I'm letting my jealousy rear its ugly head."

Jealousy? Has he been telling these women some sob story about coming back to win Ash?

Granny Belle looks at him suspiciously, but Mrs. Beaty and Lola Nina are a bit more polite. But then they're younger and have more … poops to give.

"I meant no offense," Philip says to me, holding his hand out to shake mine.

"And if you did, I'd be too dumb to notice, right?" I say, gripping his hand and not squeezing.

Philip holds my eye, and for a minute I wonder if he's challenging me to a staring contest. His eyes are a green even more intense than Ash's friend Millie's, but this little stare-off lets me see the outline of green-tinted color contacts around his irises.

The way I wanna knead this guy's face like dough …

An alarm sounds in my head at the thought.

Don't, I warn myself. You can't go down that road.

Not again.

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