Page 19 of Sweet Beginnings

This time she tipped her head in thought. “It’s not the usual procedure. The groups that take the dogs that failed original transition programs frown on too much interaction from strangers that could set the dogs off and put visitors in peril.” She wasn’t going to say or setback whatever progress might have been made with the dogs.

“Makes sense,” he said. “But can I come?”

That made her chuckle. “Determined, aren’t you?”

Preston shrugged. “I am my mama’s boy.”

“Okay. Tomorrow you can tag along, but don’t be surprised if you’re not let out of the car.”

“Fair enough.”

Over dinner, enough people stopped at the table to give Preston their condolences for the fire as well as giving well wishes for his mother’s quick recovery. A few people probably volunteered more than they should have, expressing how much misfortune could one family take. First his dad, then his mom’s injuries, and now the fire, but compared to the stinging loss of his dad, losing his bachelor possessions was nothing. Preston dutifully thanked each and everyone for their concern. Every so often, he’d squeeze his and Sarah’s joined hands for all to see. Well, everyone could see they were holding hands, but it was unlikely they knew when he squeezed her hand, which had her wondering was that extra gesture for show or for real.

“Where to now?” Preston slipped money into the check on the table and slid out of the booth.

“Not home?”

Extending his hand to her, he shook his head, and pulled her in close, whispering into her ear, “We have a town to convince.”

“Walk in the park.” Not much else could be done in this small town at this hour.

A smile took over his face. “Great idea.” Taking a short stroll down Main Street, Preston took in the familiar surroundings. They passed his sister’s store. She’d been so excited when the space opened up and she was able to begin her dream of being her own boss. Just past the candle shop was his aunts’ place. He had no idea how Honeysuckle had become the state capital for the game, but ever since he was a kid anything corn hole had been a very big deal, so, of course, his aunts Liz and Vicki’s business had been an anchor on Main Street. He also remembered as a kid the town’s huge fight over whether or not to pave over the old cobblestone sidewalks. At the time he could not have cared less what they decided, but now, walking down the old bricked sidewalk, he was glad the preservation side had won. Reaching the park, he knew just what to do next and tugged her over to the corn hole courts.

Staring at the area, she wondered if he was teasing her. “Wouldn’t you rather sit on a bench or something?”

He shook his head and grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Nope. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Oh, really.” Her hesitation slipped away at the veiled challenge. She wouldn’t have the job she did if she didn’t like a challenge. “You’re on.”

Manipulating the weighted bags, Preston handed her the dark green set. “To match your eyes.”

Had that come from anyone else, any other time, she’d have been appropriately intrigued, even flattered, but under the odd circumstances, she had no idea what to make of the fact that at some point, he’d noticed she had green eyes. “Then blue for you.”

His head bobbed as he waved for her to take the first turn.

It had been years since she’d played, but if all went well, tossing would be akin to riding a bike—you never forget. Her first shot slid off the board and over the edge. Maybe riding a bike was easier.

Preston chuckled and took his shot. Though it didn’t slide off the board, the bag didn’t land in a hole either. With a bashful grin, he shrugged one shoulder at her.

Two more turns came and went, and with each one, they giggled just a little harder. When Preston began horsing around, and standing sideways, would toss the bags from behind his back, the bags landed every which way, occasionally on the board. The shenanigans had the two of them almost doubled over with laughter.

“Were you always this ridiculous?” She could not stop laughing.

“You mean skilled?”

“Considering I haven’t played in years and am whooping your behind, I’m not sure skilled is the right word for your performance.”

Straightening to his full height, Preston lifted one of the bags from a nearby table carved from an old tree stump. Tossing it lightly in the air, testing the feel of it, he turned to the boards and eyeing the distance carefully, lobbed the bag. A hole in one. Then slowly, he turned again, facing her, a cocky grin taking over his face.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” She marched up to him and shaking her head, planted her fists on her hips. “Youletme win.”

Failing miserably at biting back a smile, he shrugged. “You know what they say, happy wife, happy life.”

Rolling her eyes, she blew out a sigh. “Not yet.”

He stepped in closer to her. “Let me show you why you’re overshooting.” Another bean bag in hand, he repositioned himself behind her, and in a quick solitary move, dropped the bag into her hand while taking hold of her wrist.

She wasn’t sure what had her more startled, the feel of his body up close and very personally against hers, or the warmth of his breath fanning her neck.

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