Page 26 of Tattle Tail
“Screw the arrangement,” he said, matching her quiet tone. “You are the best person I know. You’re too damn smart and so genuinely nice, it’s annoying. I’m lucky you told me we were engaged.”
She laughed softly. Wet tear tracks marred her face.
“Seriously, anyone would be lucky to be with you. I’m sorry your mother doesn’t see that.” He tore a sheet of paper towel off a roll, waved it under a faucet, and gently dabbed at her face.
“You do not need to tell me stories,” she said. Redness rimmed her eyes. His thumb brushed against her bottom lip.
The moment stretched out between them. He wanted to comfort her or kiss her. Perhaps even both.
Joseph swallowed, forcing himself to take a step back. Now wasn’t the time or the place, despite what the rebellious part of his brain wanted.
“Is there any point in continuing?” Peaceable asked. “We were meant to charm my parents, but clearly we have failed. Mother knows our engagement is fake.”
“You’re wrong, sweet pea.” He could only think of one reason Tolerance pulled out all the stops and tried to pressure Peaceable so forcefully to reconsider Lord Stuffypants—or whatever his name was. “Think about all the things she didn’t say. She’s very worried about how serious you are about me. Us.”
Her tail twitched. “She said a lot of things. I do not think there’s room for hidden meanings between words.”
“You know her best.” He shrugged, not having the energy to convince her. “We still need dates to the gala next week.”
She nodded. The fake fiancé arrangement would continue for a little longer.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, jerking his head toward the door.
“I agree. There is no point in staying,” Peaceable said, heading for the kitchen door. On her way out, she grabbed the bakery box. “And if Mother cannot be polite to my fiancé, then she does not get dessert.”
It was such a petty move. He loved it.
* * *
“Are you hungry? I’m hungry,”Joseph said. Burying emotions under food was a bad family habit, but he was genuinely hungry.
“Not particularly,” Peaceable replied, her voice flat and uninterested.
“How very healthy of you. I, however, am a growing boy and I was promised dinner.”
“I am not preparing a meal for you.”
“Did I say, ‘Woman, go cook for me?’” His voice took on a gruff tone. “No, I want to know if you can eat.”
“I can eat,” she said, her tone reluctant like his question was a trap.
A few minutes later, Joseph pulled the vehicle into a lot adjacent to an all-night diner. In the dark, the boxy building looked shabby. It looked shabby in the daylight, too. Prefabricated buildings became popular in the last century. Essentially large metal boxes, they were easy to plop down on a parcel of land and easier to secure during a storm or against mornclaws. The buildings, however, had a brutal aesthetic that many people found distasteful. Time and weather discolored the metal and glass buildings but did not impact the stability of the structure.
Joseph did not particularly care about architectural aesthetics; he lived in a building of similar style. He wanted walls thick enough to keep out noise, water on demand from the faucets and only the faucets, no drips from the ceiling or ventilation shafts, and heat.
Peaceable’s ear went back when she saw the diner.
“Locally owned, uses locally grown ingredients, and everything is made from real food,” he said. He had discovered after getting off a late shift and needing a hot meal that did not come out of a dehydrated package. “It looks rough, but trust me, this place is fantastic.”
“If I get food poisoning—”
“You’ll make me suffer. Noted. Now come on, my stomach is starting to eat itself.”
Her ears perked up, as if in alarm. “Can humans do that?”
“Figure of speech,” he said, perhaps a touch too defensively.
“Touchy subject?” Peaceable followed him inside the diner and sat across from him at a booth.
