Page 33 of Definitely (Maybe) Dating
Josh laughed aloud and both men looked at him oddly.
“We keeping you, Easton?” Heinz asked.
“I didn’t mean to take over your night. I know you’ve been working extra hours for my Kitty. Is there somewhere else you need to be?” the mayor asked. “I’m sure Russell here will keep me company until my guest arrives.
Yes. Josh needed to be anywhere but there. Maybe somewhere nice and quiet, that served top-notch cake followed by dancing—with Piper.
“Just confirming a meeting,” he said. “My apologies. It will only take a moment.”
Josh: Actually, it’s listening. I’m a master listener.
Piper: You’re a peeker too. No one wants a nosy chauffeur.
Josh: A decision I do not regret.
Piper: Such honesty. And before you go on about how your mother raised you right, remember I know you mom.
Josh: Then it’s even more imperative that you get to know me. I can’t have you thinking I’m Satan’s Keeper’s Boy Spawn.
If his mom ever saw this text, she’d send him into time out. Margo was already sniffing around to see why he was sharing texts with Kitty Caldwell, the first woman in seven years to beat out Margo for Auction Chair. He didn’t need to give his mom any more ammo, or he might wind up disowned.
Piper: . . .
In texting, three blinking dots were the equivalent of a thick silence between questions. Silence made people uneasy, inciting a need to fill it. Not Josh. It was in the silent moments that he won battles. Sure, he could push a little harder. Use some flirty technique to extract more information. But Cross Examination 101 warned against asking one question too many. When it's going well, the temptation to ask one more thing is strong. However, with some people, like Piper, the next question would allow her to reflect, realize she’s giving away personal information and retreat. So Josh decided to give her some additional information on himself
Josh: At dinner with Satan himself. Want to know how I know he’s the legit fallen angel?
Piper: How?
Josh: Loafers. Tan leather. Side stitched. Mock toe shingle. Double tassel.
Piper: I don’t know what’s worse? Mock toe shingle or you knowing what a mock toe shingle is.
Josh: It’s the tassels. Trust me.
Piper: You’re at dinner with a loafer wearing Satan? What did he order?
Josh: At dinner with Satan himself. Want to know how I know he’s the legit fallen angel?
Piper: Your shared love of loafers? What does Satan with Tassels order?
Josh: A $400 bottle of scotch and is going to try to sneak it onto my tab.
Piper: You need new friends.
Josh: Working on it. Seriously though, I heard back on the permit. I have my best person on it.
Piper: . . .
This time the three dots seemed heavier, as if there were a significance behind them. It lingered on and on until they vanished. Connection dead. He read and reread his text, his heart pinching for the woman who was so gun-shy of being let down she’d rather be alone.
He waited for her to return, but she’d gone radio silent. So he was forced to listen to Heinz kiss-ass and try to weasel his way into stealing the mayor’s endorsement. Caldwell wasn’t ignorant; he knew what was going on, but the old man loved to talk. And Heinz was a skilled talker.
“I’m just confirming with the photographer for the auction,” Josh explained as he pocketed his phone.
“I thought I heard something about you being an event planner.” Heinz laughed. Josh did not. “Seriously though, if you need to put on your party planner hat, the mayor is more than welcome to join me. I have a table reserved in the dining room.”
“I’m waiting on Kent Spring,” the mayor boasted as if Kent were the head of the United Nations.
