Page 21 of Heartland
“Okay.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “You’re a great friend, Dylan.”
I thank her again and carry the tray outside and into the creamery. Chastity is humming to herself and stirring the pot slowly. It still looks like a bunch of nothing, but I won’t be a dick and point that out.
I finish my food in record time, but Chastity is still stirring. “Let me do that,” I say. “You eat.”
She switches places with me and tucks into her food. “Oooh. I love Leah’s cornbread.”
“Same.” And I knew that already, so I left the bigger piece for her.
“Would it jinx us to talk about our branding?” she asks.
“Probably.” I look into the pot of bubbling goo and notice that the color is richening. So that’s something. “What are you going to call this candy empire, anyway?”
“I have no idea.”
“Naming stuff is the hardest part. How aboutNorth Hill Caramels? That sounds a little uptight.Chastity’s Chews?”
“No!” Her pretty face fills with horror. “We’renotnaming them after me. I have literally theleastsexy name in the world.”
I don’t know why, but this makes me snort with laughter. “There’s nothing wrong with your name.”
“Are youhigh?Do you know anyone younger than eighty-five named Chastity? It’s a name that literally tells a guy to peddle it elsewhere.”
And now I’m dying, because Chastitynevertalks about sex. But she has a good fucking point.
My phone rings, and Chastity squints at me. “Is that Kaitlyn calling?”
“Probably.”
“Answer it,” she says, putting down her fork. “Or she’ll just call back.”
I suppose that’s true. I hand Chastity the spoon. “Check it out—the goo is actually getting thicker.”
“Of course it is.” She shoos me toward the door. “Go now while we still need ten more degrees.”
I step outside and answer the second time Kaitlyn calls. “What’s up, baby? Having fun?”
“I love Kahlua!” she shrieks. “I am going to marry it.”
“Are you, now?” I smile into the phone. A drunk Kaitlyn is a fun Kaitlyn. “How’s the poetry?”
“Horrible!” she says with obvious glee. “One guy rhymedflipperlesswithclitoris.”
“Oh Jesus.” I laugh. “That bad, huh?”
“He was one of the better ones.” She hiccups. And then she spends the next ten minutes recounting the horrors of the poetry slam. “If you come home right now you can hear Rickie try to rhyme. He says he’s gonna rhymepeniswithzenithjust for funzies.”
“Rickie won’t actually rhyme anything,” I point out. “He’s probably so baked that it will justseemto him like the words go together.”
“I’ll take a video.”
“No need.” I snort. “You’re taking one for the team, here.”
“Come home,” she whines. “Forget the poetry. You can just fuck me in the shower.”
“That is a nice offer,” I say gruffly. “But you know I have to be home for the weekend.”
“I miss you. What are you doing right now?” she demands.
