Page 13 of Where It All Began
“How is the subject ever going to come up unless my smartass sister starts making comments?”
“You keep your mouth shut about Melvin, and I’ll keep mine shut about your summer of debauchery.”
“There’s no debauching going on,” Phoebe insisted. She’d made the mistake of mentioning John’s ridiculous physical appeal in the letter she’d sent describing her summer plans. “He’s gorgeous and sexy and manly, but his personality—or more specifically the distinct lack thereof—is a Big. Fat. Nope.”
Rose sighed into the phone. “That’s a shame. Your summer would be a lot more fun with some action with hot farmer.”
“Yeah, well it would be a lot moreproductiveif hot farmer was capable of more than one or two syllables at a time.”
“Crap,” Rose announced. “I gotta go. I have a perm appointment. Talk in a couple days?”
“Yeah. I miss you, Ro. And I promise as soon as I graduate, I’m taking the burden off you.”
“We’re family. It’s what we do,” Rose said. “Go wear down your farmer.”
“Go perm your hair.”
Phoebe hung up, feeling a mix of determination and dread. She wouldn’t let her family down, and she wouldn’t let a stubborn, jerky farmer stand in her way either. She just needed a plan. She looked around the square, returning the friendly wave of a family of four wandering the downtown with ice cream cones. The two little girls wore matching handmade fringed vests.
Maybe soaking up some of the local culture would give her an idea on how best to crack John Pierce like the idiotic egg he was.
Chapter Seven
He found her, finally. Phoebe was perched on a stool in the record shop, massive headphones covering her ears, grinning across the vinyl stacks at fire chief Michael “If She’s Got a Rack, I’ve Got the Time” Cardona. The look Michael was giving Phoebe said he had all the time in the world. The man was his best friend, but that just meant John knew Michael couldn’t be trusted.
She slipped the headphones off laughing. “How have I never heard of ‘Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On’?”
“I heard Mel McDaniel’s voice in my head the second I saw you walking down the sidewalk,” Michael said with a slick wink.
John had seen enough. He wasn’t about to let Phoebe be devoured by the man who had taken two women to his senior prom.
They were still laughing, cozy as can be, as he walked up.
“We need to talk.” John had never in his entire life issued those words in that order.
Those wicked green eyes widened in surprise.
“Well if it isn’t my old friend John!” Michael’s enthusiastic reaction put his back up. His friend was hitting on his charge, the charge he’d chased off not an hour ago with his shitty attitude.
“Cardona,” John said coolly.
“It looks like fun the police are here,” Michael said in a mock whisper to Phoebe who grinned up at him like he was a fucking comedian.
Phoebe cleared her throat, refusing to look in John’s direction. “Thank you for the musical education, Michael.” She smiled prettily up at him.
Michael tipped his ball cap that sat on top of unruly blond hair. “The pleasure was all mine.”
“Give us a minute?” John asked Phoebe. She gave him a shrug of disinterest before wandering into the Pop section.
John waited until she was engrossed in a dig through the discount bin and gave Michael half a shove. “Leave her alone.”
Michael, affable as the day was long, just grinned. “Is she off-limits?”
“Way off-limits,” John warned him.
“Off-limits because you’re…” Michael prompted him.
“I’m in charge of her while she’s here,” John said, side-stepping the implication.
