Page 42 of Where It All Began
Elvira elbowed him in the gut. “Behave.”
“Listen to my wife. She’s very wise,” John quipped.
“We’re newlyweds.” Elvira batted her eyes. “He thinks everything I do is adorable and perfect.”
Everyone but Phoebe laughed. The joke was at her expense, of course. She’d begged John and Elvira to cover for her, pushing them into a fake marriage. But the idea of them actually being together wasn’t funny to her. In fact, it made her feel a little sick to her stomach.
She pressed a hand to her stomach trying to will the feeling away. This damn man and his damn town had her so confused she didn’t know which way was up.
“You okay there, Phoebe?” Bobby asked, handing her a slice of pizza on a paper plate.
“She’s not feeling herself today,” John said, cracking open a beer. Phoebe picked up on the undercurrent of annoyance in his tone.
“This will make you feel better,” Elvira promised, handing Phoebe a plastic cup. “Spiked lemonade. The best of childhood and adulthood in one cup.”
Phoebe sat and ate and drank. The grass in front of the gazebo had been cleared for dancing. Most of the dancers, she noted, were barefoot, and there was no age limit. Multiple generations hot footed it around with their sweethearts.
She did her best to smile even though she felt a headache brewing. It was because of this stupid roller coaster of attraction and a thousand solid reasons not to act on it. The marital jokes continued as did her bad mood.
No one likes a holiday downer, she reminded herself. She needed to get a hold of herself and enjoy the festivities of her only Fourth of July in Blue Moon.
“Since these two are old and married,” Michael said, nodding toward John and Elvira. “What do you say you take a turn on the dance floor with me?”
Phoebe saw John’s expression turn mutinous. “I’d love to.” Her smile wasn’t forced this time.
Michael gallantly pulled her to her feet, and they picked their way over and around picnickers to get to the band. “I can feel him staring daggers at me,” Michael said, grinning down at her unperturbed.
Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand male friendships.”
Michael slid his hands around her waist, and she held her breath, waiting for even the slightest spark. A brush of John’s hand, and she trembled like her knees had earthquakes. A slow dance with the equally handsome and even more charming Michael? Nada. Life just wasn’t fair.
“It’s how we show our love for each other. By being dicks.”
Phoebe laughed and noticed when Michael’s gaze wandered to the edge of the dance floor. She followed it to Hazel Garfunkle. Hazel was out of uniform tonight. She wore shorts and a tank top and her blonde hair loosely braided under a stars and stripes bandana. She was laughing at something Bruce Oakleigh was saying to her.
Phoebe gave Michael a pinch. “Why don’t you ask her to dance?”
“Who?” he frowned.
“Duh. Hazel. The woman you’re always sneaking peeks at.”
“I don’t sneak peeks,” he argued.
“Okay. The woman you slobber after. Ask her to dance.”
“She’d just say no.”
“Give her a reason to say yes.”
He looked thoughtful. “Like what?”
“Tell her your biggest regret in life is that she turned you down for prom and that she owes you a dance.”
Michael snorted. “Like that would actually work.” He glanced in Hazel’s direction again. “It wouldn’t, would it?”
“Women like honest, and they like to know they matter. You don’t have to dress it up.”
“Mind if I cut in?”
