Page 51 of Where It All Began
“No, way!”
“How did you miss that, nosy?” Michael shot back.
“Oh, Phoebe and John had their own personal fireworks show to watch,” Elvira smirked.
Michael’s grin was blinding. “No, shit? You and John.” He held up his palm, and Phoebe pretended to be the slightest bit reluctant about slapping it.
When had she done this last?she wondered.Had coffee with friends, caught up on lives? There wasn’t a lot of camaraderie in her major, at least not for a woman. She’d had casual acquaintances in school, sure. Girls she met for drinks or study partners. But when had she had real friends who talked about real things? And who would have thought she’d find those relationships in the little town that refused to relinquish the sixties?
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When she returned to the farm, she found John in the same position as when she’d left. Head in his hands at the kitchen table that was littered with paper.
“Where the fuck are you?” he muttered to the ledger in front of him.
Phoebe dropped a kiss on his cheek and plunked the still cold lemonade down next to his elbow. “Problem, sexy farmer?”
“I’m missing $1.39,” he muttered.
“Eeesh. Sounds serious.”
“I’ve been looking and looking for the last goddamn hour. I can’t find it.”
She rattled her change purse. “I think I can spot you,” she teased. His response was a grunt.
Phoebe peered over his shoulder. She tapped an entry. “Is that the entry from McCafferty’s for the fence wire?” she asked.
He squinted at the page. “I don’t know. I guess.”
“You transposed the numbers,” she said picking up the receipt at the top of the tower of disaster.
John snatched the receipt from her and glared at it and then the ledger. “Son of a bitch. I’ve been sitting here for hours!”
“Poor baby,” Phoebe crooned, patting his head. “Are those mean old ledgers picking on you again?”
“How did you do that?” he asked, finally looking at her.
She shrugged and helped herself to a sip of his lemonade. “You may be a wordsmith, but I’m an accounting genius. I can help with the books. It’s a sick fetish I have for numbers.”
John shoved his chair back and got down on his knees on the worn linoleum. “I’ve changed my mind. I think we should get married.”
Phoebe laughed and pretended to ignore the warmth that trickled into her belly.
He stood and lifted her up, swinging her in a circle. “Yep. I’ve definitely fallen in love with your brain. How about a September wedding?”
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, linking her hands behind his neck as he let her slip to the floor. “In place of your terribly romantic proposal, I will accept a date with you tonight. Elvira invited us over for drinks—why doesn’t Blue Moon have a bar, by the way? Michael will be there. And we ran into Hazel and invited her, too, to surprise Michael.”
“Sounds good,” he said, picking up the lemonade and taking a triumphant sip. “We can pick up pizza or subs on the way over. That new sub shop—what’s it called?”
“Righteous Subs,” Phoebe said, pulling a to-go menu from her back pocket. “I already have everyone’s orders.”
“Great minds,” he said. She felt the levity between them shift just a bit as he eyed her over the menu.
“You look pretty today,” he said suddenly and then looked down at the lemonade.
Self-consciously, Phoebe scooped her hair behind her ears. “So do you.” She shook her head. “I mean, you look… good. Handsome. Sexy.”
He put down the cup and slid his hands down her arms. “How much time do we have?”
