Page 113 of Duke
I swallow. I don’t know why—oh, girl, you totally know why—but the thought of going to the girls’ fundraiser gives me butterflies. “Could I possibly come with you? To the fundraiser, I mean.”
Dinner sounds really nice—that’s a given. But I’m surprised that the butterflies flap their wings a little faster when I think about going to the fundraiser too.
I imagine the entire Rivers family will be there, along with a good chunk of the community here in Hartsville. Duke and I showing up together as a couple—that is ahardlaunch.
But if we decide to have this baby, people are going to know we are—were—together anyway. Who am I kidding? They probably already do.
I just get this absurd and absurdly warm and fuzzy feeling when I think about attending the fundraiser aspartof the Rivers family. Ella is a doll and so is Junie, and they’ll be thrilled by a big turnout. I imagine very few kids in their class will have ten people show up for them at this thing.
How cool would it be if the Riverses showed up for our baby too?
If they showed up forus?
Duke straightens and looks me in the eye, brow scrunched. “You really wanna come to that?”
“I do, yeah.”
“It is really cute. I think you’d like it.”
“I’m in. If you’ll have me, of course.”
He chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart, I always wanna have you. This time, though, I’d love to take you to dinner before we get naked.” He pushes up on his arms so he can meet my eyes. “So it’s a date? A real one?”
I wrap my arms around Duke’s neck and pull him down for a kiss, too scared to look him in the eye as I say, “It’s a date. A real one.”
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I have limited experience with first dates.
With dating in general, really.
But the few first dates I’ve been on have been awkward as hell. Do you hug when you meet? Or is a kiss on the cheek better? And the chemistry—if it’s not there at first, do you cutyour losses and run? Or do you give the connection a chance to grow?
Duke puts all those concerns to bed before our first date even begins.
I emerge from the guest room—all my stuff is still in there—dressed and ready to go. I catch a glimpse of Duke standing in the hall by the front door, which is open to the delicious spring breeze. His back is to me, and he’s looking down at his phone, so he doesn’t notice me yet.
My stomach nosedives when I take in his handsomeness. He’s wearing a clean pair of jeans and the “going out” boots he had on back in Dallas. A crisp white button-up shirt, freshly ironed, is tucked into a thick leather belt, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up to reveal enormous forearms that are crisscrossed with large veins and dotted with freckles.
And then—fuck me—there’s the cowboy hat.
It’s one I haven’t seen on him before. Dressier than the one he usually wears to work, this hat is dark brown, felt, and in pristine condition, not a smudge or speck of dirt in sight. Duke looksgoodin it.
The kind of good that has me putting a hand on the wall to steady myself. I can’t get over the way his biceps fill out those sleeves. Or how his tapered waist slopes into the firmest, cutest ass in existence, the pockets of his jeans just the tiniest bit faded.
I’m going on a date with a cowboy. A real one.
He looks up and sees me. His lips part as his eyes move over my floral-print skirt and matching top. I’m wearing a short pair of blue Bellamy Brooks boots to complete the look, along with big earrings and a straw bag.
Looking at myself in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the guest room door, I felt pretty. But when Duke looks at me like this, his throat working, eyes sharp—
I feelbeautiful.
“Blue.” It’s the only word he says.
I lift my leg to show off my appropriately colored boots. “Thought you’d appreciate that.”
“Blue.”
