Page 21 of Hello Trouble
DELLA
A moth fluttered around my porch light as I stood across from Bennett at the end of our date. Usually, I liked living in such a safe, small town where I didn’t have to worry about locking my doors or anyone breaking in.
But right now, I really wished for keys I could fumble with to give him a sign that I was ready for a kiss goodnight.
Instead, I stood on my mat that said HELLO SPRING and told him, “Thanks for the milkshakes.”
“Of course,” he replied. “Glad you liked it.”
He turned to walk away, but I said, “Bennett?”
He faced me again, and before I could talk myself out of it, I launched myself forward to kiss him.
But instead of planting a kiss, I smushed our faces together, bonking my nose against his. “Ow!” I said, my hand going to my nose. Looked like his hurt just as bad because his large hand was covering his own.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I cried out. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure... How does it look?” He pulled his hand away from his face, and a trickle of blood fell from his nose.
“You’re bleeding!” I said. As if this could have gotten any worse. “Come inside, I’ll clean you up.”
I held his elbow to guide him into my house while he pinched the bridge of his nose.
I was so embarrassed and thinking this would probably go down for both of us as the worst date ever.
“Here, you can sit in this chair.” I tugged out a chair from the table and helped him sit before hurrying to my cabinet for a wet rag.
Once I brought it back to him, he moved it to his bleeding nose. Utterly humiliated, I said, “Let me bake some cookies or something. So the nose isn’t the last thing we remember about tonight.”
He chuckled low. “That’s my life motto.”
“What’s your motto? Stay away from Della or get a busted nose?”
His laugh was warm, albeit muffled by the rag. “Never say no to cookies.”
Some of the tension in my chest eased at the comment. Grateful, I said, “I can make peanut butter cookies really easily.”
“Sounds great,” he replied.
Thankful to have something for my hands to do, I pulled the ingredients out of my cabinets and started combining them, thankful for the simple recipe my mom had taught me. One cup of peanut butter, one egg, and one cup of sugar, in the oven for twelve minutes at 350 degrees.
I held the bowl against my waist, mixing it together and trying not to stare at Bennett while he checked to see if he was still bleeding.
He pressed the rag back to his nose. Looked like it was.
With a frown, I pulled out a cookie sheet from a lower cabinet, lined it with parchment paper, and started dolloping spoonfuls of dough onto the pan. Once it was in the oven, I turned back to Bennett. He was folding up the rag so the blood wouldn’t show.
“Has it stopped bleeding?” I asked hopefully. Although my hope might have been misplaced. How did you come back from something like this?
He tipped his chin back to show me. “All clear.”
“Great.” I must have been coming off adrenaline because my hands were shaking as I put the ingredients away. I fumbled with the sugar canister but finally got it back in the cabinet. Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky with the eggs.
The carton slipped from my shaky fingertips, opening on the fall and landing half a dozen eggs on the floor. “Crap,” I muttered. “ Crap, crap, crap .” Could this night get any worse?
“Can I help?” Bennett asked.
At least I didn’t have to pick up this mess on my own. I glanced over my shoulder while I tugged at a roll of paper towels. “Can you get my steam mop? It’s in the closet over there.” I pointed at the closet in the corner of my living room and then bent down to wipe up what I could of the mess.
I carefully carried the pile of paper towels, eggshells, and the innards to my trashcan and then made another swipe at the liquid before I realized Bennett hadn’t come back with the mop.
I turned around to see what the holdup was and found him staring at the easel. He’d pulled it out of the closet and was now looking at the list my friends made labeled SINGLE GUYS IN COTTONWOOD FALLS.
My face instantly grew hot, and my vision tunneled. “Bennett...” I could only imagine what this looked like to him.
He turned back to face me again, utter betrayal marring his expression. “Is this some kind of hit list?” His tone was full of disgust.
“No, it’s not, it’s...” But my voice trailed off. How did I explain that he was part of some last-ditch, wine-induced effort to find my soulmate and stay in Cottonwood Falls? It would sound just as pathetic as I felt right now. “It’s not what you think,” I finally managed.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Della, I’m not real interested in cookies anymore.” He walked to my front door, yanking it open only to reveal Hayes Madigan standing there, hand raised.
Bennett gave us both a disgusted look, and I’d never felt so guilty before in my life. He might not have given me butterflies, but he didn’t deserve to feel like a reject. I knew that feeling all too well and wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
“Bennett, wait,” I said, but I couldn’t find anything to follow up the request. Not that he stuck around to find out. He walked to his pickup while I stood on the porch awkwardly with Hayes, watching him go.
To Bennett’s credit, he didn’t spew any foul words or flip us the bird, he just slowly drove off in his truck and used his turn signal at the empty intersection at the end of my street.
I let out a sigh, knowing this would probably get out, and I’d be the topic of the town’s gossip. Poor single Della, desperate to find a man.
“Is now a bad time?” Hayes asked.
I gave him a look.
He smirked. But when my features didn’t lighten, his expression sobered again.
“Did you come by to yell at me for sneaking in your house?” I asked, suddenly exhausted. “Because it’s really not a good time for a lecture.” My eyes stung with embarrassment, and I blinked back the tears while a pair of moths plinked against my porch light.
Not only had Hayes caught me in childish antics, but he’d also seen my only romantic prospect in this town walk right out the door without a backward glance. He probably thought I was as pathetic as I felt right now.
But instead of looking down on me, he tipped his head to the side. “What if I was here for something else?”
I raised my eyebrows, folding my arms protectively across my chest. “Would you like another throw pillow to match the first?” I retorted, trying to act more carefree than I felt.
He let out a low laugh at my wry joke. “No, Della. I’m here to ask if you’ll see me at the spring festival.”
My eyebrows drew together, surprised at the question. Surprised he’d come here to ask. “I’ll be at the festival... So I should see you there.” Where was he going with this?
He gave me a pained expression and raked his hand through his hair. “I meant can we go together .”
My lips parted in a mix of confusion and surprise. “Together?” Was he speaking English? Because Hayes and me together at the festival did not compute.
“For a date,” he elaborated. The words sounded foreign on his lips.
“You want to go on a... date? With me?” But Hayes Madigan didn’t date. Everyone in town knew it. He’d told me so himself. He also made it clear I was in a no-fly zone where he was concerned.
Nevertheless, he nodded slowly, shadows rising and falling along the angles of his face.
It all seemed so strange. “You’re not just asking me out to hook up with me?” I asked. That was the only language Hayes spoke with women as far as I knew.
He lifted his chin defiantly. “What if I’m asking because I enjoy your company?”
I snort-laughed.
But his expression was dead serious. “Della, will you go out with me or not?”
“This isn’t a joke?” I asked skeptically. “A prank to get me back?” He couldn’t be asking me out. That didn’t make sense. Especially not when he had his pick of countless women who, I’m sure, would like more with him than casual sex.
Hayes frowned. “Do I look like I’m joking, Moonshine?”
“What about not ‘shitting where you eat’?” I asked, parroting the crass phrase back at him. “What about trying to stay away from me?”
“Sometimes I’m stupid.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Which you should probably take into consideration when answering my question.”
When I didn’t speak right away, he reached out, holding my hand gently in his. Something about the callouses on his palms contrasting the gentleness of his touch had my skin warming, my heart pounding. “Will you go out with me, Della?” he asked.
My heart answered before my head could get in the way. “I’d like that very much.”