Page 26 of Pretty Desperate (Pine Village #6)

“Oh.” She blushes even darker, and I can hear her foot starting to tap beneath the table. She shifts in her seat before adding, “You’re kinda missing out, my friend. Ice cream dates are the best.”

I can’t help but smile. “I’m realizing that.” After a beat, I ask, “Been on a lot of ice cream dates before?”

She shrugs. “Not a lot, honestly, but there were a few. Ice cream is the new coffee date. I’d suggest we meet here and have ice cream. Then, if it went well, a dinner date.”

I nod, considering her suggestion. “Makes sense. This way, if you weren’t feeling it, you could thank them for their time and leave. And if it was going well, then dinner is the likely next step.”

She nods.

“How many made it to the dinner part of the night?” I ask, wanting to know, yet not wanting to. I know Jillian has dated before—hell, she was married—but I don’t want to think about it. Jealousy burns in the pit of my stomach, making my sherbet sit funny.

“None,” she replies with a chuckle.

“None?”

She shakes her head, averting her gaze. “Pathetic, huh?”

“Absolutely not,” I insist. “You just hadn’t found the right guy to share sherbet with.”

I don’t know why I say that, honestly. This agreement is fake, our relationship built on a ruse.

But while the relationship might be fake, these budding feelings aren’t.

I like Jillian. A lot. And not just the sex we had last night either, though that was pretty fucking amazing.

I enjoy spending time with her, even doing the most mundane tasks like washing dishes and decorating cakes.

“I think, technically, we did it backward, considering we just ate dinner,” she says matter-of-factly.

“True, but we’ve kinda been a bit unconventional from the start, right?” I ask with a playful wink.

She giggles the sweetest sound, and I have this overwhelming urge to make her do it over and over again. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

And we leave it at that.

I feel giddy as we enjoy the rest of our treat, both of us stealing glances at the other and not being shy about it when busted.

By the time our bowls are empty, I know it’s time to head out.

As much as I’d love to sit and talk with her until Molly flips the closed sign, Jillian gets up incredibly early in the morning, and it’s nearing the time she goes to bed.

“The chariot is going to turn into a pumpkin, Jilly,” I state, checking the time on my watch for verification.

“Yeah.” That one word holds so much disappointment.

Before I can, she picks up our empty bowls and carries them to the trash bin.

We both wave at Molly and offer thank yous before stepping through the door and onto the sidewalk.

It’s a bit chillier than it was earlier, but I’m not sure if the temperature actually dropped that much in the last thirty minutes, or if it’s simply because we just ate frozen sherbet.

Probably the latter.

Fortunately, we don’t have far to go. We start to cross the street to return to the bakery, where we left our vehicles, when she stops me dead in my tracks.

“Oh my God! It’s a dick!”

I scan the roadway in front of me, trying to figure out what in the world she’s talking about.

When I look her way, concerned I’m not getting some sort of joke, she’s blushing a dark shade of red.

Even under the falling night sky and the dimly lit streetlights, I can see the color of her skin.

Her green eyes are wide with embarrassment and humor, while she tries to cover her face with her hands.

“I can tell what’s on your mind,” I mutter, humorously.

“No! Oh my God,” she bellows, dropping her head into her hands and laughing. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

“I’ll be honest, Jilly, I’m just glad there wasn’t a real dick out here somewhere. You know, like someone lost theirs?”

She barks out a laugh. “Does that happen? Guys just randomly lose their dicks?”

I shrug. “As a teenager, I thought if I didn’t use it, it’d fall off.”

She laughs hard, tears forming in the corners of her pretty eyes. “Stop it!”

“No, it’s true. Though, when I was a little boy, my grandma told me the opposite. She told me and my brother if we played with it before marriage, it would fall off.”

The memory hits me hard. I can see the scene as if it happened just yesterday.

My grandma sitting in her favorite easy chair and my younger brother, Kelvin, on the floor beside me.

I was nine, wishing I could go outside and play with neighborhood kids and not have to be inside playing with my little brother, especially one who was only four years old.

We were playing with Matchbox cars, most of them left from when our dad was a kid.

I can somewhat remember how the conversation got started too.

I recall Kelvin laughing because someone on TV mentioned their wiener getting hard, in so many words, during one of Grandma’s daytime TV shows.

Kelvin giggled uncontrollably and proclaimed his own wiener gets hard too.

That’s when Grandma made us promise not to play with them before marriage.

That particular recollection is like a punch to the gut.

Even though I think about my brother often, it hurts.

Bad.

Just like the memory does right now.

Jillian’s hand wraps around my arm and gives a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I clear my throat and look around, realizing we’re still standing in the middle of the roadway. Fortunately, downtown Pine Village isn’t too busy right now, but that doesn’t mean we should continue to stand where we can get hit by a car.

Reaching down, I take her hand in mine and lead us the rest of the way across the street to the sidewalk. “You’re fine. It wasn’t anything you said or did.”

She drops her gaze before looking up at me. “I’m sorry, but I don’t really remember him. He was two years younger than me in school, I think.”

I nod. “He was. He had just started kindergarten when he was diagnosed.”

Her eyes hold sadness, and maybe a touch of pity. Who doesn’t pity the guy who lost his little brother to childhood cancer and then his parents when he was thirty?

She offers me a gentle, warm grin before looking up. With her hand firmly in mine, she lifts them and points. “Do you see that?”

I look up, staring at the clouded night sky. “What?”

“That cloud,” she informs me. “It’s long and has that little puff on the bottom? It looks like?—”

“A dick,” I finish her sentence, shaking my head and chuckling.

She nods. “Yeah. So, when I was a little girl, my dad and I would play this game when we were outside. We would find shapes in the clouds and try to outdo each other. Of course, most of them were animals or general shapes. I think this is my first dick.”

I bring her hand to my lips and murmur, “I’m glad I could be here for your first dick find.”

She giggles naturally, and we start to walk toward the bakery. “This is a big moment. I’m glad too.” After a moment she adds, “Sorry I just blurted it out. Not very appropriate for the middle of Main Street.”

I shrug. “If you can’t talk about cloud dicks with your boyfriend, then who can you talk about them with?” I ask. Immediately, I realized I didn’t use the term fake. Why? Because it doesn’t feel fake anymore.

“Good point.”

When we reach the bakery, we walk around the back alleyway, where her car is parked. I’m on the street, but there’s no way I wouldn’t escort her to her vehicle, especially at night. Yes, this is Pine Village, but shit can happen anywhere.

“Thank you. For everything,” she says after unlocking her door.

I pull open her driver’s door and wait while she slips inside. “You’re welcome. I’ll, uh, be pretty busy over the next few days, but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to stop by and have dinner with me one night.”

She gives me an eager grin. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Just text me what night works best for you, and I’ll save us a table.”

She nods and starts her car. “Sounds good, Kameron.”

“Be safe, Jilly. Let me know when you make it home,” I tell her. I don’t know if I’ve ever done that before, requested a woman I’m seeing tell me when she’s home, but it seems natural and appropriate, even if our relationship is slightly unconventional.

“I will.”

I close her door and step back, giving her a wave as she pulls out of her parking spot and prepares to head home.

It isn’t until she’s exiting the alley that I finally make my way around to the front of the building and climb into my own vehicle.

As I start my SUV, I glance in the rearview mirror.

There’s no missing the smile on my face.

Jillian does that.

She makes me smile for the first time in…a long time.

A real one.

And I don’t hate it.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

I’m enjoying the hell out of spending time with Jillian Kirby.