Page 36 of Perfect Pact

“If you say so.”

“Dusty…why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Buying breakfast for the fire department? That’s hardly something—”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and step back into line as it begins to move.

“Okay. See you at home,” Dusty calls out.

Home?

“It’s not my home.” I jump out of line and chase after him. “We don’t live together,” I blurt out. Heads turn to see what the commotion is.

“I never said you did.” Dusty squeezes out through the double doors and starts hitting the pavement toward the fire station.

“But you kind of did,” I point out, taking two steps to his one.

“I said I would see you at home.” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and I almost run into him. “Which means when I’m at home and see you at yourhome. Stop getting pissy and reading so much into everything.”

“Me?” I point to myself. “I’m not getting pissy.”

“Sure you are.” He nods toward the florist window as we pass by. “You’re practically throwing a hissy fit over tarts and my use of the word ‘home.’”

“Just stop. I, um…I’m tired.”

“Dreaming of me.” He winks before he continues on his route to the station.

“Not a chance.” Okay, maybe there’s a huge chance, but he doesn’t need to know that. “My stress is off the charts. The tractor won’t start, and I have a certain neighbor who’s determined to place a roadblock at my every turn.”

Dusty eyes me and twists his lips. “You know that’s not true.”

“The driveway,” I remind him

“One date and that little problem is solved.”

“I’m not dateable. Like, I’m the worst.” I hold out my arms, breathing heavy as I try to keep up with his punishing pace. “I’m saving you from a disaster.”

“Awesome! I love disasters. Especially beautiful ones.”

Beautiful?

Did I hear him right? He thinks I’m pretty? Scratch that—he said beautiful. I fight back a smile. There’s no way I’m going to let him see that I actually like that comment.

Dusty looks both ways before crossing the street to the station. “Since you won’t stop self-sabotaging, tell me about the tractor situation.”

“I would rather talk about the driveaway, but fine.” I grin, knowing how he’s going to react. “I got some goats.”

“What?” Dusty spins around in the middle of the station driveaway. “Goats?”

“Yes. As in baaah.”

“Did you just goat me?” Dusty’s lips twitch with a smile.

“Did you just use goat as a verb?”

“Maybe…but goats? How did that happen?”

“Well, I picked up the phone and called 1-800-BUY-GOAT—and poof!” I make the same motions with my hands. “They appeared.”