Denny’s face went tight with anger, but he instantly backed up. Though, as he did, he kept his gaze on her. “When this is all done, and your heart’s in pieces, you know where to find me, Calla,” he said, his words sly with sarcasm.
Greta’s whistle sounded loud and sharp as she blew it in Denny’s face. “Go raid a corporation, and leave the adults to play!”
Denny had stomped back across the green of the park and past the children on the swings when a sudden burst of thunder and lightning cracked directly above his head, dumping fat raindrops all over his silk shirt and perfectly primped hair.
His yelp of surprise made Calla giggle, but then she caught Nash’s gaze and gave him her best matronly look. “That wasn’t nice.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his boots. “And it was nice of him to accuse me of faking amnesia so I could get out of our relationship? Only a scumbag would think like that.”
That was certainly fair, but the truth was, she’d had a brief moment where she’d thought the same thing. But Denny didn’t know she only had one breast. For him to consider Nash would fake amnesia now that he’d gotten what he wanted was just plain shitty.
Nash gripped her shoulders and sought her eyes. “You didn’t.”
He didn’t have to explain his words. She knew what he meant. Nash had always been good at reading her internal turmoil. “The moment was brief. I promise. I’ve…I’ve had a bad experience or two…one not so long ago that I never had the guts to tell you about, and, well—”
“It left you raw and cautious. Totally understandable, but I’m standing here in front of you right now, telling you I don’t care.”
The echo of his words from the night before struck a sharp chord in her heart.
Her eyes began to fill with more tears so she let her chin drop to her chest, but Nash pulled her into his arms, like he would when she’d had a bad day, almost as if he remembered every moment of their relationship.
“Never, Calla,” he murmured against the top of her head. “I promise you, that would never happen.”
The blessed relief of darkness enveloped them, though it was still hot even minus the glare of the sun.
The words one day kept repeating themselves in her head as Calla sat on the blanket they’d used when Nash had asked her to be his girlfriend.
If they only had one day to show Nash whatever she was supposed to show him, their time was swiftly running out. She’d spent a good portion of the ride out here to this part of Nash’s property trying to figure out what hour this mythical timer was set for one day. Did it begin when Fate spoke the words? Did it begin at dawn? What if they’d missed a detail? Something no one had thought of? What would happen if Nash didn’t remember when the mystery time was up?
They’d taken the seniors back to the center to rest up and have a late snack before pickup, then staged yet another unsuccessful reenactment, this one of The Big Talk, wherein she and Nash spent most of the time giggling at all the rules they’d placed on their road to total commitment.
And still nothing.
Kirby came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. “You ready for the Be My Girl scene?”
Daphne rasped a sigh, her beautiful face even prettier by the glow of the campfire Nash had built. She dropped her clipboard on her director’s chair—another item that had mysteriously appeared. “It’s not called Be My Girl. It’s called Sex And The Smitten.”
Kirby threw her hands up like two white flags. “Sorry! I’m just trying to help.”
Calla grabbed Kirby’s hand and squeezed it. “Of course you are. You’ve been a total rock through this. Go sit in the bed of Nash’s truck and relax. There wasn’t anyone here but Nash and I at this one anyway.”
Kirby gave her a tired smile. “I think I’ll do that, but save me a hotdog, would you?” she joked, wandering off into the velvety night toward Nash’s truck.
Nash was busy putting hotdogs on skewers while Greta set their places on the blanket, putting a soda can on each plate. One just like the can Nash had pulled the tab from that she now kept on a chain around her neck.
She tried to relax, but the longer the night went on, the more anxious she was beginning to feel. It was as though if they didn’t find the last piece to this puzzle, everything was going to blow up.
“Makeup!” Daphne shouted.
Flora appeared out of thin air in front of her, waving a powder puff. “Lift your chin, toots,” she ordered.
Calla’s heart tightened. “What are you doing, Flora? You’re supposed to be at home with your family, not out here in the middle of nowhere.”
Flora screwed up her face, her eyes warm from beneath the brim of her baseball cap. “Bah. My son’s boring. Have I ever mentioned what he does for a living? He’s an accountant. Most boring job in the entire world. Who wants to talk tax shelters over a pot roast when I could be out here, waitin’ to see you two fall in love all over again?”