The smile drops from my lips so fast, it would’ve crashed to the floor if it were possible.
“Wait, what?” I frown. Now, I’m confused.
“Did Dallas tell you?”
My stomach churns like the Gulf of Mexico during a bad storm. “Tell me what?” I say slowly.
“That I asked him to the dance.”
There’s a good chance I might hurl my breakfast right here on the worn church carpeting.
I swallow hard and shake my head, forcing myself to play it cool. “He never said anythin’.”
Her shoulders deflate instantly on an exhale. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried he told you because he got cold feet or somethin’.” She smiles up at me. “I asked him when I ran into him last night.” Her smile fades, features drawn, and she reaches up to touch the inside of her forearm to my forehead. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
Agitation attacks me at full force and I run a shaky hand through my hair, managing to drag in a much needed breath. I tip my head, gesturing to the doors leading to the parking lot. “Can we…get some air?”
“Sure.” Her answer is slow and cautious.
I tear my eyes away from the concerned look on her face. She automatically holds on to my upper arm as I lead her outside. I stop a few feet away from the doors and away from the others who are mingling.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
I draw in another breath and let it out slowly without meeting her eyes. Instead, I squint against the bright glare of the sun and pretend to be interested in the people mingling around us. “So, you’re goin’ to the dance with Dallas, huh?”
“I can’t wait.” Her hand reaches for the one hanging loose at my side. “Will you help me pick out the matchin’ flannel shirts? I don’t want to choose somethin’ too girly but still want—”
“Sure thing.”
Silence. Then she gives my hand a quick squeeze.
I swear I feel it all the way to my heart.
When I turn to face her, she looks worried, so I muster up a smile. “Don’t do that. You’re too pretty to frown,” I say gently.
Her eyes widen, her breath hitches, and I realize what I just said.
Shit. I’ve never said anything like that to her.
She gives me an odd look—a mix of surprise and wonder. “You’ve never told me I was pretty before.”
I drag a hand down the back of my neck, the muscles tense and stiff, and I look away. “Come on, now.” I try for a humorous tone. “You know you’re pretty.”
“But…” Her voice sounds a little breathless. “You’ve never—”
“Magnolia Mae!” Her mother’s voice interrupts whatever she was about to say.
Part of me wishes I could hear the rest.
The other part is relieved I won’t.
She turns her head to answer her mother, and I’m faced with her profile. Soft features, a nose that’s straight and narrow but not too narrow. Cheekbones I’ve heard the other girls tell her they envy. Lips that look like—
Oh, shit.
“I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you later, okay?” I offer a quick smile to a bewildered-looking Magnolia before taking off toward my dad who’s finally wrapping up his own conversation.
I don’t know what the hell my problem is, but I need to regroup.
And it seems Dallas and I need to have a serious talk.
In his driveway, Dallas stands by the open driver’s side door of his car. I park my truck at the curb and stride up the fancy stamped concrete drive. With earbuds in, it’s obvious he’s talking to someone on his phone, so he doesn’t hear me approach.
He ends his call and turns, finally noticing me. I shove at him with the full force of my anger, the impact knocking him back.
I admit, it’s underhanded to catch him by surprise like this. But with anxiety intermixed with anger and another emotion I don’t want to admit, I’ve shoved aside all logical thinking right now.
“The hell’s wrong with you?” Dallas shoves back at me.
“You didn’t tell me she asked you to Sadie Hawkins,” I practically snarl out.
He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Dude, what…” His expression turns smug. “You’re jealous she asked me to the dance, huh?”
I sputter, backing away. “No. That’s not it at all.”
He crosses his arms and nods with a smirk. “Might wanna tone down the whole jealous boyfriend thing, then. Plus”—he lifts a shoulder in a half shrug—“no one told me I had to ask you for permission to go to a dance with Magnolia.”
My hands fist at my sides, and I speak through clenched teeth. “You better keep your hands to yourself.”
He screws up his face in exasperation. “It’s a dance, Barnes. People are gonna touch.”
My eyes grow squinty, and he raises his hands in surrender with a sigh. “Okay, okay. Got it.” He shakes his head and turns away, muttering under his breath something that sounds like, “Asshole.”
But I’m already walking back to my truck, feeling a little better.
It doesn’t last for long, though.
Magnolia frowns and draws to a stop a few feet away from her car when I pull my truck into her driveway and slide out. I leave the engine running.
“I thought you’d stood me up.”
“Just had an errand that ran a little longer.” I hastily add, “Sorry.”
And I am. Not only because I’m late, but because I hate anything that puts a frown on her face.
Her gaze is searching until her mouth finally curves up into a small smile. “You’re drivin’?”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.” I rush around to open the passenger door for her. “Your chariot awaits.”
She laughs, and her eyes are lighter now. I wait for her to buckle herself in before I close the door. Circling the hood, I let out a long breath, exhaling stress and worry from my body.
Once I’m inside the truck with her, it’s back to normal. Just Magnolia and me.
The way I like it best.
Each couple wears matching flannel shirts for our school’s Sadie Hawkins theme, so a little while later, she’s finally settled on matching flannels for her and Dallas. I pull out of the parking lot of the Eastern Shore Centre, where she dragged me around to a handful of shops until she found what she deemed the “perfect” shirts.
Her shopping bag sits between us on the bench seat of my truck. My lips hitch upward because I still find it funny how the girl who has plenty of money doesn’t really like to shop. Sure, she loves getting other people gifts, but when it comes to the stereotypical shop-till-you-drop mentality, she’s the furthest thing from it.
Magnolia lets out a little sigh as she stares out her window.
“Feel up to one more stop before home?” I glance over and catch her eye.
Her tone is teasing. “Depends on whether you plan to feed me or not.”
I grin playfully and adopt a British accent, pretending to read a Shakespeare sonnet. “My mistress’ stomach loudly rumbles when she hungers.”
Her laughter fills the cab of the truck and pushes all thoughts about her and Dallas aside.