Maybe This Time(8)

I found myself raising my hand to enter a bid, even though I had no fake money to back me up. Nobody called me out on it and Caroline gave me a beaming smile as I walked to the front of the cafeteria to collect my date. Happy customers are future business, she always said. From the corner of my eye, I saw Kyle smirking at me across the room, and I glanced away.

“Mr. Farnsworth,” I said, hooking my arm in his and leading him to a far table. “How has your night been?”

“Aside from no mashed potatoes and some sort of fish paste on my crackers?”

“Sure, aside from that.”

“There’ve been better years.”

“But not years when Jett Hart has come to an event,” I said. Everyone over thirty in this room would know who Jett Hart was. And Mr. Farnsworth was well over thirty.

“Jett Hart? Is that who the old man talking about salad was?”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I nodded.

“Well, that makes more sense. I don’t think he’s aged well.”

I disagreed. Jett Hart may have been grumpy, but with his thick head of hair and classic good looks, it was obvious why he’d once been selected to be on TV.

“I do like him, though,” Mr. Farnsworth added thoughtfully. “I enjoyed his show. He never took any crap.”

Huh. Maybe Jett’s name would do something for Mr. Williams’s business. “Is your family here tonight?” I asked Mr. Farnsworth as we took our seats.

“My family can’t be bothered to come visit me on normal days,” he grumbled. “Do you think they’re going to fly to Rockside for Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask you to be sorry.”

“You’re right, I did that all on my own.”

“Where is this dessert I was promised?” Mr. Farnsworth asked, looking around.

As if by magic, Andrew appeared, holding two of the smallest desserts I’d ever seen. They were some sort of pudding or mousse in shot-sized glasses, each topped with a berry and a dollop of whipped cream.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Mr. Farnsworth asked, voicing my exact thoughts. Mr. Williams usually served a healthy slice of berry pie.

“This will be the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” Andrew said.

“That’s a lofty promise,” I said.

“I stand by it.” He set one glass down in front of each of us.

“The best two bites I’ll ever taste?” I said. I needed to stop. This was Jett Hart’s son. Plus, I’d told Micah I’d stop being so negative. I needed to do just that.

Mr. Farnsworth seemed to appreciate my comments and gave a small chuckle. He picked up his spoon and took a tentative taste, then grumbled about how it wasn’t half-bad. Coming from him, that was a very high compliment.

I almost didn’t want to try the dessert. Then I’d be forced to compliment Andrew. No, that wasn’t true. Andrew’s dad had made it, not Andrew himself. I took my own bite. The chocolate was light and fluffy and just the right amount of sweet. It contrasted perfectly with the tart flavor of the raspberry.

I nodded. “I’m not sure it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, but it was a good choice for tonight’s theme of … what was that word you used again?” I shot a look up at Andrew. “Tacky?”

He raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you’d be a little more apologetic, considering what you said about my father earlier.”

“Just like you apologized for what you said about my decorations earlier?”

“What I said was true.”

“Same.” I bit my lip, hard. That was uncalled for. Andrew was right about the centerpieces. They were tacky. What was wrong with me?

I opened my mouth to apologize when he said, “It’s more than obvious by your outfit and your hair and your accent that you’re trying to come off as some seasoned city girl. It’s not working for you.”

A wave of anger followed by a wave of embarrassment swept through me. How did he know exactly which sore spot to jab at right away? When I got to New York, was it going to be obvious that I was some out-of-place small-town girl? My face went hot.

“You’re just mad that I rejected your pathetic attempt at a pickup,” I said, getting to my feet. “I wouldn’t have thought my rejection was your first, but your inability to lose gracefully is making me think otherwise.”

Andrew took a step back. “Grace? Is that what you’re demonstrating so well?”

“Young man,” Mr. Farnsworth said, surprising me. “This is the face of a woman who wants you to move along. Study it because I sense you see it a lot and are oblivious to what it means.”

I wasn’t sure what my expression had looked like before, but now I was on the verge of laughing.

Andrew seemed to come back to whatever small amount of sense he possessed and offered Mr. Farnsworth a charming smile. “You’re right, I have seen it a lot today.” He gave a little bow. “Thank you for the life lesson.” And with those words, he was gone.

“Thank you,” I said to my date, slowly sitting back down.

Mr. Farnsworth patted my hand. “I will always stand up for a lady, but you were throwing some pretty good punches of your own in there. I don’t think you needed my help. Just be careful, Ms. Evans. That one seems to bite back.”