lunchtime.
Those were good times, well, not the picking part. Blackberry picking was kind of like going for the prettiest girl. Between the stickers and the chiggers you were likely to get hurt or not be able to ignore the itch, but you wanted to get to the prize. And it was worth the aggravation.
He made the drive across town to the firehouse, then stopped for gas on the way back.
Derek pulled his white King Ranch pickup to the pump. As he started fueling up, a sporty red Mercedes pulled up.
He half-expected a sparkly, jewelry-dripping doctor’s wife to step out of it. Several of his doctor friends’ wives in Durham drove these cute little rides, and they’d all been that type. But to his surprise, the woman that stepped out was more like the girl next door. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head as she walked around her car to the gas tank. She barely wore any makeup and even though she was wearing a skirt, it wasn’t a tight sexy number. It was long and looked so light that even the slight breeze this morning moved it as she walked.
She clicked the lock button on her key fob and put her credit card in the pump.
City girl, he thought. No one around here would lock her car just to pump gas. “Nice morning,” he said casually.
“Hi. Yeah. Not bad for June.” She pivoted her back to him. “At least there’s a little breeze.”
“You in town for the Blackberry Festival?” And where the heck had that come from? He wasn’t one to just strike up conversations with strangers, but then something about being at the festival this morning had him yearning for some interaction.
“Just passing through,” she said with a shake of her head.
Her voice had a nice southern drawl. He cleared his throat. “We have the biggest Blackberry Festival in the state. People come from all around for it.” Okay, that was just lame.
She smiled, but didn’t encourage any further conversation. Maybe he wasn’t as charming as he used to be.
“Free blackberry cobbler while it lasts . . . and it usually lasts.” He nodded toward the traffic. “We could probably rack up one of those Guinness World Records for the amount of cobbler they prepare. All-day party and then dancing in the streets under the moonlight.”
“Dancing in the streets?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t need help with a hookup, but then why did he suddenly feel his palms sweating a little? He’d started the conversation. “And blackberry wine. You should check it out.”
“Maybe I will.” She ran a hand through her hair, and adjusted her sunglasses.
He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, mirroring her. “You won’t.”
She swiveled her head around, and this time her eyes locked with his. Pretty brown eyes. “And what makes you so sure?”
“I can read people.”
“You a psychic or something?”
Oh, great. Swing and a miss. Now he was coming off as the creepy guy. “Nothing like that. I just have a knack for knowing when people are giving lip service.” It was an occupational hazard. He couldn’t help it. He shrugged in an effort to look more casual. “Being polite.”
Her tank was already full, his probably not even halfway, but he had her attention. He could tell by the way her arm flexed in that sleeveless white blouse when he’d said she was just being polite. He’d struck a nerve.
“Nothing wrong with a little politeness.” Her stare held his gaze for a moment too long.
“Right. Yeah. No. Polite is good.” And what the heck was he doing? Just mumbling random words.
She put the nozzle back on the pump, and rubbed her hands together. “Where is this amazing street festival that no one should miss out on?”
“Up this road just over a mile. And it stretches further than that. Just head out of the lot that way.” He propped his leather cowboy boot up on the yellow painted curb. “There are signs everywhere. You can’t miss it.”
She nodded. “Good.”
He held her gaze a moment longer than he intended, but
Those were good times, well, not the picking part. Blackberry picking was kind of like going for the prettiest girl. Between the stickers and the chiggers you were likely to get hurt or not be able to ignore the itch, but you wanted to get to the prize. And it was worth the aggravation.
He made the drive across town to the firehouse, then stopped for gas on the way back.
Derek pulled his white King Ranch pickup to the pump. As he started fueling up, a sporty red Mercedes pulled up.
He half-expected a sparkly, jewelry-dripping doctor’s wife to step out of it. Several of his doctor friends’ wives in Durham drove these cute little rides, and they’d all been that type. But to his surprise, the woman that stepped out was more like the girl next door. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head as she walked around her car to the gas tank. She barely wore any makeup and even though she was wearing a skirt, it wasn’t a tight sexy number. It was long and looked so light that even the slight breeze this morning moved it as she walked.
She clicked the lock button on her key fob and put her credit card in the pump.
City girl, he thought. No one around here would lock her car just to pump gas. “Nice morning,” he said casually.
“Hi. Yeah. Not bad for June.” She pivoted her back to him. “At least there’s a little breeze.”
“You in town for the Blackberry Festival?” And where the heck had that come from? He wasn’t one to just strike up conversations with strangers, but then something about being at the festival this morning had him yearning for some interaction.
“Just passing through,” she said with a shake of her head.
Her voice had a nice southern drawl. He cleared his throat. “We have the biggest Blackberry Festival in the state. People come from all around for it.” Okay, that was just lame.
She smiled, but didn’t encourage any further conversation. Maybe he wasn’t as charming as he used to be.
“Free blackberry cobbler while it lasts . . . and it usually lasts.” He nodded toward the traffic. “We could probably rack up one of those Guinness World Records for the amount of cobbler they prepare. All-day party and then dancing in the streets under the moonlight.”
“Dancing in the streets?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t need help with a hookup, but then why did he suddenly feel his palms sweating a little? He’d started the conversation. “And blackberry wine. You should check it out.”
“Maybe I will.” She ran a hand through her hair, and adjusted her sunglasses.
He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, mirroring her. “You won’t.”
She swiveled her head around, and this time her eyes locked with his. Pretty brown eyes. “And what makes you so sure?”
“I can read people.”
“You a psychic or something?”
Oh, great. Swing and a miss. Now he was coming off as the creepy guy. “Nothing like that. I just have a knack for knowing when people are giving lip service.” It was an occupational hazard. He couldn’t help it. He shrugged in an effort to look more casual. “Being polite.”
Her tank was already full, his probably not even halfway, but he had her attention. He could tell by the way her arm flexed in that sleeveless white blouse when he’d said she was just being polite. He’d struck a nerve.
“Nothing wrong with a little politeness.” Her stare held his gaze for a moment too long.
“Right. Yeah. No. Polite is good.” And what the heck was he doing? Just mumbling random words.
She put the nozzle back on the pump, and rubbed her hands together. “Where is this amazing street festival that no one should miss out on?”
“Up this road just over a mile. And it stretches further than that. Just head out of the lot that way.” He propped his leather cowboy boot up on the yellow painted curb. “There are signs everywhere. You can’t miss it.”
She nodded. “Good.”
He held her gaze a moment longer than he intended, but
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