Page 50 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

I shake my head. ‘I want to meet your friends. Plus, I’ve got to start… what did Magda say?… fully integrating myself into town life.’ I try not to feel too nervous about that. Integrating isn’t exactly my strong suit.

‘It definitely sounded like they were trying to get you to join their cult,’ Nico muses.

‘Right!’ I exclaim, glad it wasn’t just me. ‘Tell me the truth, have you been indoctrinated? Blink twice if you need me to save you.’

‘As far as I know I am not in a cult, but maybe I’m in so deep I can’t even see it.’

I nod wisely. ‘They’ve been boiling you like one of those frogs.’

Nico frowns. ‘What frogs?’

‘It’s a metaphor. Apparently, if you put a frog in boiling water it will jump straight out, but if you put it in tepid water and slowly heat it up then the frog will stay and boil to death.’

Nico’s eyes widen. ‘Okay, Daisy, first of all… dark.’ He runs a hand over his face. ‘And second of all, yep, I’m a boiled frog, that’s exactly what’s happened. Half of that stuff in there didn’t even sound weird to me anymore.’

I laugh. ‘At least it seems like one of those nice cults. You know, the ones that are more about tending a communal vegetable patch than…’

‘Establishing a hierarchy of sister-wives?’

‘I mean… they have kind of married you off,’ I point out. ‘But you should probably stick to just the one wife.’

Our eyes meet and his are lit with amusement, whisky gold light that I want to sink into.

‘I’m really a one-wife-at-a-time sort of guy.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘So… that meeting didn’t scare you off?’ Nico asks me, his face suddenly serious. ‘We’re really doing it? You and me. Married.’

‘For a little while anyway,’ I agree lightly, trying desperately not to show that this is the culmination of every birthday candle wish I made between the ages of eleven and fourteen. Okay, sixteen. Fine, maybe eighteen.

‘I still don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but the situation is pretty desperate,’ he says, which doesn’t feel like the greatest compliment. He fixes me with a steady look. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along. Probably bollocksed this up as badly as I manage to do with everything else. I promise I won’t let you down, and if you ever need to walk away then I get it.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ I insist, wishing I could smooth the worried expression from his face.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he says. ‘Whatever happens. I promise you that. Now, shall we get that drink?’ Nico turns to lean over the bar and catch the bartender’s attention.

‘That would be great.’ I look around. ‘It feels like we’re in Nashville. What’s a bar like this doing in a small town in the middle of Maine, anyway?’

‘You’re about to find out.’

‘What do you… Dolly!’ I gasp, and I hear Nico’s laugh ring in my ears as if it’s coming from far away.

I blink, but the scene doesn’t alter. Dolly Parton is standing in front of me about to take my drink order.

‘Not quite,’ she says in a honey-thick Southern drawl. She holds her hand out over the bar and I take it. ‘Darlene,’ she grins. ‘Welcome to my place.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I stammer. ‘You look…’ I trail off.

Darlene laughs. ‘I know. It’s uncanny, right? I got it my whole life so eventually I decided I’d just lean in.’ She gestures to her big, blonde hair and rhinestone-studded outfit. ‘No one better to model yourself on than Ms Parton.’

‘Oh, I agree,’ I say, still feeling vaguely starstruck. ‘I’m a huge fan.’

‘Then we’re going to get along just fine,’ Darlene nods. ‘Now, what can I get the two of you to drink? Nico, you want your usual?’

‘Yes, please, Darlene.’

‘And for you, Lee? Wait, let me guess. It’s a particular skill I have.’ She runs her eyes over me, her lips pursed in a glossy, pink pout. ‘Gin martini,’ she says slowly, like a clairvoyant communicating with spirits in the afterlife. ‘Very cold. But… not olives… with a twist?’