Page 67 of Prime Time Romance

“A souvenir of our time in the bush.” He tucks the blossom behind my ear, but before I can reply with the appropriate response, he turns and takes off.

“Hey! You’re not going to wait for me?” I call after him.

He turns and starts walking backward, smiling. “I figured I’d stay ten paces ahead. Don’t want someone to see us together and get the wrong idea.” He winks. “I’ve got Sloan’s reputation to protect. She’s got a crown to win, and we look like…well, we look like we’ve been rolling around in a bush.”

18

Josh

The Bronze looks like it has been ransacked.

Or at least hosted one hell of a party.

After a long shower, I change into another set of Fletcher’s clothes and start cleaning up last night’s mess. The familiar rhythm of righting chairs and wiping tables is so automatic that it takes me a good three attempts to realize someone is calling my name.

“Fletch.

“Fletch.

“Fletcher.”

The sound is coming from the front door.

I abandon my current project—doubling the size of The Bronze’s existing dance floor—and wipe my hands on my jeans, wondering when I’ll ever automatically respond when someone calls me Fletch—I hope never.

“One sec. I’m coming,” I call to whoever is on the other side as I flip the lock and pull.

But as the door swings open, there isn’t a whoever on the other side.

It’s more like a whatever.

“Hey there…horse.”

The animal stares back at me, its brown ears twitching.

I stick my head out just enough to see onto Main Street, but no one else is around. It’s just a horse, with no saddle or owner, standing in the middle of the street.

“Were you the one calling me?”

I fully acknowledge that I’m talking to an animal but I’m also not entirely sure it won’t answer back.

It has been one fucked-up week.

“What the heck are you doing, Fletcher?”

This voice is not from the horse.

I turn in the complete opposite direction to see Sherry at the back door of the bar, propping it open with a keg on a dolly, staring at me like…well, like I’m talking to a horse.

“I’m talking to this big guy.” I step aside to show her the beast, but the doorway is empty and the horse is now nowhere to be found.

Sherry eyes me, rightfully suspicious. “Well, if you’re done with whatever you think you’re doing there, I could really use your help.”

I let the front door swing shut as I walk-jog to the back of the bar to take the keg off Sherry’s hands. As I wheel it in the rest of the way, Sherry disappears and then reappears a few minutes later with a large cardboard box clanking with what I presume to be liquor bottles.

“You had quite the night last night.” She sets the box down on the bar, pulling out a full bottle of Jim Beam, replacing the one I ran out of halfway through last evening.

“It appears this town likes to dance.” I nod at the new and improved dance floor.