Page 97 of Famous for a Living

I’m raised like a child into the air.

The crowd, as if it were possible, gives another round of cheers.

“Winner’s gotta get her arms back,” he explains, stepping out of the circle. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be making our way to dinner.”

I laugh as we move through the crowd. Although at his words I feel my whole body flushing, from the tip of my nose down to the heavy ski boots still on my feet. Either that, or my battery-operated coat has malfunctioned and I’m now burning alive.

Dinner.

Chapter 15

The Confession

What exactly does he mean by dinner?

Did Zaiah Smith just declare he was taking me to dinner?

For that matter, did he just skip the part about asking me altogether?

Cat Cranwell?

I could have him know that I have never been so insulted in my life. Make him aware, as I can guarantee he currently is not, that I have been in no fewer than eight magazines in the past two years, targeted solely on the topic of my relationship status. Marriage proposals slide into my DMs daily.

Daily.

And this man thinks he can just take me on a date without my permission?

This man?

This . . . one.

Zaiah’s chest smells deeply of leather, his Carhartt jacket rough against my cheek. Leather and hay and aftershave and sweat, not the kind that makes you yearn to find a polite way to hand over some deodorant, but the kind of sweat of a day of hard work. The kind that mixes so perfectly with the other scents, you think, Well of course. It wouldn’t be perfect without it. There is a difference.

Yes.

I suppose I can do dinner.

People are giving one another knowing looks as we pass by. Commenting, “That Terry’s girl?” and elbowing others to pay attention to the scene unfolding.

Zaiah either doesn’t see it or doesn’t care.

I flush all the more.

Like a child, really. As if I’ve never had a grown man pick me up and carry me.

Which, now that I think of it, I never have.

But we’re not heading in the direction of the far-off mountains.

We’re here.

In a crowd of people encompassing essentially every citizen of Kannery itself.

And people are staring.

“My boots are over there,” I say, and when he walks me over and sets me gently on the ground, I give a feeble, “Thanks for the lift.”

As if he were a taxi.