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I'm in Mayberry.
Dakota Tinsdale's head swiveled left to right as she tried to take everything in at once. When they passed the sign five minutes before declaring the Rotary Club welcomed them to Avalon, Georgia, the town's name had dredged up fantasies of romance. King Arthur, Guinevere and the knights of Camelot.
No such luck.
Through the luxury sedan's bug-splattered windshield, she stared wide-eyed at the reality of downtown Avalon. The red brick town hall, the tiny florist shop, the diner looking like a leftover from the Old West, it was all so . . . quaint. She half-expected Sheriff Andy Taylor to come strolling through the festively decorated town square.
Tilting her head back against the headrest, she stole a glance at the man next to her, his face taut with concentration as he navigated the wide, tree-lined streets. At least she wasn't trapped in the car with a troll. As a matter of fact, in another lifetime, one where she'd actually considered dating a possibility, Dakota might have found his All American Boy sandy hair and milk chocolate eyes attractive. Gorgeous, even. But she'd given up on men two years ago, and now Chad Everhart was nothing more than a favor.
A favor she'd kill Jason for when she returned to civilization.
What was she thinking? This was a huge mistake. Biggie sized. With fries.
But she owed Jason in a big way—he'd been the one to pull her through her divorce. The one who'd convinced her Darryl wasn't worth making herself sick over.
So there she sat, as a favor to Jason, in a car with Chad Everhart, pulling into his hometown, Dinkyville, USA.
She turned toward him, pressing her back against the passenger-side door, and folded her arms across her chest. "So, tell me about yourself."
Everhart had switched off the radio with an aggravated flick of his wrist when they'd momentarily lost reception an hour ago, and they'd hardly spoken since. After sixty minutes of total silence, her voice rang out a little too loudly in the car. Everhart started, and favored her with an expression that made him look like an irritated deer caught in the headlights.
"Huh?"
Oh, lovely. A witty conversationalist. She'd bet he'd been the high school football star, allowed to graduate because he'd won Hickville the state championship. She sighed.
"If I'm supposed to be your fiancée, it might help if I know more about you than your car's make and your distaste for rap music."
"Uh, yeah. Sure. What do you want to know?" he asked in that eloquent way of his.
"I don't know. What would your fiancée know about you? How do you take your coffee?"
"My coffee?"
"Yes. Brown stuff. Caffeine. Heaven. Orgasmic."
God help her, he actually blushed when she said orgasmic. In that instant, the whole mess went from mistake to MISTAKE. Great big capital letters flashing in neon green outside a cheap motel that charged by the hour. How could she possibly convince anybody she was in love with Opie Taylor, twenty-five years later?
Not only was she going to kill Jason, she'd torture him first. Reprogram his car stereo settings to talk radio and Spanish stations. Record over his answering machine greeting with a message like he's mine now, bimbos, so quit calling. Steal his clothes and replace them with plaid Bermuda shorts and black socks. Tape chick flicks over all his Victoria Secret fashion show ta—
"Black."
"Excuse me?" Dakota had been so deep in her revenge plotting, she'd forgotten the question he was answering.
"My coffee," Chad said. "I take it black."
"Oh. Good. Black. Okay. Well, what about—"
"We're here." He parked, yanked his keys from the ignition, and climbed out of the car.
She stepped out of the passenger side and looked up at the antebellum mansion looming before her. Oh my god, he's brought me to Tara. She waited a moment to see if Scarlett O'Hara would come sweeping through the front door dressed in a lovely set of velvet parlor curtains.
Nope, no Scarlett.
"This is your folks' place?"
The right corner of his mouth rose in a lopsided grin. "No, it's the Lancaster Inn." He gestured to the sign on the other side of the car. "I thought you might want to freshen up before I throw you to the wolves."
"Am I staying here?"
"Unless you want to bunk at my parents'."
Dakota Tinsdale sitting stiff-backed under the watchful eye of Aunt Bea twenty-four/seven? No way. "Nope. This is perfect," she said with a smile.
He carried her bags into the building and checked in at the front desk. The clerk had a strange foreign accent, and she'd bet it was fake. He probably thought it would make little Tinytown seem like an international tourist destination. As if anybody would vacation in this tiny dot on a map on purpose.
Everhart brought her bags up to her room and set them on the gleaming oak dresser. "You can hang out here. I'll call you later."
She spun to face him, brimming with indignance. "You expect me to just sit around and wait for your call?"
His eyes widened and he sputtered a moment before she interrupted him.
"Look, buster, I don't know what kind of chicks you're used to, but I don't wait by the phone for anybody."
He flushed again, flaming red skin covering him from neck to nose. "That's not what I meant. I thought you'd want to rest after the long ride. Then I figured we could have dinner tonight and go over our plan before you meet my family tomorrow."
"Oh. Well, in that case, thanks for being considerate." She should probably feel guilty about coming down on him so hard, so fast. She should, but she didn't. Not at all.
He made a small, noncommittal noise and turned to leave.
"Everhart?"
When he turned to face her, she fought hard to push the Opie image from her mind, focusing instead on his deliciously broad shoulders.
"You're right. I could use the time alone. I might take a walk later, so if I'm not here when you call, just leave a message."
She flashed him her most winning smile and watched him amble out of the room, closing the door tightly as he exited. The moment he was gone, she exhaled a long breath and slumped onto the bed.
Yep, she was going to kill Jason.
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© 2005-2007 All Rights Reserved
» The plot idea came to me after one of my critique partners commented that all my plot ideas were very dark and involved. I decided to try to write something a little lighter.
» For this story, the music of Danny Vaughn and his various bands was my soundtrack.
» The character Millie Jericho (who has done guest posts on my blog) actually appeared out of thin air. I was writing along and suddenly a smart-mouthed, thong-wearing old lady appeared on the scene. And somehow, she's managed to wrangle herself a big part in the story's resolution.