Page 27

Setting aside her coffee, she pulled the pink tissue paper from the bag and peeked inside. Her eyes narrowed as she pulled out a book and saw her own face staring back at her from the cover.

One of her books.

When she opened it to the title page, she gaped at what he’d written.

I figured if I wrote this here, you wouldn’t throw it away. Come to dinner with me and tell me all about this book. I even saw you on TV. Looks like you’re good at more than just speeding and making me smile. I’ll pick you up at 7:00 tonight.

—Grady

Amanda stared at the signature.

Grady.

Not Sheriff Minor.

Well, well, well. The man was getting more serious about flirting with her. He’d apparently done his homework, and she had to give him credit. Too bad for him, she wasn’t that easy. He could show up at seven if he wanted, but he’d be in for a surprise.

“Well, what’s it say?”

She flipped the book around and showed her aunt what he’d written.

Edith cackled gleefully. “Oh, this is going to be fun! Make that boy work for it, Mandy. The Sparks women don’t give in that quickly. Show him what you’re made of.”

She glared at his note again. “Oh, I intend to, Aunt Edith. I intend to.”

What she didn’t tell her aunt was that part of her wanted to give in and let Grady woo her to his heart’s content. She told the devil on her shoulder to shut the hell up.

One more surprise for the sheriff.

After spending most of the day with her trusty red pen and manuscript, except for the two hours she'd put in at the high school, Amanda glanced at the clock and realized it was almost six.

Edith was having a good day and had only needed one pain pill after Amanda helped her shower. She was currently zoned out in the living room, watching an Outlander marathon.

Grinning to herself, Amanda packed away her work and hurried to her room to get ready for her “date.”

Grady was in for the shock of his life.

Bless Aunt Edith’s hoarder heart—she had everything Amanda needed. The woman had no problem throwing things away unless she thought they might come in handy someday. Then they were neatly packed away in a closet or storage tote, waiting for their moment to shine. Edith found it especially hard to part with clothes. She swore everything eventually came back in style, and when it didn’t, she sometimes tore apart older pieces and used the fabric to create something more up-to-date.

Opening the closet, Amanda discovered a gold mine of 1980s glory. She grabbed several hangers and laid out her options on the bed, trying to decide which combination would look best—or, in this case, worst. Acid-washed denim competed with shoulder pads, sequins, animal prints, and colors that had no business existing together. It was glorious.

Forty-five minutes later, she inspected her reflection in the spare bedroom’s full-length mirror and almost wanted to shield her eyes.

The eyeshadow—oh, Lord, the eyeshadow.

And the hair!

She’d teased and sprayed it until her red curls reached heights that probably violated local zoning ordinances. Combined with her chosen outfit, the effect was spectacularly awful. If her producers could see her now, they’d run screaming into the night and cancel her contracts immediately.

She strutted into the living room and struck a pose, hands on her hips. “What do you think, Aunt Edith?”

Pausing her show, Edith looked up and almost fell out of her chair. “Holy shit, girlie. I told you to show that man what you’re made of, not scare him to death.”

“Ha-ha, hilarious. My goal was to look so bad that he wouldn’t want to take me anywhere.”

“Mandy, there is testing a man, and then there is torture. I think you’ve crossed into the latter. What time is he supposed to be here again?”

Before she could answer, a car door shut, followed quickly by a knock at the front door.