The Bequest
Chapter 46—Amanda

"I suppose you hold hands with everyone you take on client meals?" I ask.

He laughs.

"Is that a no?"

"It's a definite no." The butterfly feeling comes back again.

"Did you know that it has never bothered me before, how close Manila is to Jed's ranch?” Eddy turns sideways and looks at me.

"Does it bother you now?"

He shrugs. "It's definitely not a long enough ride from one place to the other." He pulls into the parking lot of the Gorge, parks, and cuts the engine. "It took a lot of gumption for me to hold your hand, and now I just have to let it go again." His eyes sparkle, but he doesn't let go. If anything, his fingers tighten around mine.

"Maybe drive in circles next time, like a cab driver in New York with a tourist. I know Manila's small, but I'm new. I won't know the difference."

"Do they really do that?" Eddy asks.

"Oh, all the time,” I say. "Not to locals, though. I'll usually get in and tell him where I'm going and my preferred route so he knows he can't overcharge me."

"They do that on television," Eddy says. "The residents telling them where to go, I mean."

"It's not so much that I care which streets he takes, but it's a signal that I'm not lost."

"Fascinating," he says. "I had no idea that an expert navigator of the Big Apple was right here in my car."

He's still holding my hand.

And neither of us is making any move to get out.

"You're going to have to let me go," I say. "At some point. Or we'll starve to death."

He shrugs. "Eating's overrated."

"That's because it's not even ten-thirty yet. Around noon, you'll be shoving me aside in order to sprint to the kitchen."

"You know men pretty well," he says, "for someone with two daughters."

"I have three brothers," I say. "Two biological and a stepbrother."

"Sounds like your brothers needed to learn some manners. I'd never shove you anywhere." He leans a little closer. "I'd drag you along with me."

"How dreamy."

"Speaking of." He releases me, but then he climbs out and circles the truck. I try to open the door, but I can't. He opens it with a grin. "Child locks. I've found them to be just as effective with dates who don't want to let me be the gentleman my mama raised."

"You child locked me in?"

He shrugs. "If you show me you can behave, I'll turn them off."

I lean over and switch it off on the side of the door. "Nice try, but I'm not an actual child, so I'm onto your wily ways."

"Aw shucks. Outsmarted by the city slicker."

I roll my eyes. "Nice try, Dr. Dutton. You're not a redneck. I can tell."

"Not a fan of hot cowboys?" he asks.

The way he phrased that causes me to freeze. Has he found my insta? I'm easy to replace, if you make the slightest effort, and if he knows I've been posting images of him... How embarrassing. "So, about that."

He stops. "About what?" He looks totally lost. Maybe I was imagining it.

"Never mind."

The restaurant may be small, like the town, but he's not wrong about the food. It's actually really good. I usually eat half of my meal, tops, as a rule. But I eat both tacos, and most of the beans and rice. When they bring my brownie, I end up eating most of that, too.

"I'm impressed," Eddy says. "Most of the women-"

My eyebrows shoot up. I can't wait to hear the end of that. "Yes?"

He clears his throat. "Nothing."

"Most of the women you bring here...don't eat much? Was that what you were going to say?"

My adorable little vet turns bright red.

"Well, I'm old enough to know that it's pointless to eat like a bird around a guy. If I like something, I'll eat it. If I don't, I won't. I look how I look, and pretending I never eat won't change it." I frown. "And how guys can get away with saying something as condescending as 'I like that you have a healthy appetite' is beyond me. Why do you have any opinion on how much I eat?"

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He holds his hands up. "I surrender."

I laugh. "Fine, I forgive you, but only because that almost seems sincere."

"Almost?"

I shrug. "I have high standards. What can I say?"

"I've been using my best moves. I went out in the mud and mess and brought your horses back. I helped Ethan fix the fence, and now I'm taking you out for Manila's finest. What more can I do?" He smacks his head. "Order you some custom overalls, that are embroidered? Then you'll feel like I accept you, and like I want you to be comfortable here, in my hometown."

"You really have a shocking amount of insight into women." I can't help smiling. "And what will these custom overalls say?" "Something about horses," he says. "Maybe Real Men Ride? Or Save a Horse, Ride a—"

"Alright," I say. "I get it."

"But really, in this area, heroes do ride horses."

Now I know he's read my feed. That's the second hashtag he's quoted. I should have gone with my gut before. "So you did replace me on insta."

He freezes. "On what?"

"On Instagram. Don't bother playing dumb. You should know, however, that I haven't ever posted a photo of your face. I'd have gotten permission for that. And I'm only playing up the cowboy thing because I'm trying to score a sponsorship contract with Lololime and they have a new Western Living line releasing. Their company is kind of the Cadillac of promo for my brand."

"There were a lot of words I didn't understand in that last statement." He rubs a hand over his eyes. "Is that something you can translate? Did you say you had pictures of me?"

Oh, no. He's not kidding, and this isn't a joke. He had no idea what I was talking about. I've really stuck my foot into it.

Probably best to start at the beginning. "After my husband died, I found out he'd invested in some bad stuff. Well, it was fine, but I didn't realize he had bought a lot of options. He'd sunk all our money in them, actually, or close enough." "Options?"

I'm confusing him more. I better get there fast. "The long and short of it was that I was living in New York City with two young girls, and I had no job, and no marketable skills. I had to figure out a way to make money. I put off bill collectors and paid one credit card with another, but it couldn't last."

To his credit, he looks very distressed by the whole thing.

"The one thing I did have was a large and loyal following on my social media account. I'm not proud of this, but I used the fact that I was a widow, and a relatively fashionable one at that, to boost my following even further. And then instead of turning down every offer from companies to promote their products, I started selecting a careful few, cultivating a specific brand for my account."

"I thought you were a photographer," he says. "Like, family photos and stuff."

"My job does require me to take a lot of photos, and I have a great eye for not only what my fans will like, but what will get me the most interaction."

"You're an influencer," he says. "That's your job?"

I nod. "It can be exhausting, always sorting through the promos I'm offered, or sometimes, searching for opportunities myself. Some months are great, while others are quite lean."

"Did you say you put photos of me on your account?" His eyes widen and he swallows.

"Well, yes and no. I did put photos of you, from the back or from the side."

He pulls money out of his wallet and puts it on the table. Then he stands. "We better get going. I have an appointment pretty soon."

That was abrupt. Is he upset? What's going on?

He doesn't say much on the way back to Birch Creek, and he makes no move to touch me anywhere, much less try to hold my hand. He answers questions I ask him, but flatly, without much inflection and without any flirting. Clearly he's not impressed with my job or maybe with me, either.

"Thanks for lunch." He stops in my driveway, but doesn't even put the truck in park. In fact, he puts it in reverse.

What's going on? After one awkward moment, I finally climb out. Thanks to my clever move, turning off the child safety locks, I don't need him to open my door. But that means I have no real excuse to make him look at me or listen to me. But I can't just let him drive off. I don't close the door, however impatient he may be to leave.

"Eddy-why are you so upset?"

His eyes, when he turns toward me, aren't angry. They aren't judgmental, either. They look...broken. "I thought that maybe-but it won't work." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Amanda."

I realize that's all I'm going to get, and I finally close the door.

But I hate watching him drive away, knowing that was our first and last date. So much for having a fun time I didn't have a fling.

I got flung.

And it hurts.