Facing the Music (Rosewood 1)

The crowd applauded and Blake smiled and nodded his head appropriately. He noticed Lydia wasn’t clapping. She was just watching.

Estelle turned around to the trophies. There were four of them on the table behind her—for best fruit pie, best cream pie, best custard pie, and best overall. Blake didn’t know why all these women bothered to compete every year. Vera Reynolds always won. Always.

Estelle announced the winner in each category and Blake handed them their trophies with a smile. Vera, as expected, won best fruit pie for her famous apple pie. She also won best cream pie for her coconut cream. That had been Blake’s personal favorite, but he knew it wouldn’t beat her apple for best in show. People went mad over her apple pie. The best custard went to Mayor Gallagher’s wife, Marilyn.

After a few moments of mock suspense, Vera received her trophy for best in show, and a polite round of disappointed applause followed. Everyone got up out of their seats at once. Blake scanned the room for Lydia, but he’d lost her in the chaos. He tried to take advantage of the commotion and make a dash for the back door.

It was nearing dusk as he walked out. He was almost to his truck when he noticed a shadowy figure leaning against the driver’s door.

“You’re a hard man to pin down, Blake Chamberlain.”

Blake paused several feet from Lydia, well out of her touching range. He’d managed to avoid her since their ill-fated kiss at the gas station. “Evening, Lydia.”

A wide smile crossed her face. It lit up her whole expression in a way that most people would find attractive. Lydia was a beautiful woman. She had a traditional beauty with long blond hair, blue eyes, peaches-and-cream skin, and an athletic figure. She had been popular in school, the captain of the varsity cheerleading squad. In any other universe, he and Lydia would’ve been a couple.

In this universe, he just wasn’t into her. They had no chemistry. They had nothing in common. She wasn’t even much fun to be around. She’d wasted a lot of energy torturing Ivy and chasing him over the years, but it had been pointless. When she’d finally worn him down and he’d tried to think of her that way, it had been a disaster.

“I found the greatest dress for tomorrow night. You’re going to love it. It’s black and pink, very chic. I don’t want to look like I’m wearing a tacky costume, you know?”

“That’s great. I’m glad you found something you like.” Why was she telling him this? Blake was getting the dull ache of worry in his stomach.

“So I was thinking dinner before the dance might be nice. It’s my night off at Whittaker’s, but I wouldn’t mind eating there if you don’t already have reservations. I mean, it really is the only place in town to go for a nice dinner.”

Dammit. She thought they were going together to the prom. He thought he’d left this angst behind after graduation. “Lydia—” he began, but she ignored him.

“Do you know what color tuxedo you’re wearing? I wanted to order you a boutonniere.”

“Lydia,” he repeated.

“I think pink would probably be best for my corsage, but I’ll leave that—”

“Lydia!” he shouted. “Stop talking!”

She jumped nervously and fell silent. Taking a deep breath, she frowned slightly, looking at him with pouty pink lips. She was irritated by his rude interruption, but he didn’t care.

It felt ridiculous to say it out loud at his age, but he had to. “Lydia, we’re not going to the prom together.”

Lydia chuckled. “Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we?”

Blake couldn’t believe his ears. She was delusional. “Because I asked someone else.”

Her eyes widened, and then narrowed as she frowned. “Oh, really? Let me guess . . . You asked Ivy, didn’t you?”

He was walking into a mine field with her, but there was nothing he could do about it. “It’s none of your business, Lydia.”

“Oh my God, you did ask her!” Lydia stomped her foot and pounded her fist into the door of his truck. “Did you not learn your lesson the last time? She doesn’t give a damn about you, Blake. She’s just using you for the press. You’re a fool if you think it’s anything else.”

“Lydia, I don’t think that—”

“What about us, huh?” she interrupted. “How do I explain to people that we’re dating one moment and you’re out with that skank the next?” She brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose, very dramatically. “This is so embarrassing, Blake. I told people we were going to the dance together.”

“Why would you do that, Lydia? I never asked you to go.”

The delicate line of her brow furrowed. “I know, but we’ve been dating. Why wouldn’t you take me?”

“We were dating,” he corrected. “I broke it off three weeks ago.”

Lydia waved her wrist dismissively and shook her head. “You’re just confused about your feelings. Eventually you’ll realize how great we are together and come back to me. We make sense, Blake. You and I are meant to be. This prom is our chance to put the past to rights.”