Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch by Victoria Pade

seat eight on its U-shaped bench seat was built into the wall on the other.
    Abby took a bottle of aspirin from a narrow cupboard beside the sink. “Is there any lemonade left?” she asked rather than answering Bree’s question.
    Emily poured her a glass from a pitcher in the refrigerator, handed it to her and, with emphasis, repeated, “What happened last night?”
    â€œNothing,” Abby said simply, making a face after swallowing the white tablets with the lemonade Bree always made too sour.
    â€œNothing, my foot,” Bree said, a note of anticipation for a juicy story creeping into her voice.
    Abby felt boring again, knowing she was going to disappoint her youngest sister. With all the worrying and waiting up they’d done, they deserved at least a titillating tale. But they weren’t going to get it. Unless she lied. Which she considered doing for their sakes. And maybe for her own, too, so she could liven up their image of her.
    Only in the end Abby couldn’t bring herself to make something up.
    â€œI hate to admit it, but Bill was right about me. I left the bar with Cal Ketchum because I came out of the bathroom and couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the table with those other people who had joined you guys.” She went on to outline how Cal came to not only carry her from the bar, but also take her to his house, and what had gone on from there.
    And when she finished she took a good long look at her sisters, almost hoping they might doubt her bland story and think it was only a cover-up for something deliciously scandalous. That they might say You don’t expect us to believe that’s all that happened, do you?
    But they knew her too well.
    They both visibly relaxed. Clearly not even entertaining the notion that she and the rear-end cowboy had spent a night of mindless passion because he couldn’t resist her and she’d been more than just pretending to be a wild woman. Somehow it was demoralizing to think that her reputation as shy, quiet, steady, provincial, predictable Abby Stanton was so ingrained that even a whole night spent with Cal Ketchum couldn’t heat it up.
    â€œIt looked like he tried to kiss you in the car just now,” Bree said then, proving she had been watching from the upstairs window.
    â€œHe did,” Abby admitted.
    â€œAnd you didn’t let him,” Emily guessed as if that were a given.
    It pricked something in Abby and made her decide on the spot to give them a little shock. “Not that time I didn’t let him, no.”
    â€œThere was another time that you did let him kiss you?” Bree asked.
    â€œJust once. Earlier. At his house.” And didn’t it feel good to let them know that! Almost as good as the kiss itself had felt.
    â€œThen something did happen?” Emily said, perking up hopefully.
    But that was as far as Abby could take it. She just couldn’t lie. “Only the one kiss. It was next to nothing.” To him, anyway. She was certain of that. Sure, it had curled her toes, but to a man like Cal Ketchum? He probably gave away kisses like that every day of the week.
    She brought her lemonade to the breakfast nook where both her sisters were sitting and slid in, too.
    â€œSo what’s up with him anyway? Where did he come from? What’s his story?” Emily was anxious now for details.
    â€œI don’t know. Unfortunately I slept through most of the time with him and this morning I was too interested in finding out what I couldn’t remember about what went on last night. I didn’t ask about anything more than that. But maybe I’ll find out about him tonight.”
    â€œTonight?” Bree repeated. “What’s tonight?”
    â€œHe’s picking me up at eight so I can show him the best place to watch the sunset,” she said matter-of-factly.
    â€œAnd you’re going? With someone you don’t even know? Without being drunk?”