“Dusty, you there? Did I lose you?”
“No,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m here.”
“Well, anyway, like I was saying, she’s pretty amazing. You know her fairly well, right?”
“Y…” I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
“So, here’s my problem. She’s not like other girls. I think I was doing everything wrong to make a good impression on her, you know?”
I closed my eyes and rapped the back of my head on the wood of the barn wall. “I know what that’s like.”
“Yeah, but I think I finally found something that will work. Trouble is, I have no idea how to do it.”
“Look, Austen, I don’t—”
“No, Dusty, please! I mean it, I really need help, and you seem like a guy who knows this kind of stuff.”
I was going to be sick, right there on the barn floor. “If I knew this kind of stuff, I wouldn’t be single,” I bit out.
The line went quiet for a second. “Well, at least hear me out. Please, I don’t know who else to ask.”
I ground my teeth and glared at the roof, chewing on all kinds of bitter words I’d have liked to spit at him. “Fine. What is it?”
“See, she doesn’t care about flowers. Compliments and buying her stuff won’t work. I don’t think she’s the kind who wants big shopping trips or fancy dinners. She’s different.”
“Of course she is. She’s had to put up walls because of all the guys chasing her for her whole life.”
I heard Austen gasp on the other end. “Holy smokes, you’re right! I knew you were the right guy to ask.”
My stomach twisted. “No, I’m not. Really, I can’t help.”
“You may be the only one who can! See, she’s kind of old-fashioned. Do you know what I think she’d like?”
I sagged against the wall, my fingers kneading my pounding forehead. “Books. Letters. Poetry. Something that speaks to her heart, not superficials.”
“Exactly! Except I have no idea about any of that stuff.”
“Why don’t you just ask her?” I grumbled. I was a fine one to talk.
“Because she thinks I already know! I gotta get up to speed, and fast. She wants the hero type, you know, saves the damsel. What do you give a girl who wants a… a Cassanova?”
“Trust me, she doesnotwant a Cassanova. That’s the last thing she’s interested in. I think you mean an Ivanhoe.”
“I don’t know the difference.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You can’t just pretend to like what she likes. She’ll see through anything fake.”Please, oh please, let her see through…
“I’m not talking about being fake. I just want to show her that I’ll find what’s important to her and try to be that guy.”
I bit my lips together and closed my eyes. They stung like I’d rubbed sunscreen into them. “Austen, I don’t know.”
“How about a book? I was never much of a reader. How do I know where to start? Can I get like Cliff’s notes or something?”
“That seems a lot like being fake,” I barked.
“You know what I need? I need to write her something, just for her from me. But what?”
“Well, you’re a smart guy,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”