Debbie Macomber - The Wyoming Kid

“That’s what you intend to eat this week?” he asked, reaching for one of the entrées. He felt suddenly hopeful. If she was hungry, the way he suspected, then she might accept an invitation to dinner. They could talk everything out over enchiladas and maybe a Corona or two. Everything always seemed better on a full stomach.

“What’s wrong with that?” she demanded, yanking the frozen entrée out of his hand and tossing it back in her cart.

“You shouldn’t be on a diet,” he insisted. “If that’s what you’re having for dinner, it’s no wonder you’re so skinny—or so mad.”

“Lonny,” Della gasped.

Oh, boy, he’d done it again. That comment hadn’t come out quite as he’d intended. “I—you…I—” He tried to backtrack, but all he could manage was a bad imitation of a trout. As usual, his mouth had operated independently of his brain.

He turned to Della, but she glared at him with the same intensity as Joy. Instinct told him to hightail it out of the store before he made the situation worse than it already was.

“I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” he muttered. “You look fine for being underweight.” Again he glanced at Della for help, but none was forthcoming. “You’re a little on the thin side, that’s all. Not much, of course. In fact, you’re just about right.”

“It’s a male problem,” Della said, speaking to Joy. She scowled. “They don’t know when to keep their mouths shut.”

“Uh, it was nice seeing you both,” he said. He’d thought he was complimenting her, but to his utter astonishment, Joy’s eyes had filled with tears.

Lonny’s gut twisted. He couldn’t imagine what he’d said that was bad enough to make her cry. “Joy, I…”

Della looked at him with open contempt. He swallowed, not knowing how to fix this mess. He was aghast as Joy abruptly left the aisle, her grocery cart rattling.

“See what you’ve done?” Della hissed at him beneath her breath. “You idiot.”

“What’s wrong with Miss Fuller?” the little girl asked. “What did that man do?” She focused her blue eyes on him and had he been a lesser man, Lonny would’ve backed off. If looks could kill, his sister would be planning his burial service about now.

“I—I didn’t mean anything,” Lonny stammered, feeling as low as a man could get.

“You’re hopeless,” Della said, shaking her head.

The girl shook her head, too, eyes narrowed. The kid came by that evil look naturally, Lonny realized.

“I…I…”

“The least you can do is apologize.” Della’s fingers gripped the cart handle.

“I tried.” He motioned helplessly.

“You didn’t try hard enough.” With that Della sped away, her children in tow. The little girl marched to the end of the aisle, then turned back and stuck out her tongue at him.

A sick feeling attacked the pit of his stomach. He should’ve known better. He’d already decided not to pursue a relationship with Joy and then, next thing he knew, he was inviting her for dinner. A lot of good that had done him.

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