By ten after seven, Dillon was certain Avery wasn’t going to show. He couldn’t really blame her if she didn’t. From her perspective, he’d lied. And then he’d deliberately gone about distracting her from her real date like some adolescent nut job.
Classy, dude.
Why had that seemed like a good idea? Class clown wasn’t exactly a selling point for a mature relationship. Not that he’d given a lot of thought to looking for a mature relationship before now.
Once he’d turned in his project on Monday—after two almost all nighters—he still hadn’t been able to get Avery out of his head. He knew he’d behaved badly, and his mama had raised him to apologize for bad behavior, so before he crashed, he went in search of a florist who was willing to deliver all the way to the Wishful City Hall. The gestu
