A Deadly Development by Stacey Alabaster

Author:Stacey Alabaster [Alabaster, Stacey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fairfield Publishing
Published: 2018-05-30T04:00:00+00:00

10

Alyson

Gosh. White tablecloths. All I could think about was all the things I could spill on them. I’d have to order beer, not wine. I glanced around. Did five-star restaurants even serve beer on tap? Maybe I’d stick to water. Hmmm. What kind of food was clear colored?

“I am really glad that you came to meet me,” Troy said, pulling out a chair.

“This isn’t really my kind of place.”

Troy smiled at me. Didn’t make a deal of it. Tried to soothe my nerves “The crab is amazing. Comes with a great side salad.”

I glanced over the menu. Yes, it sounded appetizing. But now that Troy had told me to order it, it was the last thing I was going to order. “I’m in training for a triathlon,” I said before I ordered the risotto with chicken and mushroom. “So I need to stack up on my carbs.”

“That’s impressive,” he said, and asked me if I had ever competed in one before. Our appetizers had arrived—more carbs for me with the bruschetta, though Troy had ordered the prawns. I tried to take a mouthful of mine without spilling the red tomato onto the tablecloth. Success. At least the first go.

“I have. Swimming—no probs at all. Running—pretty good there too. But I am terrible at riding a bike. If only it was a skateboard, hey?”

“Well, cycling is kind of my thing,” Troy said, raising an eyebrow as if to say, I can teach you if you want.

Of course it was his thing. It was the kind of trendy thing city slickers like him did. They rode to work every day so that they could make it look like they cared about the environment, when really, they made their cash by polluting small towns with eyesore shopping malls.

“I wouldn’t mind moving down here,” he said quietly. “Or to a place like this anyway.”

“You don’t have to pretend that you are really a country boy at heart, Troy.”

By this stage, I had finished my bruschetta but not without casualty. There was a small red and green stain—how festive!—right beside my elbow where the tomato and pesto had found a new home. I tried to hide it. Troy politely tried to ignore it. Lucky my dress was black. It was a cheap dress—I don’t have any other kind, I’m not Claire—but black always makes things look more expensive.

“I am being serious, Alyson. Eden Bay has grown on me.”

“Troy…” I put down my fork and tried to think of a delicate way to put this. One that wouldn’t sound completely insensitive. But I am not that great with tact. Ask anyone who knows me. And there was a reason I had agreed to this dinner, after five requests from Troy. I had to get to the bottom of this. “You are not actually dying.”

I said it as a statement, not as a question, and it rested like a lump of clay in the middle of the table along with the mess I was making with my risotto.

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