The Change Up by Elley Arden

know what he was talking about, but his face twisted like it had the moment her father had asked him about baseball. “Sam—”
    “Yoo-hoo!”
    They both turned at the same time to see Ruby Post waddling toward them. She wore a big button on her floral blouse that said, “Festival Committee,” and she carried a neon-pink clipboard. Ruby had taught Rachel in Sunday school once upon a time.
    “Hello, Mrs. Post.”
    “Rachel.” She smiled, revealing teeth smudged with pink lipstick. “Samuel.” And then she looked back at Rachel again without the smile. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have you listed as a vendor, and the committee is very strict about keeping the pool pure. I’m going to have to ask you to stop peddling your wares.”
    Why did that make it sound like Rachel was a hooker? Sam must’ve thought so, too, because he turned his head to hide his smile.
    Rachel stood a little straighter and smiled confidently at Mrs. Post. “May I see that list?”
    Mrs. Post pressed the clipboard to her massive breasts. “It’s confidential. Committee members and vendors only.”
    Rachel didn’t flinch. “I’m a Reed, Mrs. Post, and the Reeds are on that list.”
    “Reed’s Re-Readables is on this list, and no one has complained about
them
selling outside their tent.”
    “Someone complained?”
Penelope.
Boy, that was fast. “You’ve got to be kidding—”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Post,” Sam interrupted. “We were just heading to the dance, anyway.” He slid his hand beneath Rachel’s elbow and gripped it softly but snuggly. A warm tingle heated her skin, and it distracted her enough to let Sam start leading her away from the confrontation. “Have a great night,” he added.
    She was letting him lead her.
The minute Rachel realized that, she stopped in her tracks. “I didn’t need to be rescued from Mrs. Post.”
    “No, but you needed to be rescued from yourself.”
    She scoffed. “Hardly. I was just trying to sell some season tickets for God’s sake. It wasn’t like I was offering cocaine and a hand job in the backseat of my car.”
    His right eyebrow raised, followed by a twitch of his lips. “Maybe you would’ve been more successful with that.”
    She socked him in the right arm and was surprised by just how solid he felt beneath the Sutter & Sons sweatshirt he was wearing. Not that she should be surprised. He’d been a professional athlete who did manual labor for a living. Muscles were part of the package.
His package.
From there, it was a one-way ride to inappropriate thoughts.
    “Next time, save the rescue for someone who needs it,” she said gruffly, simultaneously stepping backward. She may have been off her game not remembering the Rollins lawsuit, but attending a barn dance? No flipping way.
    But he caught her by the hand, gently this time, and some part of her melted at the sensation. When was the last time she’d held hands with anyone?
    “Not so fast,” he said. “You owe me a dance.”
    “I don’t owe you anything.” She didn’t sound as convincing as she’d hoped to. “And you’re up to something. You’re always up to something.”
    He grinned. “Nah. It just seems like the least you could do for the man who sold four season-ticket packages for you.”
    “You did nothing of the sort.”
    “Does the name Dave Little ring a bell?”
    Her jaw dropped, but she closed it with as much grace as possible, considering Sam was flashing a high-wattage smile that did ridiculously immature things to her insides.
    “I see it does,” he said.
    “How? What did you say to him? What could have possibly been more compelling than telling him they’d get twenty-five free tickets if they purchased today?”
    “I just told him the truth about the kind of baseball he would see. I told him his kids would have a great time.”
    “You took the emotional route,” she said, unimpressed.
    “I took the personal route, because the bottom line isn’t always the only thing that matters.” He