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Slim Randles
Slim Randles

Dewey picked up Emily’s yellow dress at the cleaners and drove it back to her here in the valley. They had managed to get most of the wine stains out. But what Dewey hadn’t managed to get out that fateful evening at the Italian restaurant was his vow of eternal love for Emily and a suggestion that they become mister and missus Decker.

Oh well, he might give it another try tonight. But this darn clumsiness of his always seemed to get in the way.

Emily looked lovely when he picked her up that evening. They held hands and walked around in town, staying on the sidewalks to avoid any more tripping disasters for our local fertilizer king.

“Dewey,” she said, stopping to look at him. “The other night, just before the wine episode, you said you wanted to ask me something, but you didn’t, because of the spill, I guess.”

“That’s right,” he said, making sure his feet were planted and he didn’t move. “I had something to say, but I was hoping for a more … romantic setting. I wanted everything to be just right, you know? Something we’d remember.”

He’d been slowly backing up all this time as Emily played with his shirt collar. That was probably why he didn’t notice Mrs. Miller’s yellow cat, Pretty Girl, walking behind him.

When his foot came down on P.G.’s tail, the yowl made him jump on Emily, the cat go in the air, and Emily and Dewey piled up on top of each other behind someone’s garbage can.

She was so close he could feel her breathe and he couldn’t help kissing her.

She smiled. “Don’t move, Dewey Decker. Just stay still. I think we ought to get married, don’t you?”

He grinned. “You bet.”

“One more kiss,” Emily said, “and then I’d like to finish walking, with my fiancé.”


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