Tangle

by Locke, Adriana

  “Hey, no problem.”

  He goes back to stocking shelves as I head toward the dairy case. I spy a cooler loaded with sandwiches. A turkey and cheese appears to be my best option. Swiping a bag of chips and a stick of beef jerky, I make my way back to the front.

  A jet-black ponytail sticks up above the candy rack in front of me—a ponytail I recognize.

  My skin warms as I approach her quietly. Her hair is swishing back and forth, a phone to her ear, and I bet dimes to doughnuts she’s giving someone else hell. I’m kind of jealous.

  I quell a laugh as I take a wide berth around a frozen foods display. As I come up behind her, a smile instantly graces my lips.

  “No,” she says into the phone that’s sandwiched between her ear and shoulder. “I had dinner with Dane and Neely. And Penn, actually.” She shifts her weight on her sneakers as she listens. “No. I’m not sure, but there are always options.” She listens again. “Well, that probably would be the best option, but the chance of that is zero.”

  Her laugh rolls straight to me, like she emitted the sound for my own personal enjoyment. It lifts the sides of my mouth as I listen to her rattle on.

  “The answer is no,” she says. “Now I gotta go. Someone is waiting on me.” She laughs again, joggling her items in her arms. “No. Not him. I’m at Graber’s. Goodbye, Claire.”

  She slips her phone off her shoulder and shoves it in the pocket of her hoodie.

  I stand still, biting back a grin. There’s something about the way she said that that makes me think she might have been talking about me. If Jake were here, he’d call it narcissism, but I’ll take my chances.

  “Not him who?” I ask.

  She whirls around, her ponytail almost hitting me in the face. A look of shock flits across her face before it’s replaced with a tongue-in-cheek smile. “It’s you.”

  “It’s me that’s ‘not him,’ or it’s me standing here?” I grin. “Because, clearly, this is me. But am I him?”

  “You’re kind of annoying. You know that?”

  “I’ve heard that a time or two.”

  Her shoulders rise and fall. “They say if more than two people tell you something, it’s probably true.”

  “Really? I’ve never heard that.”

  “Yeah, really. Maybe you should give it some thought.”

  “Like the thought you’re giving . . . him? Whoever him might be?”

  She places her items on the conveyor belt. “I love that you hear me talking about a guy and you immediately assume it’s you.”

  “So you’re saying I’m wrong?”

  I shouldn’t prod. I know better. It’s futile, anyway, since I know the answer. If I weren’t sure, the way she masks the nerves in her voice would tell me all I need to know. I’m him. And for reasons I don’t care to ponder, I like it.

  “Yes, you’re wrong,” she says. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

  “Who were you talking about then?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “If you must know, I was talking about Penn.”

  “Penn Etling? The guy I met at the jobsite today?” I think back to the stocky friend of Dane’s who showed up with Dane’s brother, Matt. “You expect me to believe you have something for that guy?”

  “Who said anything about having a thing for him?”

  “Uh, you did. With the little giggle you had when you were talking about him.” I cock my head to the side and smirk. “You know, him. Whoever-he-was-not, named Penn.”

  With a roll of her eyes that almost looks painful, she turns away from me. “Hi, Shandi,” she says to the girl ringing up her items. “How are you tonight?”

  Shandi looks at me and bats her eyelashes. “Tonight is getting better.”

  “Please,” Haley says, “don’t flatter him. His ego is already too big for this building.”

  “Well, I mean, he is tall, dark, and handsome.” Shandi looks at me and grins before looking back at Haley. “That’s twelve dollars and eighty cents.”

  Haley mumbles something incoherent and sticks her card in the machine. It fires back a buzzing sound. She reinserts but it just buzzes in response. “What’s the matter with this thing?”

  “They updated our system,” Shandi says. “Which is code for they broke it. It’s been doing this all night.”

  Another attempt results in another buzz. Haley removes her card with an irritated flourish. “Well, I have no cash.”

  “Here,” I say, sliding my items down the belt. “Ring up mine and I’ll pay for both.”

  “That would be a negative, sir,” Haley says.

  “Why?”

  “That would be two nice things you’ve done for me today, and I don’t want to make this a thing.”

  “Make what a thing? Me doing nice things for you? Besides, this is the third thing. Doughnut. Coffee. Groceries.”

  She gives me a dirty look that makes me want to grab her and kiss the shit out of her.

  “I’d like him to do nice things for me,” Shandi whispers as she slides my items across the scanner. “With Haley’s, that’s nineteen forty.”

  I hand her a twenty and watch Haley’s face twist.

  “Well, look at that,” I say, walking around her and lifting her bag. “I bought you dinner.” Peeking inside, I raise a brow. “I hope a pint of ice cream and a container of strawberries isn’t dinner.”

  “No, it’s not,” she says, taking the bag from me. “I had lasagna for dinner, thank you.”

  “With Penn?”

  She raises a brow, taunting me. “I didn’t have dinner with him, but I did see him at dinner.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Is it?” she asks, heading toward the doors.

  Only because you’re involved.

  “Slightly,” I say, following her. “Not as interesting as if you would’ve seen the hippie. That conversation would’ve been riveting.”

  She glances at me with mischievous eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t talk to the hippie tonight.”

  “And . . .” I make a hurry-up motion with my hand. “Spill. I’m dying over here.”

  “I told him not to call again.”

  A boy pushing a line of carts cuts in front of us. We stop to give him room to get in the door.

  “I’m less riveted than I thought I would be,” I admit. “I really thought that conversation would go somewhere.”

  “Well, being that the relationship didn’t go anywhere, I’m not sure why the conversation should. Besides, I’m on a dating hiatus, remember?”

  “Yeah, about that. Let’s discuss.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “Come on,” I goad. “A girl like you intentionally not dating has to have a good story behind it. What is it? You tired of beating men off with a stick?” I grin. “Or other things?”

  She gasps like she’s shocked, but it dissolves into a laugh. “You’re impossible.” Her bag swings at her side as she steps into the night air.

  I stand next to the gumball machine and watch her walk away. A dose of satisfaction rumbles through my body. Whether it’s from her turning down Joel or knowing she’s turning down every guy who asks, I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that her ass looks amazing in those sweatpants.

  She glances at me over her shoulder. I speed-walk to catch up.

  The parking lot is dimly lit, more light coming from the full moon overhead than from the flickering halogen lamps above. We stop at my truck.

  She peers up at me. Her face is void of any makeup. Little creases that I didn’t see earlier today form at the corners of her eyes, and somehow, it makes her prettier.

  “Thanks for picking up my tab,” she says. “My dad always tells me to keep a twenty in my pocket, but I never do.”

  “Solid advice. My dad’s advice isn’t as good.”

  “What’s he say?” she asks.

  I unlock my truck and set my bag in the seat. “My favorite one might be to bewilder them with bullshit.”

  “What does that e
ven mean?”

  “Well, Dad’s an attorney. He always told my brother and me that when you can’t dazzle someone with facts, you bewilder them with bullshit. Just overwhelm them with so many opinions and so much misdirection that they don’t even want to fight.”

  “That seems . . . helpful?” She laughs, shivering against the cold metal truck. “I think.”

  “It is if you have a line of bullshit ready.”

  “Do you?” She twists her lips.

  “Sometimes. Depends on the topic at hand.”

  I watch her shiver again. I hold up a finger. Fishing around in the back seat, it’s a long minute before I find what I’m looking for.

  I climb back out. In my hand is a gray jacket. “Here.”

  She eyes me warily.

  “Just take it,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re shivering.”

  “My car is right there.” She motions a few spots over. “I could just go get in and turn on the heat.”

  “You could. But I don’t see you moving that way.” I shake the jacket as her eyes grow wide. “I’m kidding. Just put this on, will ya?”

  She reaches cautiously, her fingers wrapping around the fabric. “If this is your way of making me owe you forever, I’ll have you know I’m not a woman of my word and I don’t feel obligated to make good on any outstanding debts.”

  “I figured as much.”

  She slips my jacket over her narrow shoulders. The fabric swamps her, hanging well past her hips and over her wrists. She holds up her hands. The sleeves bunch at her elbows, making her laugh. “I bet my dad would have something to say about wearing random men’s jackets.”

  She snuggles into the fabric, pulling the collar closer to her face. I can imagine her huddled under blankets and watching a movie or bundled up outside and playing in the snow. Her eyes glisten like a girl who’s had a good life, and I wonder what kind of family she comes from.

  “What’s your dad like?” I ask. “If you don’t mind my prying.”

  “Well, like I told you before, he’s an accountant. Very exact about things. Precise. Very busy.” She groans. “He married my mother when they were eighteen years old, and they were married until she passed away.”

  “I’m sorry, Haley.”

  “Thanks. It was a long time ago.” She leans against my truck again. “What about your dad? What’s he like?”

  “He’s worked relentlessly ever since I can remember. Divorced my mom and married this new girl he says is the love of his life.” I shrug. “We’ve butted heads a time or two, but he’s a good guy. Would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.”

  “You’re a lot like him, huh?” Her voice is an octave lower than it’s been. Her brows raise in surprise, like the question was offhand, but she doesn’t retract it.

  Under normal circumstances, I’m quick to point out the differences between Branson Kelly and myself. This time, I’m happy to take the comparison.

  With a half grin, I look at the woman in front of me. “Are you saying I’m a good guy, Miss Raynor?”

  “I’m saying you just gave me the shirt that wasn’t on your back, but same thing.”

  We exchange a smile, a stripped-down gesture that makes me forget all about the cool air. Her breath is visible in the chill as she speaks.

  “I better get going.” She starts to shrug off my jacket, but I stop her.

  “No, keep that.”

  “I’m not going to keep it,” she says. “Who knows if I’ll ever see you again to give it back?”

  Our eyes grip each other in the narrow space between us. Her movement slows as something unspoken passes in our gazes.

  “This place is pretty small,” I say. “We’ve run into each other four times today.”

  “Because you’re stalking me.”

  I grin. “Maybe I’ll stalk you tomorrow and get my jacket back.”

  She doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t finish taking it off either.

  “Go on,” I press. “Get in your car so I can get in mine and leave. I don’t have a jacket and I’m freezing.”

  She pulls the jacket around her as a soft smile graces her lips. “I’ll leave it at the café if I don’t see you tomorrow, okay?”

  Despite the cold temperature, my body hums with a warmth that’s hard to identify. There’s no way I won’t try to see her tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure she won’t hide from running into me either. As insane as it sounds to be happy about this, I am.

  “You do that. Now hurry up. I can’t leave until I know you’re in your car with the doors locked.”

  She shakes her head but turns toward her car. “This is Dogwood Lane, you know. Nothing bad happens here.”

  “You just jinxed the whole town, Haley. Good work.”

  Her laughter hangs in the air even after her door closes. I swear I can still hear it as I pull out behind her and turn the opposite way.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HALEY

  Yuck.”

  I toss the toast with grape jelly into the trash. The single bite sitting in my stomach feels like too much, and coupled with the ice cream I ate entirely too late last night when I couldn’t sleep, it probably is too much.

  That’s what happens when my brain is too busy to let me sleep. I stay up and snack and wake up feeling gross.

  Brushing my hands off over the sink, I gaze out the window. The sky is bright and clear. High, wispy clouds float by, allowing sunshine to filter through the trees.

  The music playing on my computer changes songs. I do my best rendition of the cha-cha as I wipe the counter off with a damp rag, singing along to a tune I really don’t know the words to.

  Tossing the rag in the sink, I stop at my computer perched on the counter. Two tabs are open. The first has a listing of jobs in the area. The second has a list of degrees offered at the community college in Rockery, the next town over. I’ve toggled between the two of them all morning, trying to see if my gut will tell me which way to go. Besides churning with chocolate–peanut butter ice cream, it’s relatively silent . . . except when I think about Sandra’s comment about the flower shop. I made a decision last night to check it out today. It can’t hurt.

  My gaze rolls over the tiny kitchen. When the chairs are pulled out from the table, there’s no room to walk. It’s cozy and warm and perfect for me and Mia when she’s around. The Realtor couldn’t believe it was a selling point when I bought the place; she was fully expecting to have to try to gloss over the fact it was so small.

  Trevor’s jacket sits on the back of one of the chairs. I laugh out loud, thinking of the way it hung nearly to my knees and how I tripped coming into the house last night. My mind wants to keep going, circling around to the way he teased me in line at Graber’s, but I stop myself.

  I pick up the notepad I had last night. Between the rows of flowers I doodled while watching a travel show on television is a list of things I love. Coffee. Doughnuts. Books. Flowers. Naps. Well-defined abs. Trevor’s cologne.

  “Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Not going there. Let’s focus on . . .” I scan the other side of the sheet—the one with more practical things listed—and ignore the burn in my belly. “A résumé. I need one, and I don’t know how to do that.”

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I set the notepad down and grab it. “Hello?”

  “Are you busy?” Claire asks.

  “Hello to you too.”

  “Hi. Hello, Haley. How is your morning, love?”

  I laugh at her antics. “Oh, shut up. What’s going on?”

  “Is there any way in the universe you can bring me a hair tie?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No,” she whines. “This one is about to snap. I feel it, and I can’t leave and grab another one because I’m the only one here for an hour or so. If this sucker breaks, I’ll have to use one of the thick rubber bands in the office, and those get stuck in my hair and I have to rip them out and it hurts. Hey, can you hang on for a second?”

  �
��Sure.”

  My heartbeat picks up as I slide my arms into Trevor’s jacket. I burrow into the fleece lining, dragging in a lungful of air that washes a warmth to my cheeks. It smells like him, all masculine and divine. My thighs ache as I grab my keys off the table and a hair tie out of my purse and make my way out the door.

  The air is cool against my face despite the late-morning sun. I tug the fabric around me a little tighter and head down the sidewalk, figuring the exercise might do me some good.

  “I’m back,” Claire says. “If I wouldn’t have called you, no one would’ve needed a darn thing. I call you and—voilà!—people need coffee. I don’t get it.”

  “Well, you are at work. It’s not hard to believe people want coffee.”

  “You know what I mean.” She groans. “Anyway, hair tie—you bringing me one or not?”

  “You know I’m bringing you one. I’m already out the door.”

  “This is why I love you more than other people. You never fail.”

  “That’s my purpose in life: never fail Claire.”

  “Attagirl.” She laughs into the line. “Guess who came in this morning.”

  I wave at the neighbor man watching his dog pee in his front lawn. My lips twist in a smile because I know who she’s talking about, but I’m not about to tell her that. “No clue.”

  She giggles. “Seems as though Trevor stayed in town last night.”

  The sound of his name splashes me with a warmth I can’t explain. The coat suddenly is too hot.

  I force myself to steady. “Oh.”

  “Why do I feel like this doesn’t surprise you?”

  “Because it doesn’t,” I say as offhandedly as I can muster.

  “Because . . .”

  “Because he might’ve mentioned that he needed to stay a few days until the house is solid,” I say.

  She sighs dreamily. “You should’ve seen him. He was adorable, Haley. He sat with Lorene. I overheard them talking about him staying at the inn. And if my eavesdropping skills are as good as I think they are, he did some projects for her this morning.”

  I imagine Trevor on a ladder, hanging a wreath on the inn’s door, and little ninety-year-old Lorene watching him. It’s a vision that’s sweet and sexy, and it makes my insides go squishy.