Pop The Clutch: A Second Gear Romance

by Kristin Harte

  I shot him a look, frowning. “That was a long time ago.”

  “I guess so.” Easton went back to staring out the side window, his finger tracing a line across the dash. “Looks like you got a nice, clean break from this place.”

  I clenched my teeth, memories of my so-called clean break coming back to haunt me. The whispers in college, the guys recognizing me as Cowgirl Vee and assuming things they had no right to assume. The times I’d had to walk out of a party or a restaurant, had to quit a job and look for another. Had to break up with someone or suffer through them breaking up with me when they’d found out. The time I was forced to change majors and later schools when my guidance counselor had found out about the video and had advised working with children would be difficult at best with my history. All because of one mistake…a mistake people seemed to love to share.

  “Right,” I spat. “Such a clean break.”

  Easton turned in his seat, watching me again. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”

  “Yeah, you did.” I flew over the train tracks, not even slowing down for the bumps. “You can choose to believe what you want, but there was nothing clean about my break from this place.”

  When I reached the shop, I pulled right up to the bay doors, spotting Brogan inside. He didn’t wave, so neither did I. Let someone else deal with being polite. I was done for the day. Easton didn’t move, though, didn’t leave. And I’d had enough.

  “I need to get back, Easton.”

  “Sure, of course.” Easton pushed open the passenger door and stepped out onto the asphalt. “Thanks for the lemonade and the ride.”

  “Anytime.” I struggled to keep from frowning. I’d wanted him to leave, to stop looking at me the way he was, but…well, I hated to see him go. He was the only person who’d had what seemed like a real conversation with me, the only person who’d made me laugh in days. And I was so sick of being alone.

  Easton placed a hand on the roof and leaned in to give me one of those soul-searching looks. “If you or your grandma need anything, don’t be afraid to call me. I might stick my foot in it sometimes, but I could still be a friend, Violet.”

  I had to work to unclench my jaw, doing my best to smile at the man. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  He stared at me for a long second, looking as if he wanted to say more. But then the moment passed with a yell and a loud laugh from inside the shop.

  “You’d better go before Colton goes after Brogan with the torch.” I couldn’t keep my voice smooth, couldn’t get the words out without cracking on one. Easton stared, chewing the inside of his cheek as he refused to look away. But I had a long history of pushing people away. I had the words down pat. “Let me go, Easton,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and soft.

  His deep frown pulled at a string in my heart, one that was painful. One that I couldn’t ignore. Not completely. Still, I sat quietly, watching, waiting for him to walk away.

  Finally, he patted the roof of the car and shut the door, staring long and hard through the open window. “I’ll see you around.”

  I took a deep breath, refusing to let his goodbye affect me. This was what I’d wanted—for him to back off, to stop staring at me, to stop making me feel like some sort of archeological dig. To stop looking for all the things I preferred to keep hidden.

  Be careful what you wished for, and all that.

  “See ya.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  VIOLET

  I stared at the assortment of processed cheese products and sliced meats in the cooler case, eyeing the pimento cheese with more than a little interest. I hadn’t eaten that in ages, not since I’d moved away. I sort of wanted to buy a jar. Grandma would love it, though chemically colored and flavored dairy-free cheese substitute probably wasn’t the healthiest thing for her at the moment. And really, wasn’t keeping her healthy the point of everything lately?

  Pimento cheese craving, denied.

  Reluctantly, I moved past the cases and into the fresh fruits and vegetables area, grabbing a few things for the house that caught my eye. Asparagus, cucumbers, a small watermelon—seedless, of course. No bugs for Grandma, not when she was so sick.

  The weight of the melon might as well have settled on my shoulders at that thought. Sick didn’t begin to describe what she was going through. The chemo was really doing a number on her poor body, something neither of us had been completely prepared for. She could barely get out of bed. Even a small trip to the bathroom was difficult at best for her, which was why I was choosing to grocery shop in the middle of the night while she was sleeping. It was the only time I felt comfortable leaving her alone. Dahlia was due back from her training retreat in a few days, but until then, I was on my own. The responsibility was staggering. So, no matter how exhausted I’d become, I shopped at ungodly hours, pretty confident in the knowledge that Grandma would sleep soundly while I was gone, and that she had a phone next to her bed to call Mary if she needed help.

  I yawned as I made another loop past the apple stand. A very slow loop. Even my mind was too tired to truly focus on what I was doing. On the plus side, the store was practically empty so late at night. The only people I saw as I wandered past the closed bakery section were a couple of employees stocking shelves and an older lady in her housecoat and curlers turning her cart down the frozen foods aisle. Typical goings-on at the all-night grocery store. Unless you watched horror movies, then you might expect more zombies. Though, by the way I was walking, I could have been mistaken for a zombie. My motions were slow, sluggish almost, my body tired. It was well past midnight, and I’d been up since before dawn taking care of Grandma. If there were zombies in the grocery store, I’d be one of the first eaten by—

  “Can’t sleep?”

  I jumped, spinning, and without thought, tossed the zucchini I’d been holding at the man who’d spoken. It hit him in the shoulder with a thud and fell to the floor, doing no damage whatsoever. It wasn’t until the squash went rolling across the overly polished tiles that I realized who I’d just attacked with produce. “Oh, gosh, Easton. I’m so sorry.”

  Easton dove for the errant vegetable. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t.” I huffed a laugh at his raised eyebrows as he held out the zucchini. “Okay, you did. But only because the place is so empty, I was imagining zombie scenarios.”

  “And you figured a vegetable was the go-to weapon against the undead?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not organic.”

  He tilted his head, considering the zucchini. “Second death by residual pesticides. I can see that.”

  I laughed as I grabbed the zucchini and tossed it back into my cart. Bruises be damned, that squash was a solid weapon in my arsenal and would be honored for its service by being part of some ratatouille.

  Easton seemed a bit uncertain, nervously running a hand through his messy hair. Though I guessed that was my fault…I hadn’t exactly treated him fairly the last time we’d been together. In fact, I’d probably been more than a little rude.

  “Look,” I said, pulling my shoulders back. “I apologize for the way I left things the last time I saw you.”

  “It wasn’t anything.” He waved me off, shaking his head. “Water under the bridge and all that.”

  “But I was wrong. I know you—”

  “Hey, Violet?” He grinned a little, making me pull up short.

  “What?”

  “It’s good to see you. Mind if I shop with you for a while?”

  I stared, unable to think. Unable to blink, really. I’d like to have said I’d grown too jaded for that sort of line to work on me, but I’d be lying. It worked. It worked perfectly.

  Though I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “Pretty sure that’s the same answer I got back in eighth grade. Not really a resounding yes.”

  Eighth grade. When we’d danced together. “I still danced with you.”

  “You did, which is why I’m taking that halfhearte
d response seriously.” He grabbed an empty cart that sat next to the salad greens display and pulled up next to me. “Let’s shop.”

  Grocery shopping with Easton Cole. Middle-school me swooned. Adult me…well, I swooned, too. Some things were evergreen.

  “So,” I started as we began walking toward the aisles. “What are you doing here so late?”

  “I just got off work.” He blew out a breath, almost seeming to be bolstering himself. “What about you? Can’t sleep?”

  I led us down the snack aisle, our two carts hogging all the space. “No, I could sleep for days right now if I didn’t have things to do. I hate leaving Grandma alone when she’s awake and might need me, so I wait until I know she’s asleep to get things done. Tonight was a late one for her.”

  He hummed, investigating the shelves stocked with bags of chips. “You sure that’s the only reason?”

  I reached for a box of crackers on the other side of the aisle, focusing on the label as if it held some sort of secret to world domination. Or peace. Whatever, so long as I didn’t have to watch Easton. “Yeah, why else would I come here so late?”

  He didn’t answer, so I darted a look his way. He was standing stock-still, frowning, still staring at the rows of brightly colored bags of chips. I inched closer, putting the crackers back on the shelf and grabbing another brand instead. The seconds stretched painfully, the tension between us growing. It was like a cloak, weighty and pulling me backward. I couldn’t take it.

  “Why don’t these things ever say what’s really in them?” I asked, needing to fill the silence. “Like, instead of calling these cheese and peanut butter sandwiches, they should be called bright-orange-nothing-like-cheese-squares-of-death-with-chemicals-between-them-that-taste-nothing-like-peanut-butter. Catchy, no?”

  Thankfully, Easton chuckled, but then he grew serious again. My stomach knotted. I knew that expression. Had seen it on other faces a hundred times. Here came the talk.

  “Why don’t you ever come home, Violet?”

  My sigh was unavoidable, and so was the burn in my chest over having been asked this question. We both knew why I didn’t come home. As much as I wanted to lie or laugh it off, to complain about how small this place seemed and how much more there was to do in Chicago, I couldn’t. I was too tired to lie, too worn out to line up my defenses. I set the crackers back on the shelf, and I faced my inquisition. “I can’t be me in this town. People here don’t let you grow. They judge me because of a choice I made in high school, but they refuse to acknowledge that maybe—just maybe—dealing with the fallout from that changed me. That years of school and work and life have shaped me into someone else. I’m stuck being looked at as the same girl from high school whenever I come back.”

  Easton was quiet for a moment. When he did speak, it wasn’t accusatory or to defend the people he dealt with every day. No, it was to defend…me. “There’s nothing wrong with the girl from high school.”

  My ears burned, and I couldn’t look into those eyes of his. They were too honest, too filled with something close to understanding. I fingered the car keys in my pocket before heading down the aisle, ready to leave crackers and conversation behind. “Maybe you don’t see anything wrong with her, but I do. I made the wrong choice on a lot of levels, and I own that. But I’m not her anymore, and the people here won’t accept it. They keep trying to shove me into that little box.”

  He followed me into the breakfast foods aisle. I grabbed a couple of boxes of oatmeal and a canister of grits. Instant, but they’d do. Grandma needed bland foods, and grits had always been a favorite on Sunday mornings. Dahlia hated them, but she was out of luck. She could make all the food choices when it was her turn to run the house. Which reminded me. I grabbed a box of honey-nut-cluster cereal on the way back to the cart. Dahlia hated them even more. She’d gag just seeing them on the shelf, which was a good enough reason for me to buy them. That was what she’d get for working in Puerto Rico with her hot-as-fuck Pilates mentor while I was cleaning up vomit.

  When I returned to my cart, I did a double take. It certainly didn’t seem like mine at first. “Uh, Easton?”

  “Yeah?”

  I held up the errant box. “Did you put this in the wrong cart?”

  He didn’t look my way, staring instead at a box of some kind of sugary cereal I hadn’t had since I was a kid. “Put what in the wrong cart?”

  “The chocolate puff cereal.”

  “Nope, not in the wrong cart.”

  I looked down at the box, then at his almost-empty cart. “But I don’t eat this.”

  “I do.”

  “Are you suggesting I should make you breakfast?”

  He opened his mouth to respond, then stopped, his lips turning up in a sexy almost-smile. “I was sort of hoping for marshmallow bars, but I’m up for whatever you’re willing to give me.”

  “Marshmallow bars?”

  “Yeah. You know, like the ones with the rice cereal? You used to make the chocolate puff ones for the cheerleader bake sale thing every spring.” He shrugged, suddenly refusing to meet my eyes. Looking almost shy. “I loved them.”

  I glanced at the cereal again. “You want chocolate marshmallow bars?”

  He shrugged, all casual and calm. “Yours, yeah.”

  And oh, that boyish look grew. Bad boy, cranky Easton was hot, but this? This Easton was a life-ruiner. Charming, shy Easton wouldn’t just make me want to let him into my bed. He’d make me want to let him into my heart. He’d worm his way into my life with that smile and those eyes. He’d destroy my entire world. But damn, by the way he moved, I had a feeling he’d be worth it.

  “You want my marshmallow bars?”

  With two easy, loose-hipped steps, he practically surrounded me. His body, his scent, his whole aura. This man was too big, too overwhelming. This man would swallow me up and make me disappear, a not-so-unappealing proposition. He reached out all slow and methodical, his eyes pinning me in place. With the slightest caress of his fingers on mine, he took the box of cereal from my hand and held it over my cart. Questioning. Practically asking without a word if he could put it back in there.

  “I used to wait until you weren’t paying attention, then I’d buy all the bars just because you made them. It pissed off Jace every time.”

  My lips turned up into a grin. I took the box from his hand and placed it in my cart. “That might be the best reason to make those chocolate marshmallow bars I’ve ever heard. I’ll need more than this cereal to make them for you, though.”

  He inched closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “Yeah? You’ll really make them for me?”

  “Sure,” I said, a little more breathless than I’d planned.

  “I’d owe you one,” he said, leaning over me. His eyes were so bright, so captivating. He stayed in my space, watching me, almost caging me in against the cart. The heat between us flared brightly as he stood there, close enough to touch but not. Not yet, though I wanted to. And if the way he looked me over as he finally backed away was any indication, he wanted to as well.

  Definitely a life-ruiner.

  “You wouldn’t owe me a thing.”

  “I don’t like owing people,” he said, his eyes growing serious. “If you make me treats, I’ll pay you back. You can have me at your beck and call.”

  There was no resisting that one. “I’ve always wanted a beck-and-call boy.”

  Easton’s laugh boomed through the store. “I walked right into that one, though I’m serious. You make me treats, and I’ll owe you. That’s a promise, and I never break a promise.”

  Of that, I had no doubt. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Excellent. C’mon, treat maker,” Easton said with a nod toward the end of the aisle. “Let’s finish up our shopping.”

  I sighed dramatically and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. “So demanding.”

  He gave me a wicked smirk. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  We continued meandering through the aisles, my cart fillin
g up much faster than his. When it was about halfway to the top, Easton added his stuff to the kid’s seat area and started pushing it, leaving his behind.

  “Taking over my cart, Cole?”

  “Just trying to be a gentleman, Foster.”

  I stayed by his side as he made little comments while strolling down the cleaning supplies aisle. “Look, if someone needs to use fifteen types of air fresheners in one house to control odors, maybe they should just clean more.” And around the back of the pet department. He frowned at a tank full of little orange fish. “My cat would go aquarium-diving for these.”

  That pulled me up short. “You have a cat?”

  “Yeah. Dolly. I rescued her when I moved out of my mom’s place. My trailer was awfully quiet with just me there.”

  Trailer. Huh. He still lived in the park, then. “I never pictured you as a cat guy.”

  His lips twitched, a smile trying to break through. “Well, as Colton always says when someone comments on Dolly, every guy likes a little pussy in their life.”

  I snorted a laugh, the two of us getting louder as we headed toward the front of the store. It wasn’t until we reached the liquor department that we moved to opposite sides of the aisle.

  “Beer drinker?” I asked, heading for the wine as he approached the cooler case with the craft six-packs.

  “Sometimes.” He glanced at me over his shoulder, eyebrow up. “Wine drinker?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “Hmm.” He chuckled as he checked out the beer, while I moved on to reading labels. I occasionally liked wine, but usually that was when someone else was choosing it. I’d worked in enough restaurants in Chicago to have narrowed down my options to white and not red, but I didn’t recognize any of the bottles on the shelf.

  “Having trouble picking?” Easton stepped behind me, his body so close I could feel the warmth at my back.

  “Yes. I mean, I drink wine, but I don’t know what kind I normally like. Plus, I just realized I don’t even know if Grandma has a wine opener at the house. She’s a gin drinker.”