Fine. I don’t need his friendship anyway. I never did.
I have Olive and Buddy, Sadie, and Guy, even though he can be a total gossip at times. But I have them, and I don’t need anyone else.
“Well, that’s great for you guys. And don’t worry; the last thing I’m looking for is a father for my baby. And, even if I were, River wouldn’t even make the list.”
“Oh, good. I’m so glad we understand each other.” She gives me a congenial smile, but there’s nothing nice about her. “I’ll leave you to your shopping—unless there’s anything else you need help with?”
Anything else? I never asked for your help in the first place.
“Nope. I’m good.” I smile widely. I don’t want her to know she’s affected me in any way. And one thing I am good at is hiding my true feelings.
“Fabulous. Well, ciao for now.” She gives me a finger wave, and with a flick of her hair, she sashays off.
Ciao for now?
Ugh.
Fudge off, you C-U-Next-Tuesday muffin.
I’m so done here.
I want to go home and eat the contents of my shopping basket even if I know for a fact that a vast majority of this food will give me heartburn for days.
Ugh. Why did River have to be here?
He’s totally crapped on my day.
I was super happy with my new car, and now, him and his ciao-for-now Macy have spoiled it.
Angrily, I march over and dump my basket on the counter, not once looking at River.
“Red.”
I cast my eyes in his direction but don’t look directly at him. Like the sun.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “My name is Carrie.”
“Okay. Carrie.” His voice sounds quieter than normal. Less confident.
Good.
“Is this everything?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll ring it up for you then.”
“You do that.”
I turn my head to the side. Staring out the window, I fold my arms over my chest, resting them on the top of my bump, while he rings me up.
It feels like he’s taking forever.
I start tapping my foot with impatience.
I can see him putting my things into a paper bag for me. Almost done, and then I’m out of here.
“That’ll be thirty-seven forty, Re—Carrie.”
I dig my wallet out of my bag and pull out forty dollars, holding the bills to him.
I still haven’t looked at his face this whole time.
I’m currently staring at his chest.
He takes the money from my outstretched hand.
The brush of his fingers against mine surprises me. As does the flare of heat that shoots up my arm.
Pregnancy hormones. Just pregnancy hormones.
Nothing to do with him because he’s a big, stupid, mean jerk.
I hear him ring the money up and take my change out of the cash register.
“Here’s your change.”
I hold my palm out while he counts the money into it.
I don’t even bother putting the money back in my wallet. I drop it straight into my purse.
I grab the grocery bag off the counter and make for the door.
“Carrie.” His insistent tone makes me stop.
I finally look at his face for the first time since I stepped in here.
His eyes are searching my face. He looks … lost.
The ache starts up in my chest again.
I cast a blanket over my feelings and smooth my face to impassive.
“What?” I ask with just the right amount of impatience. Proud of myself for being so strong.
“Just …” He shakes his head. “Your receipt.” He holds it up. “Do you want it?”
“Nope. Put it in the trash.” You know, the same place you put our friendship—or non-friendship.
Then, I walk out of there, chin held high, and I don’t let it drop until I’m back in the safety of my car.
Carrie
The bang of River’s front door catches my attention.
The sight of Macy leaving his house does nothing to improve my mood. The mood I’ve been in since yesterday, after seeing River at the store.
I guess Macy’s doing house visits now.
Makes sense if they’re together.
I ignore the pinch in my chest that I feel. It’s just … I know River’s a complete and utter tool. But he does have a good heart deep down in there somewhere. And I’m just not sure about Macy. I think she’s … self-motivated and conniving.
Not that it’s any of my business.
I watch her lithely body slide into a little red Ford that’s parked behind his truck on his driveway. I don’t lithely slide anywhere nowadays with my ever-growing bump.
I hear her engine come on, and I quickly turn my attention back to the trunk of my car, so I don’t have to acknowledge her as she drives by.
I know I’m being childish. I’m just really not in the mood for Macy today.
I’m tired and cranky.
I was up most of the night with heartburn from the food I ate yesterday, as I’d predicted I would be. Didn’t stop me from eating it though, did it? The diner was super busy this morning. I barely had time to stop. And then, after my shift at the diner finished, I went straight to the hardware store to pick up the paint I’d ordered because they’d called to let me know it was in. I’d finally decided on a color—Vanilla Frost. It’s a neutral color. I thought I’d keep the walls a fresh, plain color. I’m going to get some wall decals with cute animals and put them up and then brighten it up with accessories. Also, while I was at the hardware store, I got some sheets to protect the floor, paint rollers, and brushes. Figured I’d start on the painting this afternoon.
The sound of Macy’s car driving past allows me to move.
I lift one of the paint cans out of the trunk of my car and feel a sharp ache in my back.
“Ouch!” I press my free hand to my back, against the ache.
“Carrie, are you okay?”
I turn, startled, to see River moving quickly toward me.
He takes the paint can from my hand, allowing me to press both hands to my back to stretch it out. He puts the paint can back in the trunk of my car.
“Let’s get you inside. You need to sit down.”
“I’m fine,” I snap. “It’s just a bit of a backache. It’s to be expected with pregnancy.”
“Sure. And carrying paint cans isn’t exactly going to help.”
“Just exactly what business is it of yours?” I bite, finally looking up at him.
He blanches, but his expression quickly recovers. “It’s not.” His voice is low. “But I, uh …” He shifts on his feet. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was nervous. “You just … you have to think of the baby.”
“Are you saying I’m not thinking of my baby? That I’m somehow putting my baby’s health at risk?”
His brows draw together. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
My hands go to my hips. Then, I remember that they don’t fit there anymore, so I cross them over my expanding chest. “Then, what are you saying?”
“Just …” He takes a measured breath and then blows it out, equally as controlled. “Just that you shouldn’t be carrying around cans of paint.”
“Well, I don’t have anyone else to do it.” I shrug. “So, my options are limited to … well, me.”
“I can help you.”
“Huh?” I stop and give him a confused look. “Why would you? We’re not friends.”
“We’re, um, neighbors. Neighbors help each other.”
“True.” I nod. “But you made it perfectly clear that you wanted nothing to do with me, period. So, why would you want to be neighborly and help me?”
“Because you’re pregnant?” It sounds more like a question than an answer.
“I’ve been pregnant for five months now, and I’ve managed just fine on my own for all that time.”
“Not all the time.”
“No?” My eyes widen with annoyance.
He shakes his head. “Your Christmas tree. You needed help with that.”
“I didn’t need help. You offered it, and I accepted, thinking we were friends. But, the next day, I learned that wasn’t the case. You just fudging tolerated me, right?”
He winces.
“I brought you a tomato.” He shoves his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a large tomato, holding it in his outstretched palm to me.
“A tomato?” I slowly say the words to make sure I got that right.
I see the tips of his ears redden.
“An heirloom tomato. That’s how big the fruit baby is now, right? The size of an heirloom tomato.”
Oh.
An ache flickers in my chest. “How do you know that?” I say quietly.
He lifts his shoulders, giving an awkward shrug. “I saw it on the fruit baby website.”
“Why were you looking at that?” I lift my eyes to his.
Another shrug, one shoulder this time.
“I didn’t know you knew how far along I was.”
“I don’t exactly.” His words are quieter. “I just remembered the olive conversation and figured it out from there.”
I remember the olive conversation, too. That was the night that you threw our friendship away.
The tomato is just sitting there in his outstretched hand. I think this is his way of extending an apology—an olive branch so to say, no pun intended. But it’s just not enough.
He hurt my feelings.
“Well, you miscalculated. I’m a little further along. The baby’s the size of a small banana now.”
His expression falls. “Oh,” he murmurs in a voice even quieter than before.
Guilt clogs my throat even though I have nothing to feel guilty for.
“Guess it was stupid to bring you a tomato anyway,” he mumbles.
Not stupid. Actually sweet. But it doesn’t change anything.
“Why did you bring me the tomato?”
Expressionless eyes flicker to mine. “Because the baby …” He stops, sighs, and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do.” I’m surprised by my assertiveness.
I shouldn’t have to give him a push, but I know River is the type of person who needs one.
“I … um …” He shifts on his feet. Thrusts a hand through his hair. Sighs. Stops and looks at me. “I’m sorry.” The words rush out of him. “I was a fucking asshole that night. I was angry with Brad. I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have. These last few months have been …” He looks up to the sky like he’s searching for the words there. “Dull.”
“Dull?”
He looks down at me, eyes guarded. “Yes. Dull. I’ve missed, uh … disagreeing with you. When you aren’t around, life is just … dull.”
Oh.
I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
“Thank you … for apologizing,” I tell him because I know how hard that must have been for him to do.
I see the relief flicker in his eyes.
He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “So, can we, uh, go back to the way we were before?”
And, now, I feel bad for what I’m about to say.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I shake my head.
His eyes search mine. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust you not to hurt my feelings again.”
“Oh. Right.”
Yeah. Oh.
He lifts his chin, a determined look on his face. “Well, trust is earned, right?”
“Yes,” I say cautiously.
“So, let me earn it back. Your trust.”
What am I supposed to say to that?
“Give me one reason why I should.”
“Because you’re my best friend, Red,” he says softly, eyes sweeping the floor beneath our feet. “My only friend.”
And, fudge, I’m going to cry.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep them at bay.
When I feel like I can speak without blubbering, I say, “Okay.”
Hopeful eyes lift to mine. “Okay?”
“Yes. But, if you hurt my feelings like that again, you’re out.”
“Got it.” He gives a sharp nod.
“But I’m not your only friend, River. You have Ellie and Macy.”
He gives me a funny look. “Ellie was my gran’s friend, and she’s a business acquaintance. And Macy’s not my friend.”
“No?”
“No.”
“But I just saw her leaving your place.”
Some light, unnamed emotion takes up residence in his eyes. “After I locked up last night, I brought home the stockroom key with me by accident. She came to pick it up on her way into the store.”
“Oh. So, she’s not your girlfriend?”
His brows draw together. “No, Red,” he says slowly, holding my eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not my anything.”
Well played, Macy. Well played.
She sure had me convinced.
I realize I’m still staring into his eyes, so I look away. “How come you were working at the store?”
“Ellie was unwell. I was helping out.”
“I hope nothing serious.”
“She had a fall, sprained her ankle. I was helping out until she was back on her feet.”
“Was?”
“She called last night, said she was getting back to work today. That’s when I realized I had the store key. She asked Macy to come collect it from me.”
I nod, and it’s my turn to shift on my feet. “I probably should confess something.”
“What?”
I don’t miss the note of wariness in his voice.
I look into his eyes again. “I know you made the Christmas train ornament.”
“Oh,” he says.
“Macy told me at the store yesterday. I was looking at your vase and those gorgeous glass balloons, and she said you were the artist. Why didn’t you tell me they were yours?”
“I don’t tell anyone.”
“Macy knows.”
He frowns. “She works at the store, and she knows better than to tell people.”
“Why keep it a secret? You’re incredibly talented, River.”
“Because I want to sell them, and people around here wouldn’t buy them if they knew I’d created them.”
It’s my turn to say, “Oh.” Because I know exactly what he’s not saying. They wouldn’t buy the art because of what his mom did all those years ago. “Well, they’re idiots. Your art is beautiful.”
He shrugs dismissively. I can tell he’s embarrassed by my compliment.
“Do you sell them elsewhere, aside from Thistleberry Farm?” I ask him.
“I sell to a few stores in the city—San Antonio,” he clarifies.
He turns his face to the side, staring at my car. I know this conversation is over. Well, about that subject anyway.
“You bought a car,” he says in a rough-sounding voice.
“I did.” I smile.
His eyes move to the trunk and the paint cans sitting inside. “You’re painting?”
“Yep. I’m decorating the baby’s room.”
He finally looks at me. “You want some help?”
I smile inside. “I’d love some help.”
He reaches in the trunk and grabs the rollers, trays, and cans of paint. “You okay with the rest?” he asks.
I look down at the pack of paintbrushes and floor sheets. “I think I can just about manage,” I say dryly.
He follows me to my front door. I unlock it and let us inside. I put my stuff down and crouch down to fuss over Buddy.
“Where’s the baby’s room?” he asks, lifting up the paint cans.
“Down the hall, door on the right,” I tell him, rising to my feet. “You want a coffee?” I ask, walking toward the kitchen befor
e he disappears down the hall.
“Sure.”
I turn the kettle on and let Buddy out, watching him putter around the garden and do his business.
I call him inside when the kettle boils. I make River’s coffee and a decaf tea for myself and carry them through to the baby’s room.
I see River has also brought through the paintbrushes and sheets that I left in the living room. He’s already opened the pack of sheets and is laying the last one down.
I cross the room and hand his coffee to him.
“Thanks.” He takes it and has a sip. “You’ve already primed it?” he asks.
“Yep.” I nod, taking a sip of my tea.
“You did a good job.”
“Thanks.” My eyes smile at him. I swallow another sip of my tea and put it on the windowsill.
“Do you have any stepladders?” he asks me. “If not, I have some—”
“Oh!” My hand goes to my stomach, my eyes looking down at my bump.
Was that …
“What’s wrong?” River puts his coffee down on the windowsill next to mine and approaches me.
“Nothing’s wrong. I think … the baby just … kicked.”
“Has it kicked before?”
I shake my head. I can feel tears welling in my eyes. I don’t even know why I’m getting emotional. “No, that’s the first time,” I whisper.
He smiles, moving even closer, and I feel some unnamed emotion expand in my chest.
I stare up into his eyes. “I mean, it could’ve been wind or—not!” I laugh at the feel of another kick. A strong, healthy kick.
“The baby’s kicking right now?” he asks.
“Olive,” I say. “I nicknamed the baby Olive.”
“Oh,” he whispers.
That feeling expands further.
“Can I … would it be okay if I …”
I reach out, take hold of his hand, and press it to my bump.
I hear his breath hitch and see his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow.
That feeling in my chest spreads out, casting out of me and over him, like a net wrapping around the both of us.
River’s eyes are focused on where his hand rests.
And, when Olive kicks again, he laughs. His eyes widen and brighten with awe. “Hi, Olive,” he says to my bump. “I’m River. Your neighbor.”
He sounds so formal; I want to laugh. A small chuckle escapes me.
River Wild Page 14