by Riley Jean
I smiled politely. Certainly someone so handsome and smooth was good at this life. No doubt he fit in wherever he went and no one called him out at parties. I was clearly the misfit here, dancing to the beat of my own drum, though he was sweet to try and make me feel better about it.
“But some people love this life,” I countered, gesturing around the rooms where people danced, drank and flirted the night away. His eyes followed the same path as mine with a slightly curled lip, clearly seeing something different.
While I couldn’t wholly discredit his theory—since this scene certainly did nothing for me—I was having a hard time connecting “misery” to all the faces I saw. This life wasn’t for me, but I never claimed to be the norm. I could barely figure out my own happiness, much less judge anyone else’s.
“What makes you so sure?” he posed.
“Because this is what everybody does in college,” I shrugged. “This is living the dream.”
We quietly observed our surroundings like some social experiment as people partied the night away. It looked to me like they were in their element, like they were made for the nightlife. And I had always been practical to a fault, always took what I saw for face value.
“Fair point. Perhaps they believe it,” he considered, “But I can’t say that I do. They come here to get sloshed and go on the pull because they’re lonely. They fight for attention because they don’t truly feel beautiful. And they only knock others down because they feel insecure. These cheap soirées are nothing but an escape from their own rubbish lives. So yes, I think to some degree, they’re all miserable.”
By the time he finished, I was gawking. He spoke with such conviction that I began to doubt myself. For years I had stayed away from this life, unable to properly explain or defend my aversion to it. Then, finally feeling life’s pressure, I surrendered. I faked my way through parties and alcohol because I was lost and that’s what seemed to work for everybody else.
However my attempt at rebellion was half-hearted, at best. When it didn’t help, I wondered if there was something wrong with me. But if he was right… if all these people were just lost too… maybe I would feel a little less alone.
“Everyone?” I asked quietly.
A smile tugged at his lips. “You tell me,” his voice lowered. This time he leaned even closer to speak directly into my ear, deliciously grazing my cheek with his. “I find myself… curious as to what exactly you are doing here. I’ve been watching you since before you got up to dance. I noticed you standing alone in that corner as though you are inferior in this place. But if that’s what you think, you’re gravely mistaken. You are not meant to fade into obscurity, Scarlett.”
The way he said my name in his smooth British tenor made me yearn to hear it again.
“And what was I meant for?” I inquired, wide-eyed.
“You are the spark that illuminates a dark room, sweet girl… you were meant to shine.”
Me? Can someone so simplistically adorable… shine? No one had ever said anything like that to me before. I gulped, unaware of how to respond.
I tilted slightly so I could look into his eyes. Our noses were inches apart. “And you?”
That’s what I didn’t understand. What was the point of showing up to a party and then judging everyone in the house for being here? Was he a hypocrite? Or was he telling me that he was miserable too? He didn’t appear to be drowning himself like others around us, but maybe he was lonely. Maybe that was the reason why he was talking to me. Maybe he was searching for something that he hadn’t expected to find tonight, either.
“Me?” he asked, seeming distracted by my mouth. My heart started beating faster and harder, knowing he was thinking about kissing me, and really, really wanting him to. It took every bit of effort to hold it together despite how badly I was affected by him. A gentleman has to be the one to make the first move.
“Are you miserable?” I asked softly, letting the words flirt off my tongue, aware he was watching.
He seemed just as mesmerized by my mouth as I was with his eyes. I practically felt them latch on, unblinking, as the silence stretched and he failed to answer my question.
What began as a kind gesture was quickly becoming something much more. Within one short conversation and just a glimpse into his mind, he had me thoroughly intrigued. I felt connected to him. He understood me more than my best friends ever had, more than I understood myself. He had a passionate intensity that grabbed me at first glance and never let go.
Still captivated by my mouth, he swallowed ever so subtly, and my lonely little heart burst into song. It had been a long time since I had wanted a kiss this badly. His proximity made my tummy flutter in a long-forgotten way.
Once he began to lean in, my eyes fell closed, breathing shallowly by this point. Practically shivering in anticipation. Wondering why in the world he was prolonging this torturous wait.
Just as I expected to feel his lips against mine, my neck tickled with the warmth of his breath, and his voice sounded instead.
“Stop coming to these parties, Scarlett,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re better than this.”
When I opened my eyes, he was gone.
Chapter 1
Isolation
“Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day
[Four Months Later]
“What do you mean, you don’t believe in love?” Gwen asked, skeptical.
“You don’t believe in love?!” someone echoed dramatically, like it was a damn shame.
I turned to glare in his direction as he walked in from the back of the store, sporting the Mooshi Treatery uniform—a neon cow-spotted apron over all black—along with a huge grin. I sniffed. He must have been the lead closer, the one I hadn’t met yet, and within the first two seconds he was already pissing me off. Obviously Gwen and I were in the middle of a private conversation that was none of his damn business. What the hell did boys know about love anyway? Nothing beyond their own dicks, that’s what.
The boy, however, blatantly ignored my icy daggers, striding towards us with a big goofy grin on his stupid face. I narrowed my large doe eyes as tight as I could. Paired with this new black, edgier hairstyle, my glare was a bit more impressive these days.
As he approached, I held my defiant stare, although my resolve began to waver. I barely had enough attitude to manage a real scowl (the success of which was questionable), but not enough heat for actual confrontation. Especially with a stranger-slash-coworker. Even if his big perfect smile was totally annoying.
What the hell was he so happy about, anyway?
Like the coward I was, I looked away first. Damn. I was trying too hard to be a badass, but instead I was coming across like a dumbass. I fumbled awkwardly to recover. If my glare didn’t work, perhaps indifference would. I inspected my fingernails, essentially ignoring him. Maybe if he just started talking to Gwen I could make an escape.
No such luck.
He placed one hand on my shoulder, one over his heart, and belted out in tune of The Darkness, “I believe in a thing called loooove!”
What. The. Hell.
I stared at him in complete shock for a moment, trying to process what in the world was happening, before violently shaking his hand off my shoulder. My glower returned in full force. I didn’t like to be touched. Especially by guys I didn’t know. This one may be my coworker, but just like everybody else, he needed to learn he couldn’t mess with me.
He winked, deliberately provoking me, which only succeeded in pissing me off further.
“Who the hell are you?” I snapped.
“The name’s Vance, and I’m your lead for this shift. So be sure to watch the language when there are customers in here, will ya? This is a family place!”
He grinned like stupid sunshine and rainbows and it made me want to smash something. I was going to regret working in an ice cream parlor. This was supposed to be the low-stress paycheck that I needed—just enough to get back on my feet and get back into school. I wa
s grateful to my old friend, Gwen, for getting me hired here and all that, but if I had to work alongside this grinning fool every week, not even all the free ice cream in the store could make this worth it.
He lifted his hand, like he actually thought he was going to touch me again, but I stepped out of his reach and pumped up my glare. The boy needed to pay attention to basic effing social cues. I didn’t like to be touched.
Finally understanding, Vance lifted both hands up in a mock-innocent gesture. “Have it your way,” he said, then he pointed. I looked down and realized to my chagrin that I had chocolate on my name tag. Embarrassed, I lifted the corner of my apron to wipe it off, then dragged my hands down the front to smooth it down.
Vance smirked. Asshole. “Follow me. This is your first time working a closing shift, right?”
I suppressed a groan and trailed after him grudgingly. He was going to be a talker. I could already tell.
These days I was just trying to get through one hour at a time. I wasn’t interested in small talk or making friends. Some people, apparently like Vance, didn’t take the hint.
Gwen smiled and wiggled her little fingers at me. She grabbed her purse and headed out of the store, leaving me alone with Boy Sunshine. Traitor. I followed him behind the counter to commence the countdown of our shift: T minus five hours… and counting.
“We’ll have to close up the candy station, seal the ice cream case, wash the dishes and clean the store at the end of the night, but we’ll get to that later,” he continued. “Are you comfortable with the cash register?”
I almost laughed in his face. I’d helped with my father’s business and finances since I was twelve—accounts payable, receivable, payroll and balancing books. During my brief stint in college, I worked at a bank near campus. I’d handled hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash. A small business register was a piece of cake.
Just as I confirmed that yes, I could handle the cash register, our first customers of the night walked in.
“You’re up Rosie. I’ll be right behind you if you need anything,” he assured me.
I glanced down at my name tag again with a frown. It clearly said “Scar.” Why had he called me Rosie? If he was making some ironic joke about my personality… I was going to kick… his… ass.
Two women around my mama’s age approached the counter, so I turned and contrived an over-friendly smile. These dimples and pearly whites were the epitome of sweet and all that was left of the old, innocent Scarlett. All my life I had been kind. Genial. Meek. Nowadays it took a little more effort to portray that, but real or fake, my smile had the desired effect.
I’ll show him Rosie.
“Welcome to Mooshi Treatery, ladies,” I greeted them. “Have you been here before?”
“Yes. Well, no. Sort of,” one of the women stuttered in response. “Oh my word, I’ve lived in San Dimas since 1969. This old space has been quite a few different stores in my day. I remember when it used to be a deli, and before that, it was an exotic bird store. In fact, this is where I got my parrot, Millie. Her cage was there, right where you’re standing, first time I saw her. And before that, it was all orange groves! But I haven’t been here since it’s reopened.”
I smiled out of courtesy through the whole exchange, even though inside I was cringing. Way too much information, lady. I was just asking to be polite; I didn’t need your whole life story.
The woman’s friend laughed and playfully patted her shoulder. “So, that’s a no,” she translated, “It’s our first time.”
I went through the whole spiel flawlessly, telling them about our premium made ice cream, what set us apart from our competitors, and the history of the stores. They originated in the east coast and now they kept popping up everywhere like last year’s glitter. Ours was the first to open here in Los Angeles County.
They asked for my recommendations and picked out a couple flavors to sample. I obliged cheerfully. While they were narrowing down their choices, I shot a smug look behind me, hoping Vance saw that I could definitely be friendly, but he would be my exception. I hoped he took it personally.
He just gave me an enthusiastic grin and a thumbs-up.
I frowned. Whatever.
The ladies finally made their selections. I used my scoop and spade to dig into the bucket of cake batter ice cream then piled it onto the ice block, adding Butterfinger and brownie bits and kneading it in. After I helped to serve their orders, I got them squared away at the register.
The bell above the door announced their exit. I crossed my arms and turned to face Vance. He chuckled and clapped his hands slowly. “Well done, Rosie. Like a pro!” he praised.
I didn’t like him patronizing me. I nipped that in the bud immediately. “What did you call me?” I demanded.
“Oh,” he stopped clapping. “I know your name is Scarlett, but—”
“No,” I shook my head adamantly. I did used to go by Scarlett, but not anymore. That would remain in the past, along with everything else. “It’s Scar. Not Scarlett. Not Rosie. Scar.”
“Are you sure? Because you look more like a Scarlett Rose to me.”
Ah. I see what he did there. Real cute. But I wasn’t buying it. My eyes narrowed. “My surname is Rossi. RAW-SEE. It’s Italian. And nobody calls me that either.” I pinched my nametag and pulled it towards him as far as my apron would stretch. “Scar,” I emphasized.
Ignoring my protruding nametag, he evaluated my face instead. Direct eye contact made me uncomfortable, but looking away was a sign of weakness and I refused to do it again. At least he seemed to be considering what I had to say.
Finally, he dropped his eyes to size me up from my Converse shoes, to my dark skinny jeans, to my oversized shirt under a cow-spotted apron, and all the way up to my swept back ebony hair. When he met my eyes again, a mischievous grin spread across his face.
“Yeah. I think I’m gonna call you Rosie.”
* * *
“Ugh,” I groaned, looking at the schedule. Next week was going to be a pain in my ass.
“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked, not glancing up from her wedding magazine. She was constantly absorbed between the covers of The Knot or Modern Bride, ripping out pages of her favorite wedding elements and gowns. She collected every dress and theme idea she could get her hands on, waiting for the day she could officially start planning.
No, she wasn’t engaged, yet, but she and her boyfriend had been together for almost two years, and she was expecting a proposal any day now.
“The schedule,” I complained. “I’m working with Vance three times next week. And we’re closing together tonight!”
“So?”
“So! He’s annoying as hell,” I grumbled.
She huffed a laugh and turned the page to reveal another white designer gown. “I think he’s hilarious.”
“I think he needs to shut the hell up.”
She looked up from her magazine then, and pushed her thick frames up to the bridge of her nose. Her dark eyes narrowed to focus on me. “So, is this the new Scarlett?”
“Scar,” I corrected, which she ignored.
“You come back home with black hair and a giant chip on your shoulder and you’re just gonna be a bitch to everybody now?”
I scowled at her. Gwen’s bluntness had always been something that I loved about her, especially since it was a trait I never possessed. Now that it was directed at me, I didn’t like it so much. She was fierce and honest. If she was your friend, she had your back, but if you ever got into a disagreement or debate with her, you’d better be prepared to lose.
There was no point in arguing with her now. She was right anyway. What could I do? Deny that I had changed? It was obvious I wasn’t the same helpless little lamb I used to be.
That was the problem with having a friend I knew before. Everyone else just met me and accepted the way I was. They never knew the old Scarlett, blond, bubbly and naïve. Gwen did. She saw my past and my present—two extremes on opposite ends of the spectrum. She
didn’t know what had happened… nobody really knew… but she wasn’t stupid, either.
Gwen had been a part of my old high school clique. It had consisted of the two of us and Lexi, plus the guys: Nathan, Dirk and Phoenix. We had been a tight group ever since junior high, when we all promised to be “best friends forever.”
Back then, everything was so simple. Having fun meant hide-and-go-seek at Wal-Mart. A wild night meant paintball in the canyon behind my parents’ house. Wreaking havoc meant sneaking over to Miss Yellow’s house with fifty rolls of toilet paper. By high school we even formed our own garage band and spent one entire summer making music together. We laughed and played and stayed out all night. We were invincible. Unstoppable. On top of the world. I had everything I ever wanted and I was confident in my identity and my future.
Our clique didn’t even last until graduation.
It started to fall apart after Nathan and I broke up and could barely be around each other without tension escalating. The guys got more involved in their music and harder partying. Gwen spent all her time with her boyfriend, Hunter, and marrying him became all she cared about. I began dating Miles and pulled away, too. The rest fizzled out through the remainder of senior year. After graduation, Lexi and I moved to the beach for college. She was the only one I’d kept in touch with.
Until now.
When I remained silent, Gwen sighed painfully, and closed the magazine in her lap. “Are you even listening to me?”
College was supposed to be all about finding myself. What I found was a person who was not as smart or strong as I once thought. Miles and I broke up, and in an effort to suppress the pain of yet another failed relationship, I surrendered to Lexi’s influence and left my goody-two-shoes behind. Overnight, I went from one extreme to the other, convinced that alcohol and boys were the only obvious solution.
Numb. That’s how I felt. I was just going through the motions. I worked because I had to. I went to school because I had to. I even got out of bed because I had to. Life was full of obligations with nothing that made me truly happy. It felt like someone had dimmed the switch to my emotions. They weren’t completely off, and I probably could have healed eventually. In fact when the new year rolled around, things were finally looking up. I was ready to get myself back on the right track.