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Seven
Griffin
When I pull up to the thrift store, I see Ellis already parked suspiciously far away from the entrance and sitting in her car on her phone. I wonder who she’s texting and if she’s givingthem a detailed description of my appearance in case she goes missing.
I have no plans to kidnap the woman and decided to prove it by saying I could drive her, or she could drive herself. I figured giving her the choice would make me seem less crazy.
Not that I’m crazy.
She chose to take her own car, and I guess something about me not tying her up and shoving her in my Jeep gave her a good read on my character. How did she phrase it?
Definitely not Ted Bundy vibes?
When I get out of my vehicle after parking anormaldistance from the entrance, she looks up, smiles, pockets her phone, and kills the engine.
And now, the entire universe waits for her to cross mountains and valleys–to walk through the desert before finding her way to her destination.
I shove my hands in my jacket pockets to fight against the biting chill in the air. It’s not unreasonably cold. In fact, I think my weather app said forty-two this morning. If I know anything about Ohio, though, I know that tomorrow could be a polar vortex, and the following day could be sunny and seventy-five. It’s a real shit show.
The truth is, I’m putting tremendous amounts of pressure on myself to make this day great for her. Noah’s assumptions aside, birthdays are a big deal–especially in my family. I’m close with my parents, and with Skylar, my sister, even though she lives in New York City.
Long story short, nobody is around for her birthday, so I have an opportunity to be somebody–for her–at least for the day.
Ellis approaches with a gentle smile dancing on her lips. Her cheeks are tinted pink from the cold, her dark hair rising around her with the gentle breeze.
My eyes catch on the faint freckle on her temple before meeting her eyes–dark amber like the sun during the golden hour–just before shades of purple and pink paint the sky.
“Why did you park in Europe?” I ask when she gets close enough to stand in front of me. She has to look up and crosses her arms as if she’s freezing. I briefly considered giving her my jacket. She isn’t wearing a coat–just a cream shirt and some brown button-up over it.
I decide the jacket thing is too date-like, but continue to question that at least twelve times before making my decision. It’s her birthday, and I’m watching her torture herself with Ohio weather, but we’ll be inside soon, anyway.
Ellis looks back across the parking lot briefly before her eyes meet mine. “I didn’t want anyone to hit my car.”
A half-smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.Cute,I think, but I keep my tone casual and my thoughts to myself. “You know there are still cars driving in Europe, right?”
She gestures to the parking lot, looking around and making a show of it. “Looks like there are considerably fewer cars in Europe, as you can see. My chances of someone scratching the paint are far lower.”
I chuckle, nodding toward the door without saying anything, encouraging her to follow me.
She does.
We stroll toward the store nestled in a small strip mall near the coffee shop. The only sounds that follow us are the scuff of our shoes on asphalt and the gentle sound of wind. I risk a glance sideways at her, noting that the breeze is still carrying stray strands of black hair around her face. She swipes at them, but it doesn’t do anything to keep her vision clear.
I smile but try to hide it.
I can’t make her think I have Ted Bundy vibes.
“Where is the wedding?” she asks as we approach the door.
I rush forward to open it, allowing her to walk in first before answering. “The Outlook. It’s a fancy golf course about forty minutes away. Is that too far?”
“That’s like really fancy,” she says. “Are you sure we will find a dress here? You said you have a suit.”
“I think we will.” I check the time on my watch. “The wedding starts in an hour and a half, so we better start looking.”
I make my way toward the far wall where dresses hang on disorganized racks. Ellis rushes forward, practically jumping in front of me.
She immediately yanks things off hangers and throws them over her arm. I watch her–somewhat mystified. “You sure are being very critical when it comes to looking for a gown,” I say, one brow raised.
