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“Papa, can’t we go to the reserve?” I ask. “I wanna visit Hanson’s place.”
“No.” The stern look on his face makes my skin crawl. “Absolutely not.”
I don’t understand why he hates that place so much. Why he doesn’t want me to interact with our own.
“But you’re all about tradition, right?” I ask as he opens the register and sorts the money as if he didn’t just do that ten minutes ago.
“Yes, and I try to teach you everything I know. I don’t need the reserve for that, and you don’t either.” He gives me another stern glance, ending the conversation.
This is how it always goes. I ask questions about our life before we came to Springhaven, and he shuts me off. It’s as if it’s taboo to even mention the place.
“What you need,” Papa says, pointing at me as if that will make me wise up, “is to get back to work.” He grabs a box of water bottles from the counter and shoves it into my hands.
At the same time, the bell above the door jingles, and we both turn our heads to see who it is.
It’s Dixie Burrell … and Derek Cooper is right behind her.
They’re holding hands.
I almost drop the box right there and then.
I fumble with the bottles of water while staring after her. Luckily, neither of them noticed me making a mess.
I swallow. I know Papa wants me to put these away, but I don’t wanna run into … her.
At least not while I’m doing stupid shit. And not with Derek around.
That motherfucker always tries to get under my skin. One of these days, I’m going to ram his face into a brick wall, and I don’t want it to be in my papa’s shop. Because if he sees me lose my shit, I won’t be able to sit on my ass for the next two weeks. That’s how mad he’d get.
However, the moment Dixie’s eyes fixate on me, I forget everything I was doing.
She lets go of his hand.
The few seconds our eyes connect seem to last an eternity.
“Got some cash on ya, doll? I forgot my wallet,” Derek asks Dixie, breaking the spell.
She clears her throat and looks away. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I guess.” She hands him some pocket change, after which he saunters off toward the fridge and takes out an energy drink. He stops at the rack filled with camping stuff and picks up one of the many Zippo lighters we carry.
He flicks one open and lights the flame. “Cool,” he murmurs. Then he puts the Zippo back after looking at the price.
Meanwhile, Dixie’s casually sifting through the shirts we have. Most of them have a Springhaven logo printed on them or some other catch phrase. We don’t sell a lot of them, but my papa keeps them around because he likes to stay in the town’s good spirit. Whatever the hell that means.
My papa sighs out loud. “Never mind. I’ll do these.” He snatches the box out of my hands. “You do the register.”
“Yeah … okay,” I say, completely out of it because I’m still gawking at her.
I don’t know what it is about Dixie that makes it impossible for me to look away. With her ombre hair and her pristine green eyes, she stands out of the crowd but blends in perfectly too. But that smile … God, that fucking smile.
I wish I could see it up close.
But she’d never smile like that for me.
At least, not the way she smiles at Derek.
I don’t know when that happened. One minute, she hates his guts, and the next, they’re kissing in the cafeteria at school. I guess that’s what happens with raging teenage hormones all around.
Not for me, though.
I’m the outcast. The weirdo who likes to play with matches outside on the benches in the school yard.
Let’s just say, I’m not a people person. I stick to myself.
Besides, I’ve been burned too many times to ever try again.
Derek suddenly interrupts my train of thought by plopping his can of Red Bull on the counter.
“The fuck are you looking at?” he barks. “C’mon. Work for your pay, boy.”
Fuck, I wanna smack his face into the counter. That, or smash his teeth in. They’re just as ugly as the rest of his mug anyway.
“Are you deaf?” He snaps his fingers when I don’t respond quickly enough.
I scan the item, but I don’t take my narrowed eyes off him. I want him to see the hatred and realize it’s all because of him and his behavior.
“What are you looking at, redskin?” he sneers, smacking some money onto the counter but still holding it like he doesn’t intend to hand it over.
“I was about to ask you the same thing … redneck,” I retort.
This gets his blood boiling, for sure. His face is turning red as a beet, and he’s grinding his teeth. Just the look on his face gets me all riled up.
