Maybe it’s time to go on a fucking date.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
JADE
The Burner tripletsand their mom whip out of the store’s front door like a tornado changing course, leaving me to assess the devastation. A wearied sigh escapes me as I crouch to pick up dropped candy bars, gummy bears, and cookie packets, carefully restacking them back on the shelf.
The bell attached to the door jingles again, and my stomach twists with anticipation as I head back up aisle four, wondering if it’ll be him this time. ThehimI should definitely notbe thinking about twenty-four-seven, but my brain doesn’t seem to want to comply with that ruling. Three whole days have passed since Dylan and I made out like rabid animals against the storeroom wall, and I still can’t think about his mouth against mine without losing my breath.
I step around the milk fridge, my chest sinking when, instead of seeing Dylan, I’m met with a stack of cardboard boxes dumped inside the store entrance rather than around the back like I asked. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of a delivery van screeching away.
“Thanks, man. Very helpful,” I mutter while inspecting the packing slip taped to the top box.Ooh. These are the decorative mugs I ordered from a regional homewares wholesaler. One thing I figured out during my stalking session at Kings was that I can’t tap into the homewares market by only selling expensive items handcrafted by local artists. I should mix them in with some cheaper stuff that still has that artisan look, so there’s something available for every budget. And our pottery drew a decent crowd at Fall Fest.Step aside, Einstein. The genius is at work.
I wrap my arms around the top box and groan as I heft it into the storeroom while trying not to end up injured and bedridden like poor Dad. Nerves prickle my skin when I remember that today is his appointment with a spine specialist after his urgent MRI scan earlier this week. My aunt Jackie drove Dad to the clinic so I could stay and watch the store. We can’t afford to close right now, even for a day, and we certainly can’t afford casual staff.
By the time I’ve got the fourth delivery box stacked against the storeroom wall, sweat is beading on my forehead despite it being forty degrees outside.
I switch off the heating for a few minutes to cool down and drag my box cutter along the seam of the top box. When I peel back the flaps and peer inside, my jaw falls open. “No!” I dig through the sharp jumble of broken porcelain, careful not to cut myself.
I could return the mugs, but—shit, shit, shit.When I ordered them, I checked a disclaimer that said the supplier takes no responsibility for third-party delivery breakages. But their own delivery quote was so criminally expensive that I ended up booking my own courier.
My jaw clenches as I march back to the front counter with the delivery slip so I can call the reckless driver and blast him for costing me hundreds of dollars. He’s going to have to cover this.
I snatch up my phone, finding a missed call from Dad. My fingertips shake as I dial his number.
“Hey, Dad. How’d it go?”
His long pause makes my breath lodge in my throat. “Thankfully, it’s nothing sinister,butI have three herniated discs, which the doc described as ‘very severe’.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh, yes.” I can tell Dad’s forcing a smile, but there’s a heaviness to his voice. “And that’s not all, love. Usually, they’d begin with non-invasive treatments, but given the severity of my symptoms and the fact that I can barely walk, the doc has suggested surgery.”
My chest clamps. “Surgery?Are you sure?”
“Unless I’m losing my hearing as well as my mobility, I’m sure, sweetheart.”
My brow tightens as the front door swings open and a couple who look like posh out-of-towners wander in. The man immediately begins speaking to me while Dad’s still mumbling dates and timelines in my ear, so I hold my finger up at the customer with an apologetic smile. The man gives me a hard frown.
“Sorry, Dad, we have a customer. I’ll call you a bit later, okay?” The man in front of me glances at his blingy watch.
“Sure, love,” Dad replies. “I’ll give Ruby a call and let her know.”
I hang up and paint a welcoming smile on my face, even though I want to tell this crabby customer to take a hike so I can burst into tears.
My dad has to havespine surgery. What kind of risks are involved? How much pain will he be in? What will the recovery be like? How much will this allcost?
“Did you hear me, girl?” the man in front of me snaps.
“Sorry,” I reply with a little head-shake. “What was it you asked?”
“Can you tell me where the grocery store is that’s about twenty minutes out of town? I believe it’s called Crowns.”
“Kings, darling.” His wife comes up beside him, adjusting her silk scarf. “Can you give us directions to theKingsgrocery store, please?”
I turn my gaze to her, resisting the urge to glare. “We sell groceries right here.” I lift my upturned palm like a game show assistant. “What can I get you?”
She furrows her brow at the small crates of apples and bananas sitting behind me. “Oh, we’re looking for a much bigger andfresherselection. Come on, darling.” She gives the man’s elbow a tug. “We’ll ask someone from that lovely bookstore down the street.” As she leads her husband out, she shivers, muttering something about the shop being an ice box.
