“Oh, that’s so much less creepy, then,” she said, and then she laughed loudly enough so heads turned, until it turned into a cough she muffled against his chest.
He felt his cheeks get hot and he decided not to say anything that would dig him a deeper hole. Instead, he just enjoyed dancing with her until the song came to an end and the music changed back to a fast, bass-heavy club mix.
“Okay, you two had your fun,” Cait said when they got back to the table. “Time to go.”
“You’re really throwing us out?” Gavin tried to snake his arm around her waist, but Cait held him at arm’s length.
“We really are.”
“Thanks for stopping by,” Ashley called out.
“I guess it’s time to go,” Grant told Wren. “I’ll see you...soon.”
“Thanks for the dance.” She leaned closer. “You should go before they physically throw you out. That would be embarrassing.”
Once they were out in the cold again, Gavin looked at him and shook his head. “Sometimes being your wingman is a pain in the ass. You used to be cool.”
“I seem to recall some less than smooth moves when you started dating Cait, dumbass.”
“True. But nothing this lame.”
Grant wanted to argue the point, but there wasn’t really anything he could say, so he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go shoot some more pool.”
Chapter Eight
“You look happy tonight, for somebody who lost her home,” Mr. Belostotsky told Wren when she showed up at the market for her shift on Sunday afternoon. “Don’t you think so, Mother?”
Mrs. Belostotsky nodded. “She does. Did you find a new place to live, then?”
“Not yet, but I’m renting a spare bedroom from my friend’s mother.” Wren had no intention of mentioning Grant or the girls’ night out.
“That’s good,” Mr. Belostotsky said.
She had no idea what their first names were. When she’d seen the Help Wanted sign in the window and gone inside, he’d introduced himself as Mr. Belostotsky and his wife the same way. And he called her Mother, and she called him Dearest. It was cute and always made Wren smile, even if it struck her as slightly old-fashioned. Neither of them had very strong accents, but strong enough so they were probably both first generation. They were kind and paid her on time. That’s all she cared about.
“You’ll tell us if you need anything?” Mrs. Belostotsky said.
“I will. You’ve already been so generous. I can’t thank you enough.”
“And you make sure you rest if you need to. You’re a sweet girl. We like you.”
Wren was slightly horrified to feel her eyes well up with tears, and she gave them a quick swipe before smiling at her employers. “I like you, too.”
Then, before she could get any more emotional—Mrs. Belostotsky was a hugger—she headed for the back room to get started. The work wasn’t hard, consisting mostly of doing the tasks Mrs. Belostotsky didn’t want to do anymore.
She restocked items as needed, pulling the products forward on the shelves so they all lined up neatly. There was a small notepad for listing anything they were running low on. Expiration dates were checked and dust was taken care of. It wasn’t a sophisticated system, but they’d been running their market that way since before Wren was born.
They closed early on Sundays because Sunday dinner was something the Belostotsky family didn’t compromise on, but they always stayed at least an hour past locking the doors to clean. Starting fresh with a clean store was important to them.
Wren was filling the mop bucket when her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She could count the number of people who had her new number on her fingers, so she wasn’t surprised to see Grant’s name on the screen. Not being surprised did nothing to keep her pulse from quickening, though.
Are you free for dinner tonight?
He hadn’t been blowing smoke when he said he wanted to get to know her again, then. She hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up last night, since the compulsion to know where she was and that she was okay might have been nothing but a residual impulse.
I’ll be done working in about an hour, but then I’m free.
Did you drive?
