“There are no names in that article.”
“But itisabout you, isn’t it? He likes you.”
“And so what if he does?” A bitter edge creeps into my tone. “I heard what I heard at the wharf. I can’t forgive him. Not completely.” Anger winds in a suffocating heat up my neck, and I ball my fist to fight how overwhelming the feeling is.
“Elsie.” Sawyer’s voice is unbelievably gentle. “I shouldn’t have said anythin’. I’m sorry. I just worry…” He taps a reassuring pat on my knee before his hand retreats to his side of the console. “I don’t find it easy to forget either. I remember how Luke treated you. You deserve so much better.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”
“It’s the truth. You deserve a man who worships you.”
I scoff. “I’ve never dated a man who treated me anything close to what I’d call worshipping. So, if you happen to know this elusive dreamboat, I’ll be very thankful if you send him my way.”
Sawyer’s back to drumming the steering wheel again. “He’ll be the one down on his knees thankin’ you if he ever has a chance with you.”
13
Conditions deteriorating after deciding on a pilaf
Sunday afternoon grocery shoppingis a social event for Kristen.
She flutters through the store, waving and smacking air kisses on the cheeks of women I don’t know. I overhear congratulations on her latest sale and compliments about her new manicure—vivacious pink, apparently, and not the half-price special version. Her breathy laugh floats down every aisle.
I huddle closer to the different varieties of rice for protection. As long as she doesn’t come downthisaisle, I’m safe.
Extra nights working within arm’s reach of each other haven’t thawed the ice between us. Everything about me annoys her. She smiles and chirps sweetly when Sawyer’s around, but the second we’re alone, her claws come back out. Nothing I do is right.
It’s safe to assume that St Helens’ premier real estate agent loathes me.
I grab a packet of basmati, shuffle to the end of the aisle, peek around the corner—all clear—and scurry out from my hiding place.
Right into Kristen.
My sandals slip along the tiles, but I stay upright.
“Elsie.” Kristen flicks her ponytail off her shoulder. “Well, aren’t you justeverywherethese days?”
“There’s only one grocery store in town,” I mumble.
Unfortunately.
It’s times like these that I wish I had splurged on a car. Even an old beater could splutter up the highway long enough to get me to the next town. It’s a Kristen-free zone in Binalong Bay.
She leans over my basket, and a cloud of vanilla body spray comes with her. “They pay you enough at the clinic to afford all that?”
My grip tightens on my basket. She must be referring to the tiny packet of saffron. It’s pricey, but worth it. “I’m cooking a pilaf,” I say.
“A…what?”
“It’s a rice dish. I learned to make it when I spent some time in Fez.”
“Fez?”
“It’s a city in Morocco.”
Kristen flings her head back to let out a laugh. “You? In Morocco? And making a pilaf? Okay. Now, I’ve heard everything.”
“I studied there for a semester—”
