Page 50 of Never Your Valentine

“Annabelle,” I say. “You plowed out my Escape, and I never got to thank you.”

A crash and a yelp come from Felix’s group. Someone’s on their knees in the dark.

“Shouldn’t you…” Sophie points to the trail behind him.

“They’ll sort it out,” he says without taking his eyes off her. “We were just talking about building character.”

“Is that what you call trudging through the unbroken hills while you yell ‘Pick up your knees!’ every five minutes?”

He folds his arms. “You keeping track of my business now?”

“Please,” she scoffs. “I have real things to do.”

“Like leading grandmothers through a toddler’s maze?”

“Better than getting lost in a swamp.”

“That happened once,” he says. “You need to let that go.”

Before Sophie can bite back, someone from Felix’s group wails, “I dropped my water bottle and it rolled down the hill.”

He winces. “Duty calls.”

“Best of luck with that.” Sophie plucks a glowstick out of the snow. “You can borrow this if you need light to find the water bottle.”

“And kill my rep? Nah.” Felix starts toward his group, but after a few steps, pauses and calls over his shoulder, “Thanks, though.”

Sophie watches his backside as he disappears into the darkness. She notices me looking and shrugs. “What?”

“It was nice of you to offer him a glowstick,” I say.

“It’s for safety. Liability. I want to make sure those people are all right.” She studies her glove like it suddenly requires professional engineering. “Don’t read anything into it.”

Chapter 20

Grant

I’m stuck in a long line at The Grind, as everyone in town seems to want their Saturday morning coffee at the same time. I’m standing behind Annabelle, who hasn’t noticed me yet, since she’s too absorbed in the euchre game she’s playing on her phone. I watch her lose a trick that should have been hers, costing her the game. She sighs and resets the program.

“I knew it,” I say. “You suck at euchre. Give me back my shirt.”

She turns and frowns at me. “I know how to play. I’m just reminding myself of the rules.”

“Everyone knows the rules. You learn them at your mama’s knee and keep playing your whole—” I stop myself when I remember the reason Annabelle’s in Echo Creek. She doesn’t have a mom. Or a dad. Or any family. I duck my head. “Sorry.”

“Next,” the teenage barista calls out.

Annabelle rattles off an order that sounds more like a magic spell than a drink. I order mine plain black. There’s one table left and we grab it.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I say. “When I brought up parents, I mean. I was just⁠—”

“It’s okay. They died before I had memories of them.” Annabelle says it matter-of-factly, as if she’s talking about someone else. “Cancer doesn’t play favorites.”

“Is that how they died? Both of them?”

Annabelle nods, too quickly, too urgently. It doesn’t match her tone of voice. “About six months apart,” she says. “Lungs for my mom. Pancreas for my Dad.”

I turn my coffee cup around and around on the table. My God, this is horrible. The world shouldn’t be this cruel. Not to anyone.