Page 6

Now here I am, in a parking lot outside a funeral home, with a gorgeous blond next to me. She’s been silent since she called Jon, and I can sense her mind is somewhere else entirely.

“You come here often?”

She turns to me, but before she can answer, her phone dings.

Again.

It’s been going off five times per minute. This girl is popular.

“Is your boyfriend worried about you or something?”

Subtle.

She hesitates. “Um, yeah. Let me just––” She angles her phone away from me, and I think she’s about to text him back, but I’m surprised when she turns the sound off and tucks it away.

“Are you in town for the Thunder Rally?” She gestures toward my motorcycle.

“No, but damn, I forgot about that. Is it happening soon?”

“I think so? I’ve been seeing the posters around town but didn’t look at them closely.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot my manners. I’m Hayden.”

“Robin.”

“I know.” She freezes, so I quickly reassure her. “I heard you tell Jon.”

“Right, right.” She looks away again.

This woman is on edge, but I can’t blame her. She’s alone in a parking lot with a stranger. I’m not so naive that I don’t know what she’s thinking. Or maybe she’s still embarrassed because I caught her trying to steal? I’ve never seen someone look so guilty over stealing an orange. It was hilarious. And kind of cute.

An idea hits me. “One second.” I go to the tree and pick the two biggest oranges before I return to the car.

“But I already have one,” she argues as I hand her one.

“Save that one for later. That was your hard-earned orange. This one is for now. Your fun orange.”

I get my first genuine smile from her. “Thanks.”

We eat in silence for a minute, and I can’t help but appreciate how nice it feels to simply sit outside with someone in the warm summer air. My life is usually so busy that I never have time to be still and appreciate my surroundings. My job has been all-consuming over the last few months as more and more responsibilities have been assigned to me. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Or maybe I need to be better at taking time off once I go back home.

“Do you live here then? Since you’re not here for the rally?”

“No,” I say, plopping the last slice in my mouth. “I mean, I’m from here, but I haven’t lived here in a while. What about you? Are you new to town?”

She seems surprised by that. “Sort of. I moved here two years ago. How did you know?”

“I don’t want to assume, but I’m guessing we’re around the same age.” When she doesn’t respond to that, I continue. “We would’ve gone to the same school, and there’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed someone like you.”

“Oh,” she says and looks down at the orange peel in her hand.

Shit, I think I made her uncomfortable. Again.

Since when am I so bad at talking to women?

“Besides this,”—I gesture between the two of us—“what else do you do for fun?”

“I wouldn’t consider this fun.” The corners of her mouth twitch.