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Chapter Twelve
Shades
“So, what’s with the sunglasses? Are they prescription or is this part of your outfit so you can look cool?”
Letty’s question tells me that after another week watching over the church, she’s finally getting used to my presence. To having the Reckless Souls around all day. She still blushes like a school girl, but she’s not so skittish. She’s actually chatty as hell.
Not sure which I prefer. “Cool? Honey, I was born cool.”
A laugh bubbles up out of her, and she shakes her head, bumps my shoulder playfully. “Super cheesy, but I do think you’re one of those people born cool. I’ll bet you had the leather jacket even before you got the motorcycle.”
“You think so, huh?”
It’s cute how Letty thinks she knows me, has figured me out. A few good guesses over the past few days, but, in fact, Ace is the only person who really knows me.
“I do,” she says with a confident nod. “You have that walk like those guys who are just born cool. You seem so confident all the time like you belong wherever you are.”
I arch a brow at her as we walk across the parking lot, the sun setting behind us. “You mean somewhere like here, where I clearly don’t belong?”
Her coffee-colored brows dip in confusion, blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What? No. I mean, I get why you’d say that. I wasn’t exactly friendly and welcoming to you as I should have been at first, and I’m sorry for that. But that’s not what I meant at all.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I just mean you’re so self-assured. I bet you never feel out of place anywhere. I envy that.”
Her words surprise me. “You feel out of place?”
“Only all of the time.” She nods and flashes one of those nervous smiles that turns her cheeks pink. “You ever heard of imposter syndrome? I think I have that.”
I laugh. “But you belong everywhere. There’s no place you could go where you wouldn’t be welcome.”
Letty is the kind of woman I imagine everyone welcoming with open arms. She is, without a doubt, the right kind of people.
“Yet, I don’t feel as if I belong,” she replies with a sigh. “How do you do it?”
“It’s probably a result of my military training. I went plenty of places I didn’t belong and where I wasn’t wanted. I had to make it work.”
I don’t relish talking about my time in the military. I did my time, learned a lot of shit, and took even more shit.
“You don’t like to talk about it,” she guesses correctly. “Sorry. So, why the sunglasses?”
I appreciate her changing the topic without me saying a word.
“I like them. I grew up poor, dirt fucking poor, and this old-timer gave me a pair of sunglasses. Aviators, but the mirrored ones, you know? I thought they were the coolest things ever. So, whenever I stopped somewhere, I’d pick up another pair. It just kind of became my thing.”
It sounds silly when I say it out loud now, as a grown-ass man.
“That’s sweet. Does it matter if they’re designer brands, or do you just go for style?”
I stop and look down at her. That’s the one question I never get, and I’m surprised she’s the one to ask.
“What? Did I say something wrong? Is that too personal?”
“No, it’s fine. Usually, just whatever catches my eye, whether it’s ten dollars or five hundred.”
Letty stops and gapes at me. “Five hundred dollars? For sunglasses? That’s blasphemous!”
I laugh at her outrage. “Aren’t you loaded?”
I never met a rich chick who had a hard time spending money.
