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It makes me sick to think Ben is doing good with the money he raises. More so when I think of how much I raised has been lost and wasted, trickled down to seedy people.
“No pressure, I swear, but I kind of wanted to see if your dad had anything fun he could offer. Something signed or a lunch with the mayor or some kind of exciting thing people could bid on.” My gut drops.
Of course, it makes sense. At an auction in Ocean View, something like that could go for a lot of money.
“Feel free to tell me to go fuck myself. I’m nosy and ambitious, but I was always told you get nowhere without asking. So I’m asking but fully aware that it could be a no, and that won’t affect my friendship with you.”
She bites her lip, and it’s kind of funny to see Hattie nervous because she always seems so confident and self-assured.
I guess we all have our faults.
And I want to tell her yes. I’ll set something up with Dad to offer—lunch with the mayor or some fun town relic. But the problem is, I haven’t talked to my dad since I sent him the image of the note Johnny left inside my shop a week ago.
And since you’re probably wondering: no, that isn’t normal for my dad. I know he’s okay since he’s still making press rounds and kissing babies and Sam hasn’t called me to relay a tragedy and Lilah hasn’t called with her own worries, but for all intents and purposes, he’s ignoring me.
But still, that face? I can’t let her down.
And it’s for a good cause.
“Yeah. I’ll see what I can get my dad to offer, Hat,” I say, and she smiles, standing and clapping.
“You’re the best, girl! Thank you so much!”
Sixteen
-Ben-
The back roombetween clients is usually my happy place, where I can avoid walk-ins and be alone with my mind and usually my sketch pad.
Except I don’t trust my hands with a piece of paper and a pen right now. They seem to be fixated on braids and an eerily familiar collarbone. Delicate bone structure, wide hips, and long legs.
Fuck.
I’m so fucked, aren’t I?
I’m even more fucked when Hattie pops her head in, that smile that means trouble on her lips, interrupting me from mindless scrolling.
“Hey, you.”
“What do you want?” She rolls her eyes and puts her shoes on the table as she plops in a chair.
“God, you’re such an ass. I came by to tell you that Lola’s gonna contribute to the auction. Something from Libby’s and she’s going to try and see what she can get from her dad.”
“The mayor?”
“You know about her father, huh?” Hattie says, that stupid fucking eyebrow up, implying that it somehow means more if I happen to know who the mayor of Ocean View is and his relation to my neighbor, even if on her opening day there was a whole charade and the man himself came to cut the ribbon.
“Everyone in Ocean View knows about Shane Turner, Hattie.”
“Just interesting, is all.” There’s a pause and I know more is coming. Shit. “She also said you were up last night, loud as fuck.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“And then you were down in her bakery this morning.”
“She said that to you?” Why does the idea of Lola talking to Hattie about me both irritate and . . . please me?
“Said she felt bad, waking you up.” I sigh because that’s not right. It’s not on her.
