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Stupid girl.
I head to my car and throw my bag and box in the trunk. My stomach growls angrily, but I ignore it. I pull out of the driveway and take one last look at the door. The vibrant blue door that made him so mad, yet he hasn’t changed it back.
A single tear slides down my cheek as I look away and face the road. Swiping angrily at those pesky tears, I sit up straight and put the car in drive. I still have a job to do, and now isn’t the time to break down. Now is the time to pull myself together and do what needs to be done. First, the massage appointment, followed by the Reiki treatment. Then, I’ll grab a sandwich or something from the café before I meet Harper at Kiss Me Goodnight.
Just the thought of her business name makes those stupid tears well up in my eyes.
So, like the goddess I am, I force them back down and get to work.
There’s time for drowning my hurt in Rocky Road later.
Now, I have a job to do.
***
My phone rings as I’m getting out of my car. My heart starts to beat at the idea of it being Samuel, but then reality sets in. When I glance at the screen, it’s not Samuel’s name I see. It’s Mr. Monet. “Hello?”
“Hey, Free. Just wanted to tell ya your place is ready. We got the appliances back in earlier so you’re set. You can get your stuff back in anytime.”
“Oh. Uhh, thanks.”
“No, problem,” he says before we sign off.
I stare down at the phone. I guess it’s all happening just the way it’s supposed to, right? At least I have a place to sleep now. Of course, I don’t have my bed and stuff, but I’m sure I could ask Latham, Jensen, and Rhenn to help move me out of Mary Ann’s garage this weekend. Until then, I’ve got enough in my car to get me by. All I need is a blanket and a pillow, and I’ll be fine.
Looking up, I head for the back door. “Hello!” I sing as I enter my bestie’s boutique.
She turns around after finishing up with a customer, and the smile on her face instantly drops. “What’s wrong?” she presses after I set my bag down in her office.
“Nothing,” I insist, painting on my brightest smile and tough girl attitude.
“Bullshit. Your eyes…they’re swollen.” She squints her own eyes and glares at me, as if reading me like the pages in a book.
I blow out a big exaggerated puff of air. “You’re crazy. My allergies are acting up,” I insist.
Harper continues to stare at me, and eventually, turns back around to face the register. I’m grateful she doesn’t call me on the lie. She knows I don’t have allergies. There are two more customers in the boutique, so I make myself useful and offer to assist the one wandering in the far corner.
I’m able to successful avoid my best friend for nearly an hour. Even though we work almost side by side at her store, we’re busy with customers and filling internet orders, something new she’s trying after being encouraged to do so by her cousins in Virginia. She spends a modest advertising budget on ads and promotions online, and the result has been an increase in sales through her website. I gather up a few sample packets from under the counter—a variety of lotions, creams, and body products—and stick two in each online package. That technique is proven to successfully help bring in additional revenue. Several customers have placed an additional order, just by the wonderful smelling lotion sample or eye cream sample they received.
“I’m going to walk these down to the post office,” she says when both boxes are sealed and ready to go. “Do you need anything?”
My stomach is still not right, and I’m sure a big part of it is there’s nothing in it. I still haven’t eaten today, my appetite completely gone since I left Samuel’s house. “Yeah, let me grab my wallet,” I tell her, turning to head for the office.
“Oh, stop it. I’ll buy. Just tell me what you want,” my bestie insists, like the amazing, selfless, big-hearted person she is.
I can’t help it, but tears prickle my eyes. I blink rapidly and avert my gaze, thankful that she doesn’t seem to notice. “I’d like some soothing tea. Maybe a chamomile or peppermint. My stomach’s a little squeamish today. Also, maybe a little soup? Whatever they have is fine,” I insist.
Harper just stares at me, but I refuse to give her anything but a quick smile to reassure her I’m okay. With the boxes in hand, she gives me one last look before she slips out the front door. I feel a sense of relief when she’s finally gone and not watching me, waiting for me to crack and tell her what’s going on. I’m not ready yet.
I get to work straightening up a display when I hear someone enter from the side, whistling a Patsy Cline tune. Latham gives me a wide grin and doesn’t even miss a beat of the song.
“Hey, Latham,” I say as he glances around, no doubt, looking for his wife. “Harper ran to the post office and café.”
He smiles the moment I say his wife’s name, and by some stroke of really bad luck, wetness seems to gather in my eyes once more. He’s so excited just by hearing her name and doesn’t even care he’s wearing the biggest, dopiest grin ever. “Damn, I was hoping to steal my afternoon kiss.”
“Well, you’re going to have to wait for her return. I don’t kiss married men,” I reply with a smile.
“And I don’t kiss a married woman besides my wife,” he adds, laughing.
