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Shiloh
Mark stands in front of me, and I cannot believe this is happening.
His phone calls had petered off, finally, and there’ve been no more flowers, no more texts. I thought he’d finally moved on.
Until he showed up here, at my place of employment, about an hour’s drive from his home.
“Shiloh, baby, can we go somewhere to talk?”
“No.” I cross my arms.
“Come on, don’t be like that.”
“Be like what?”
“Cold. This isn’t you.”
He should’ve been grateful for my warmth if he wanted to keep it.
Leaning forward, I press my hands into the bar, my shoulders hunched to my ears. When Mark walked in, Ramon looked at me with wide eyes and an “oh shit” on his lips and asked if it was him. Ramon’s about to fall over, he’s listening so intently. He’s been wiping the same spot for three minutes.
I lower my voice to a whisper. “What are you doing here?”
The taproom’s collective attention is on us. Mark still looks devastatingly handsome with dark eyes and dark features, wearing a sleek black bomber jacket. He’s shorter than Jackson and leaner, and now that he’s in front of me, I feel nothing. He waltzed into the taproom like it would be easy to crook his finger at me and I would leave Goldheart in a heartbeat.
He doesn’t know I’ve changed. I’m not the same girl who left Sacramento. Even though we’re just friends, Jackson has shown me how I should be treated. A man who has no interest in being out in public accompanies me on walks, buys me sandwiches, and loves to listen to me ramble. Mark never did that.
Before a word leaves my mouth, the shape of Jackson Finch hulks toward him, with Emily trailing behind. Steam is practically billowing out of his ears when he looks at Mark.
“Mark, how about we go outside?” Jackson asks calmly.
“Who are you?” Mark asks.
I don’t condone violence, but Jackson looking at Mark like he’s about to avenge for me makes my core clench.
Ramon gives me a nod when I say, “Mark, let’s all go outside.”
“Okay, but who is this motherfucker?” he asks, pointing to Jackson. I take Mark’s arm to pull him, although I don’t know what good it will do.
I regret not grabbing a cardigan upon leaving the heated taproom, because it’s bitter cold today. There’s reports we may get a dusting of snow tonight. I shiver, and then I feel warm material cover my shoulders as I stand outside the brewery. Jackson’s eyes catch mine as he finishes putting his hoodie around my shoulders. Mark’s mouth is agape.
“Shiloh, who the fuck is this?” Mark points his finger at Jackson, like he’s my new boyfriend. Let him think that.
Jackson rubs his hands together, his biceps constricting under the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt. “Did she ask you to come here?”
“No, but she wasn’t answering my texts or phone calls.”
Texts and phone calls that ended over a month ago. I wonder if Mark started dating someone else, and she wouldn’t put up with his bullshit so he’s crawling back to me.
“What made you think her not returning your texts or calls means ‘come see me’, buddy?”
Calling Mark “buddy” infuriates him. Mark’s ears are red as the Woody Finch building, and his hands ball into fists at his side. He’s not a fighting man, but I wonder if Jackson will push him enough that he takes a swing.
Turning around, I see a few people lingering in the doorway.
“Let me talk to my girlfriend,” Mark says. “This has nothing to do with you.”
I laugh out loud. He’s never called me that, ever. I was his friend the one time I met his sister by accident at the mall.
