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I start to relax a little as we make our way to the booth. Thinking of the shake that’s coming my way helps. But Marcel’s words cut right through my thoughts.
“So are you really going to pretend you weren’t checking out that chick outside your house?” he asks, flashing me a knowing grin.
I thought he’d dropped it, but actually, it barely took two seconds after we sat down for him to press me about the neighbor again. I guess his mind is cleared of making any lunch-related decisions now, so he has more energy to pry into my love life. Or lack thereof.
I sigh, wondering how much of a hard time he’s going to give me if I tell him that’s exactly what I was doing. But I don’t really feel like finding out right now.
“I think you see what you want to see,” I tell him, not meeting his gaze. “I was looking because that’s the neighbor we saw the other night.”
“You mean thehotneighbor we saw the other night,” Marcel retorts without missing a beat. “Come on, you can tell me.”
Thankfully, Martha comes with our blood shakes at just that moment, and Marcel drops the topic, suddenly distracted by his meal. He spends the rest of lunch going on about how rabbit blood is good for the skin. Apparently, it helps keep it translucent.
Usually, I’d struggle to show an interest in a conversation like this, but today I’m just thankful I’m no longer in the spotlight. I nod and ask questions in all the right places, making sure Marcel can’t shift his focus back onto the hot neighbor.
Just neighbor, I correct myself.
All the while though, I can’t stop thinking about this second interaction we just had and if maybe I was right about the connection I felt between us the first time we saw each other. This latest interaction was definitely something. Something I’ve never had in any of my previous relationships.
I’ve never had that instant spark calling out to me at first sight, and maybe that’s why I always get bored or can’t open up. Or maybe I’m just not the type who’s ever going to have that with someone, and I don’t need a total stranger to rub my face in it.
5
CLARISSA
Ican’t tell what’s pounding faster – my feet against the pavement or my heartbeat in my ears. I don’t know what it is about the neighbor but both times I’ve seen him, I’ve gotten immediately self-conscious. Not in an entirely bad way, either.
I glance back over my shoulder to see if he’s still there, but he and his friend are both gone and their car along with them. It gives me a moment to stop and catch my breath, trying to figure out what just happened.
“What the hell…” I mutter to myself, staring back at the spot where the neighbor’s eyes had bored into me.
It was like he was seeing through my layer of fear, seeing past the façade. For a second, I wonder if he could be involved with the Holy Rollers somehow.
The thought grips my heart, but once the initial panic has subsided, I realize how ridiculous that is. First of all, the gang is nowhere near intelligent enough to have tracked me down this fast. Especially when they think I’m dead. Secondly, the look the neighbor gave me wasn’t one of suspicion. It was something else entirely. He isn’t the first man to look at me like that, of course.
But he might be the hottest.
My heart suddenly starts pounding again, and I decide my run isn’t over yet after all. Instead of heading back into the house, I take the scrubland path toward the edge of town. It’s long enough that it’ll get rid of all this excess nervous energy, and there’ll be the reward of a snack and a drink once I get there.
I set off along the path, trying to shake the feeling that something remarkable just happened. It’s a silly thought though, and not one I have the liberty of entertaining. My mission in Aura Creek is to lay low, not to flirt with the whole neighborhood. I’m living a damned secret life, after all.
The path soon comes out onto a paved road, and by the time I see the diner in the distance, I’m exhausted. A nice cool drink and something light to eat is just what I need.
The diner is mostly full when I walk in, but it’s a little cooler inside than it is on the street, due mostly to the shade that the far side of the restaurant affords.
I haven’t been here before, and the crowd makes me a little nervous. Not only am I in a room full of strangers, but I’m in a room full of strangers I have to lie to if it comes to it. Any seemingly innocuous conversation could jeopardize my safety if I don’t play my cards right, and that’s a lot of pressure.
It’s not just fear that’s making this difficult. Being in this diner also brings up an undeniable wave of sadness. As I approach the counter, I’m reminded of the donut shop, of greeting customers and serving their orders, of the life I used to have before everything else happened.
I still miss that so much, and it feels strange to suddenly be on the other side of the counter. Especially when all I want is to have a normal life again. As much as I’d like to stay here, though, I know I should be keeping away from people as much as possible. I’ve cut my hair and changed my name, but at any time someone could recognize me.
“How can I help you?” asks the elderly woman behind the counter.
Her words jolt me out of my panicked thoughts, and I realize I just have to get through this interaction and make it out of the diner in one piece.
“Uh, hi,” I begin, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel. “Can I get an orange juice and a tuna salad to go?”
“Oh, sorry, sweetie. We don’t do takeaway,” the woman tells me with an apologetic smile.
