“You’re a grandma?” I ask dumbly, looking at the room with two twin beds with old wooden frames that look handmade. There’s a desk, which also looks handmade, with a matching wooden chair. And that’s it.
“I am,” my aunt says proudly, like it’s a badge of honor.
Don’t get me wrong. She seems nice and all, but I have nothing in common with anyone here. I may have only met four people in Kensley today, but all four I can confidently say are nothing like me.
My cousin—Millie. The girl was wearing overalls, boots, and had braided pigtails, for Christ’s sake, despite being a teenager or maybe in her early twenties. And the guy? Jasper?
His. Name. Is. Jasper.
Enough said.
But still, if we must get past just the hillbilly name—the guy is built like a damn truck. Tall and clearly well-fed—though it seems like he’s turned most of that food into pure muscle. His sandy blond hair was cut on the short side, though not down to his scalp, and his green eyes told me he already doesn’t trust me.
Fine by me. I don’t trust him either.
I don’t trust a soul in this podunk town.
Jasper. Psh.
I didn’t like the way he was eyeing me. Like I didn’t belong here. Like this place is too good for me. Standing there judging me in his ratty T-shirt and jeans. Dirty boots. Get the hell out of here.
“What was his problem?” I blurt out, looking out from the window of the bedroom and spying Jasper and Millie going into the barn.
“Who? Jasper?”
I look back over at my aunt, who’s straightening up the quilt that covers one of the beds. “Yeah.
“He’s protective. He’s a good boy though. He’s worked for John and me for three years, but he comes from a good family here in Kensley.”
A good family where I’m from means money. But something tells me Jasper doesn’t come from money—and oddly enough, I don’t think it would matter to my aunt if he did.
“He seems like a dick.”
Before this moment, I thought my aunt would be a pushover—that bright smile and her calling me family—but I nearly shrink back when I see the fire in her eyes as she gazes at me. “Don’t use that language around here, first of all. Second, Jasper is a good kid. He’s family too. And you will get along with him.”
My back straightens, and everything in me wants to rebel. Wants to tell her that’ll never happen or snap that maybe she should have this talk with her employee. But I remember my mother’s words. I want to go to college.
I have to go to college.
There’s no way I can pay for it myself. I just have to get through the next three months. That’s it. So I quell every instinct I have, wanting to tell her off, and just grumble a quick, “Sorry.”
She studies me carefully for a moment. Her blue eyes—eyes that match my mother’s and my own—are narrowed like she can see right through me. It makes me uneasy, but then she turns on that kind, warm smile again and nods sweetly. “Okay then. Jasper will be the one to show you around here. He knows what he’s talking about and has a way with animals.”
I snort at that, getting her attention again but clear my throat, hoping to cover it. She probably sees right through me but goes on anyway.
“What about Millie? Couldn’t she just show me around?”
I don’t know for sure, but something tells me she’d be easier to deal with than that dickhead. Though she didn’t seem to want me here either. Fine by me. We’re all in agreement. That is,except my aunt, of course, who seems hellbent on making the most of my time here, apparently.
She quickly dismisses that. “Millie is attending the local community college, taking classes there, so she won’t be around as much. Jasper will show you around.” I want to argue, but I won’t. I just let her go on. “While you’re here, you’ll earn a paycheck every week, paid on Friday. All three meals are provided, and what’s mine is yours, so feel free to grab a snack from the kitchen when you’re hungry. You’re expected to be home, in the house, by ten every night.”
“Wait. I have a curfew?” I ask, absolutely stunned. My parents tried the curfew thing but honestly quit trying to enforce it by the middle of my freshman year. As long as they didn’t get a phone call from the cops in the middle of the night, they didn’t really worry about my whereabouts.
“Ten o’clock. Every night,” she repeats as if I’m hard of hearing and not a grown-ass man questioning an actual curfew being set for him.
My lips thin in a frown, but I don’t argue. Three months.
Not like there’s anything to do in this town anyway. She leads me back down the stairs to show me the rest of the house that’s so quaint, I want to puke. Everything seems to have a purpose, including afamily room, as she calls it, with a television and two rocking recliners, along with a worn sofa. I can see the family all gathered in here, watching television together, laughing and probably eating popcorn.
