His eyes stayed focused on the road in front of him. “It says ‘Pothead,’ and there is a picture of flower—”
I snorted. “Flowerpots. I get it.”
I remembered Addison’s story from earlier about his family’s suspected grow-op. Clearly, it wasn’t that traumatic a memory if he was wearing a shirt that said “Pothead.” Or maybe he was a total badass and giving a subtle middle finger to whoever had reported him.
He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “You into my shirts or something? I wouldn’t have thought a fashionista would approve.”
“I’m intrigued. They seem out of character for you.”
I’d always found it fascinating when a person’s style didn’t match their personality. In my experience from working retail, it usually meant someone else was picking their clothes, which happened a lot at the boutique. Significant others or parents insisting they be the only ones to choose a customer’s clothes. It was that, or I hadn’t read the person as well as I thought I had.
He ran his hand absently over the shirt. As we passed under a streetlight, I could make out that it was pale blue with rich brown print and lettering. The same shade of brown I knew his eyes to be.
“Leanne bought me a few funny plant shirts a while ago, when we started working at the nursery,” he said. “And then, I dunno. I kept buying them for work. They make me laugh.”
So it was a combination of both. Leanne totally seemed like the ironic-shirt kind of person, so that made sense. But honestly? I wouldn’t have expected someone as grumpy as Rowan to want so much whimsy in his life. “For someone who calls me Thirst Trap, I’m surprised you wear such attention-seeking clothes.”
He snorted. “I wear them to make myself laugh, not for other people. I’m sure your slick boyfriend wouldn’t be caught dead in something like this, right?” There was something in his voice. Contempt?
Still, though. He’d come out here to fetch me when I was stuck.
“I do like your shirts,” I said. I bit my tongue. I didn’t like his shirts. Why did I say that? “And anyway,” I said, leaning my head against the window. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore. That’s why I was stranded there.”
Rowan frowned for a second, then huffed a laugh.
“Laughing at my breakup. Nice, Plant-Boy.”
“I’m not laughing at you.” He shook his head. “I broke up with someone at that pond once. It’s a coincidence.”
“Addison?”
He nodded.
Huh. So he had dumped Addison, not the other way around. After spending the day with Rowan’s ex, I kind of understood why he’d dated her. Sort of. Until lunch, Addison had been easygoing, helpful, and actually pretty cool. That story she told about arranging for Rowan to see a vineyard that wasn’t open to the public? As a plant nerd, he would have loved that. I’d honestly thought that maybe I’d been wrong about her. She wasn’t the town mean girl, just a bit...brash. She just needed to learn to think before speaking.
But then at lunch. Oh boy, did I see who she really was. Definitely a mean girl and a bully. Rowan was much too good for her. Good for him for breaking up with her.
Rowan drove silently for a bit, then asked, “Were you the dumpee or the dumper tonight?”
I shook my head. “I...I don’t even know.”
“Never mind,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t butt in.”
I waved my hand. “No, no, it’s fine. Actually, I could use a guy’s opinion on this.” I sighed. “He admitted he’s seeing someone else in Toronto. Going to product launches and that sort of stuff. He claimed he and I were never exclusive, anyway, so I couldn’t be mad, and that he wanted to give me the heads-up before I saw pictures of them together.”
“Wereyou exclusive?”
“I mean, I thought we were. We never discussed it, but he always said stuff like, ‘You’re the only one for me’ or ‘No one understands me like you.’ Do guys assume it’s not exclusive unless it’s discussed?”
“Well, I don’t know what guys in general think, but I thinkthatguy is an ass. That sounds pretty committed to me. You’ve been in Bakewell, what, a week, and he’s already gaslighting you about your relationship? You sure this other fling of his hasn’t been going on longer than that?”
The first time I remembered hearing about Alyssa was after I’d moved to Bakewell...but he did say she was the one who’d referredhim for the H&M job. He’d gotten the job at least two months ago. I sank into my seat, closing my eyes. “You think I’m an idiot.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t. This is his fault, not yours.”
I didn’t know why it was such a relief to hear that from Rowan. I stared out the window. I’d never get used to how dark it was out here. There weren’t even any streetlights until you got farther into Bakewell. “I’m pretty sure he’s been using me for my social media platform,” I said. “And he’s using this other girl for her party invitations. Honestly? I didn’t expect this from him.”
“If you’d expected it, you’d be as bad as him.”
