It was kind of addictive watching Hazel navigate the aisles of the thrift store. She clearly felt at home here.
Her hair tumbled down the back of the oversized gray cardigan she wore. I tried not to stare. Was it weird that I liked her hair so much? The midnight blue had faded a little since she’d first dyed it. Now it was lighter and fit her skin tone perfectly. Her waves were always messy. Wild. Yet somehow, they looked intentional.
She glanced behind her and gave me a puzzled smile when she saw me staring. My cheeks flushed with warmth as I jerked my eyes away.
“What about this?” I asked, pointing to the first thing that caught my eye on the shelf next to me.
She frowned. “A hardboiled-egg maker?”
“Um…yes.” My voice cracked as I realized what I was pointing to. The ceramic finish on the old appliance was chipped, and the thing probably hadn’t worked in years.
Hazel laughed and shook her head. “I think even I draw a line at that,” she said, before turning and continuing to peruse the aisle.
Fucking great. Now she was associating me with hard-boiled eggs, arguably the least attractive breakfast food. In what world was that better than me just owning up to the fact that I had been staring at her?
One wheel of the cart kept dragging as I followed her down the crammed aisle. It was my first time in a thrift store; used items weren’t exactly my jam. Thrifting was good for the environment, but I couldn’t bring myself to forget about the lives the things had before. Who sat on that couch? Did anyone ever clean that? Wasthat mystery stainreallygoing to come out if I took it home?
For someone who preferred things new and spotless, I had a hard time getting on board with this. Hazel, however, had no such hangups. This Saturday morning, while we sat at the table drinking our coffees, I had mentioned maybe getting a few things to make the guest room more welcoming, and she had practically jumped at the chance. I had envisioned us going to a department store, but she had dragged us here instead.
I would have gone anywhere with her, honestly.
I was just grateful she wanted to spend time with me outside the obligation of the investigation. Last night, when I had been on my way out the door for family dinner, something tugged in my chest at the sight of Hazel curled up on the couch alone. I’d asked if she had plans and she said her only intentions were to eat popcorn and binge reality TV. I’d told her popcorn wasn’t a real dinner and she’d shrugged me off. An invitation to my parents’ house almost slipped through my lips before I caught it at the last second. Was I really ready to subject her to my family? There would be assumptions if I brought a girl home. Assumptions I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
Hazel came to a halt, forcing me to stop the cart. “What about this?” She held up a basket that had been spray painted within an inch of its life.
“I swear you’re picking the ugliest stuff on purpose.”
She gave me a sly smile. “Actually, Gran and I used to wander thrift stores on the weekends and sometimes wewouldpick the ugliest paintings on purpose. We figured they needed a home and if we didn’t get them, no one else would. It was like we were rescuing them.”
“That explains your apartment,” I said.
She laughed and shoved my shoulder. “Hey!”
The lava lamp now sat in the cart along with a portrait of dogs sitting around a table mimicking the last supper, an oldcuckoo clock that surely didn’t work, and a photograph of a city neither of us could place. I wasn’t exactly sure what type of aesthetic she was going for with this random assortment of items, but then again, that was kind of Hazel. Random and all over the place. When I thought of the décor in that way, it made me like it a little more.
“What about these plates?” she grabbed a set that were rimmed with yellow and had a picture of a barn in the center.
“I have plates.”
“You have exactly six plates.”
“Why would I need more than that?”
“You have to constantly run the dishwasher. And what if you have people over?”
The pack I’d purchased had come with six of every plate, bowl, and utensil. Six was enough if my family ever came over to eat, which they rarely did. We were always at my parents’ house.
“I haven’t run into an issue yet.”
She let out a drawn-out sigh and put the dishes back.
“Your cabinets are virtually empty, Reid. You should fill them. And maybe one day youwillhave people over.”
“I don’t really like to entertain.” My house was always clean, and I preferred to keep it that way. The last time my family had come for a dinner and game night, the place had been destroyed. Okay, maybedestroyedwas exaggerating, but I’d still had to spend the entire next day tidying up. “It’s hard for me to relax and enjoy myself while my space is actively getting messed up.”
I held my breath when she picked up a teacup in the shape of a snowman and slowly blew it out when she put it back on the shelf.
“Sorry you’re stuck hosting. It must be driving you nuts watching me mess up your space,” she said, her playful tone almost completely covering up the self-consciousness I could see in her eyes.
