We hardly know each other. Definitely aren’t in a position where it wouldn’t be strange for me to give him a present without a clear gift-giving holiday attached to it. And after the way he looked at me yesterday—the way we looked at each other—the last thing I want to do is give him the wrong impression.
I place the hanger back on the rack, pushing it out of my mind and telling myself that I can’t possibly try to carry anything else if I’m going to shop the rest of the house.
Sorry, raccoon cowboy, but my coveted Dutch oven is more important.
For another ten minutes, I wander the halls, catching the envious eye of more than one person who wishes they’d been lucky enough to score my shopping find. My fingers ache intheir locked position around the cookware, and I start walking toward the man collecting money at a small desk near the front door.
“Can I sneak by ya?” I quietly ask a stout elderly lady in the middle of a tight archway, mouthing a thank you when she lets me pass.
Waiting in line to pay, I study my fellow shoppers. This isn’t the hootin’ and hollerin’ type of crowd. If I don’t buy that shirt, it’ll end up at the dump or local thrift store, unless Colt happens to be out shopping with his mom today, too.
I’ll hang on to it until Christmas or his birthday.
“Besides,” I say to myself while walking down the empty hallway, “a goofy graphic tee screams ‘Welcome to the friend zone.’ ”
A giddy, bubbly feeling fizzes in my stomach when I spot the light gray shirtsleeve poking out from the full rack. I pull it aside for one final inspection. It really is theperfectthing for Colt.
If only I had Jonas here. I could manipulate the situation to make Jonas think it’s his idea to buy the shirt, and Colt would be none the wiser.
Before I can overthink it any longer, I awkwardly slip the shirt from the hanger with one hand. Then pay the man by the front door and scurry out to a shady spot below a towering oak tree to wait for my mom and sister.
Sitting on the cool ground, bare shoulders scrubbing the bark, I shuffle to make sure nobody can see up my dress. Dutch oven next to me, T-shirt neatly placed on top, I grab my phone to kill time on social media.
Alex:I have tomorrow off work. I’ll pick Jonas up at nine.
I huff. “Not even a fucking apology for yesterday.”
Whit:He has plans tomorrow.
Alex:I thought he wanted to hang out with me.
Whit:Yesterday. He wanted to spend time with you YESTERDAY.
Whit:He’s at the ranch with Colt tomorrow.
“Three, two, one…”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
My phone vibrates in my hand with an incoming call from Alex. Knew that was coming the moment I mentioned another man’s name.
“Who’s Colt?” he asks while I’m still trying to force a greeting to leave my lips.
“One of the ranch hands at Wells Ranch. Blair’s boyfriend set Jonas up with some work there for the summer. Colt’s sort of his supervisor.”
“He’s ten, Whit.”At least he remembers his kid’s age.“He’s too young to spend his summer working.”
“I couldn’t have him doing nothing but playing video games all the time. Anyway, he’s really enjoying it.”
“Are you dating this guy? Because I think we should have a discussion before you bring random guys around Jonas.”
Is he serious right now?I pull my phone away from my face to glare at it. The fucking gall to question my parenting when he couldn’t be bothered to show up for Jonas yesterday. My jaw clenches so hard there’s a sharp twinge of pain.
“I’m not,” I grit out.And so what if I was?“But it’s actually not your place to tell me who I can or can’t have in my life.”
He scoffs.
“It’s been good for Jonas to be at the ranch. Plus, Colt’s anice guy, and Jonas loves him.” Admittedly, I throw in that last bit hoping to strike a nerve.
