Shirley laughs and takes my credit card.
And now, I really want a glimpse of my wildfire.
Which is stupid as fuck.
Because she’s not mine, and I can’t have her, and seeing her, even for a second, is not healthy.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.
So to torture myself after dinner, I drive back into downtown and park in front of Sage & Citrus. I can admit, it’s a cute place. It’s classy. It looks like something from one of those farmhouse home improvement shows.
And moving back and forth behind the long counter at the back is Juliet.
She’s wearing a white T-shirt with a red apron over it. Her blond curls are teased up into a bun, and she has little ringlets that have sprung free that hang around her face.
I want to touch them. My fingertips rub against my thumb involuntarily because all I can think about is touching that soft hair.
Does she still smell like jasmine? Or has she changed her shampoo?
Is anything still the same?
Jules laughs at something someone says, and it makes my heart physically ache. Rubbing my hand over my chest, I start the truck and pull out of the parking spot.
I need to stop this shit. Go back to avoiding her.
Stay away from her.
Because now it’ll be weeks before I’ll feel like I can breathe again.
Chapter Three
JULIET
“Six hundred dollars?” I stare at the asshole across from me and wish with all my might that I were a violent woman.
Because I’d slap his smug, condescending face.
“Yep,” he says and leans his greasy hands on his counter. “Part was a hundred and twenty, and the rest is labor. Had to practically take the engine out to get to it. I know, it’s tough.”
He shakes his head and presses his lips together, as if he’s being sympathetic, but I see the gleam in his eye. He’s fucking mocking me.
I look up at the ceiling and wish I hadn’t told Christy to go ahead and leave me here. She dropped me off to pick up my piece-of-crap car, but I didn’t plan on the repairs costing this much money.
This guy,Barry, owns this mechanic shop in Silver Springs, which is roughly thirty minutes from Bitterroot Valley. It’s the only auto-repair shop near me that isn’t Brooks’s place.
Because Brooks made it very clear to me that my car and I are not welcome there.
So this is my only option. And I’m pretty sure Barry has been dicking me around, but I’m not a mechanic. I watchedBrooks work on cars most of my teenage years, but I didn’t pay attention. I was too busy ogling his muscles.
With my heart in my throat, I pay with my credit card, and then I’m finally on my way home. I’m now about five grand in on repairs on this heap. It’s probably not worth it, but I can’t afford to buy something new.
I mean, Icouldafford it, but I refuse to touch any of the money left in the trust from my dead husband.
Fuck that shit. I don’t want anything from him.
“It’ll be fine,” I mutter to myself as I turn onto the highway and head back to Bitterroot Valley. “I just can’t renovate the upstairs bathroom for a few more months. No big deal. Maybe I should just join the gym and take showers there.”
But the idea of packing a bag and going to the other side of town to shower doesn’t excite me. It’s not that the shower I have isn’t usable, but it’s so tiny, and as much as I’ve scrubbed it, it never feels clean.
