He forced himself forward and peeked into the hall just as both women turned toward him.
“Well, there you are,” Grandma said brightly. “About time that truck got unloaded.” She acted as if she hadn’t just dropped a line of pure wisdom. “We were just talking about you.”
“Were you?” TJ’s eyebrows shot up. “Hopefully all good things.”
“Of course,” Grandma said, far too innocently.
Lila went beet-red. “I was just saying it’s been nice working with you these past few days.”
“Likewise.” He kept his tone casual, the same tone he used when something cut deeper than it should. “I’ll put the creamers in the fridge if you’d like.”
“Sure,” she said, stepping aside.
He returned to the storeroom, grabbed the crate, and came back up front. When he opened the refrigerator, the cool air was a relief. Though it didn’t do much to settle the heaviness in his chest. He leaned one hand against a shelf, staring at the rows of milk and creamer.
He’d told himself not to get too close. He was here to visit, to help out. But somewhere between the laughter, mishaps with the old folks, long shifts that turned into something more, and that almost-dance, he’d let himself forget.
Hearing Lila say,he’s leaving anyway, made it real.
He straightened, closed the fridge, and grabbed his jacket.
“I guess I’ll be going,” he said.
Lila looked up, eyes wide. “Oh, all right.” She glanced at her watch. “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“I need to spend some time with the family while I’m here,” he said.
She nodded, forcing a smile. “You don’t have to keep coming in like this and volunteering. We can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he said. “But I like working here with you. It’s fun. Besides, you never know when you’ll need a cleanup on aisle fifteen.”
She giggled. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Yeah, I try.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Is there any pie left? I can take some home for my dad.”
“Oh, sure.” She pulled a slice from the pastry case, wrapped it, and handed it over. “Just bring back the plate.”
“Sure, no problem. I’m available tomorrow,” he said.
“No, TJ, just bring back the plate. That’s fine.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” He tried for a smile, but she still wouldn’t meet his eyes. His gut twisted. He wanted her to look at him, really look, and say how she felt. But maybe he’d misheard and misread everything.
“Okay, then,” he said quietly. “I’ll get out of your way.”
He stepped outside into the mild autumn breeze and let out a long, slow breath. For the first time since he’d come home, Clear Creek didn’t feel much like home at all.
He climbed into his rental car and started through town. Main Street curved into Old Town before he realized where he was headed. He parked in front of the museum, not even sure why. He just needed to walk, to clear his head.
He strolled past the old hotel, crossed the street, then looped back again until he found himself in front of the museum doors.Well why not?
Inside, a teenage girl in a calico dress smiled brightly. “Hi! Would you like a tour? Or you can do a self-tour. We ask for a five-dollar donation either way. You really ought to have the guided one,” she added.
“Uh, no,” he said, glancing around. “Wow, they wallpapered the place. Looks nice.”
“Yeah, that was a few years ago,” she chirped.
He handed her a five. “Self-tour’s fine.”
