I can’t wait to get out of here. The garage called two days ago and told me my car was finished, new parts and all. Noah’s been so great about taking me to work on his own time, using up his vacation days, so I’ve been extra diligent to save every penny from my paychecks to pay for the work.
Thankfully, the diner has been busy most of the day today, adding to the tips I’m collecting to round off what I owe the garage. A group of national park rangers came in, uniform and all. In the past—er, before Noah—men in uniforms would rile me up, light my fight-or-flight on fire with an underscore of rage. But this time my feelings jumped into my throat, and they weren’t the bad kind. I scanned each face as they entered and sat down, hoping for a minute I’d see Noah.
He’s mentioned he has to catch up on a lot of work since he’s been off more than usual, so he hasn’t been around the house much. Even Ms. Sullivan’s noticed. I miss Max, and … I miss Noah.
The door chime dings once again, and out of habit, I glance toward it. Morgan, in all her glory, along with three friends walk in, seating themselves at a booth in the far corner. Not looking isfutile, and I can’t help but take in her put-together outfit. Flare burgundy pants that practically match my hair, clog-like wedges, and a cream sweater no longer plain because she’s decorated each wrist with gold jewelry and her neck with chunky necklaces. Her friends are equally dressed, and I examine down my person, pursing my lips at my uniform and unattractive boots.
While her hair is pulled up into a soft bun, mine is scraggily and wind-blown, probably even snarled in the back from where I almost fell asleep during my fifteen-minute morning break.
Jealousy is a new emotion for me, but I’d never felt it so strong then when Morgan shuffled down the hospital in her skintight dress and flirtatious smile hidden behind worry. Or the claws of envy when Morgan texted Noah three times on Thanksgiving. I was already struggling with thoughts that I shouldn’t be interfering with the Sullivan’s holiday, and that made it worse.
The thing is, I expected this. Her with him.
I don’t want to be that person, that kind of woman. I could drive myself mad, dissecting every glance, every laugh, every fleeting interaction between them, but I’ve come too far to allow those things to concern me. So, while she and her friends take turns shooting me looks, I shake off any bitterness creeping in and smile at her before taking the order of another table.
The next three hours are painfully slow, but I power through them, my stack of tips in hand as I exit the diner en route to the garage. Distance wise, it’s not overly far by car, but since I’m walking, I need to stick to the sidewalks down Main Street.
I adjust my crossbody—a rugged, grunge-inspired bag made of distressed black leather and frayed edges. It’s the only other bag I own besides my hiking backpack. While I walk, I open the asymmetrical flap and dig around inside for the envelope of cash I’ve collected over the past weeks and tuck today’s earnings inside.
I believe I’ll have more than enough, especially since Noah went over several nights ago when the part came in to help with labor costs.
The thoughtful gesture—gestures—I’m not used to this, any of it. I’ve done life myself for the past six years, on my own. In my experience, men don’t do this kind of thing for me, going out of their way. It’s completely disarming in a different way.
Withhim, before I knew his true colors, I was disarmed by thescrew this attitude, theI can’t be bothered with others,I’m too cool for schoolbroody type. It pulled me in. He was all sharp edges and untamed energy, making it seem like I was the only one who he’d show emotions for. It was that reckless love, the beautifully controlled crazy I couldn’t resist, even though something about his unpredictability felt off.
He was the guy all the girls wanted, and he had eyes forme. So it must be worth it, right?
It’s almost as if I was conditioned to want the alluring guy everyone else wanted. So much so that I went color blind to the red flags: deflecting meaningful conversations, hot-and-cold behavior, ignoring boundaries. Those all eventually turned into impulsive habits, controlling possessiveness, and physical manhandling: grabbing, pushing, shoving.
But Noah …
My mind runs in circles, making sense of it, to reconcile the unexpected patterns of thoughtfulness with the cynicism I’ve carried around for so long. It’s like I packed it up with me when I left Ruin and have been toting it around ever since.
For a moment, my entire body goes unsteady, like the ground has tripped beneath me. Noah’s one of the good ones.
I’m not paying attention to where I’m walking as I round the corner, and?—
My shoulders slam into a solid chest, and I stumble back. Someone looms tall in front of me, a dark hood pulled low over their face, hiding everything but a vague outline of a jaw.
“I’m—” I inhale, stifling an audible gasp and catch a whiff of something sharp and acrid—my stomach tightens. Swallowing, I gulp and screw my face into a grimace. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
They, he, I’m assuming, doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, still. Silent.
Every instinct tells me scream, or run, but my feet are frozen, or maybe it’s the cold weight pressing down around me with this man’s lingering stare.
Erratic, my pulse thumps, and the rest of the street blurs away, tunneling in on his shadow. I glance down, noticing the black slacks and polished shoes, contradicting the plain gray hoodie pulled up and over his face.
An uneasy feeling zips up my spine, and instead of waiting for the man to say,oh no problem!orbe more careful next time, I bolt.
At first I don’t register my direction, I just want out of there, but when I glance behind me, the man is walking away and rounds a corner, slipping out of sight. I sigh, slowing down to a full stop and ignoring the quizzical looks from a few others walking out of different shops as I keel over and gather myself.
What the hell, Lily. You’re paranoid. This man was probably out for a walk, and you bumped into him. Maybe he’s a mute andcouldn’tsay anything, or perhaps he had headphones I couldn’t see over his ears.
Why did I assume something negative and book it out of there?
Maybe it was the way he sized me up from underneath the cloak of his hoodie, and though I couldn’t see his face or read his expression, it was like he knew me.
I’m imagining things.
