I’m doing a great job of showing Riley how much I care about her.
She loved the flowers—score—and now I’m driving to the store to get medicine for her headache. I’m really concerned about how pale she got during the conversation about first loves. She tried to hide it, but I could see her grimacing too.
Maybe she should call it a day and close the shop early. I don’t think she should be inhaling car fumes and brake fluid right now.
Of course, there’s no chance she’ll leave work early. I know how she’ll respond if I suggest it. Her eyebrows will tighten until that little line pops up between them. Then she’ll purse her lips and tell me in a strict, teacher voice that she’sfine.
Maybe one day, something about Riley will bother me, but I haven’t found that thing yet.
I dash into the mart and head straight to the pharmacy.
“I’d like the best headache reliever medication you have,” I tell the woman in the lab coat.
She rises to her feet like she’s a Jack-in-the-box being wound up by a sloth. I swear, if she moves any slower, I’ll miss the first half of afternoon training.
Come on, lady. My girl is in pain.
“You have 400 strength, 600 strength and 700 strength,” she recites.
“I’ll have the 600.”
“Which brand?” She brandishes her hand toward three differently colored boxes.
“I’ll have all of them.”
She carefully takes each one down from the shelf and shuffles toward me at the speed of… whatever theoppositeof lightning is.
However, I don’t let my impatience show outwardly and I thank her as politely as I can when she hands them over.
I full-on sprint through the mart to get to the cashier but, when I pass the refrigerator section, I slow down. Riley drank water while we ate together, but it didn’t seem like it was helping.
When I open the door, a blast of cool air hits my face.
My eyes rove the bottles of tea. Which will she like the best?
I give up on choosing one and nab five of them. There has to besomethingshe likes in this group. Arms loaded, I navigate to the cashier as carefully as I can without dropping any of the bottles.
As I set the last of them down on the conveyor belt, my phone rings.
I stiffen when I see Layla’s name on the screen. She’s been quiet until now and, while a part of me hoped that would continue, I figured this moment would come.
“Layla,” I say tightly.
“Is this what you call babysitting, Nat? I haven’t seen you all day. You’re doing a horrible job.”
My items beep one by one as the cashier scans them. I shift the phone to my other hand and offer the cashier my credit card.
“Where are you? Are you with that girl from last night?” Layla asks.
I remain quiet.
Layla sighs. “Hello? Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
I genuinely do not care to engage in her tantrum. In less than eight hours, Chance will surprise April with a proposal and Layla will lose all her leverage. I just have to bide my time until then.
“What do you want, Layla?”
