“You’re weirding me out, storm cloud,” I mutter, rounding the counter and turning on the computer.
Betsy bends over to set a little gold purse down in the cabinet below the register, most of her legs now exposed as her skirt rides up. Her back is arched, and fuck me, but I’m looking. She straightens quickly, sees me staring at her, and winks at me. Then she trails her fingertips across my arm as she walks away. I feel that touch all the way south. I’m both turned on and terrified.
I put both hands on my hips. “Seriously, what the hell is going on, Betsy?”
She laughs, straightens some clothing on one of the racks, and turns back to me, smile now genuine instead of manufactured. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.” She shrugs. “I got flirting tips from your sister. Figured I’d try them out on you.”
Aha! Knew it. I scratch the side of my neck. I feel like maybe I should be offended, but she did say I was cute…
“Way to ruin it by bringing up my sister.”
Her tinkle of laughter is far more musical than the humming she starts up as she hangs clothing in the back of the storage room. I shake my head and get to work. As much as I liked herflirting with me—once I knew what she was doing and didn’t suspect a head injury—I have the Battle of the Boutiques to win. I can’t be distracted.
It’s still a couple hours to closing time when my father calls my cell phone three times in a row. I answer the third time, knowing if I don’t, he’ll conveniently swing by the Square and grace me with his presence. Immediately, he goes into a spiel about the plot of land next to the plot of land we looked at two weeks ago and how if he can convince both owners to sell their plots, he could potentially have something he could sell at top dollar to a commercial developer.
Dad is firmly in the camp of developing our area into a mega mall complex with all forms of commerce and industry. I’m more of a small-town boy who’s seen what development can bring to the various towns around us who went the way of profit. I prefer to keep Heaven a small-town secret and continue to know my neighbor. Even if it means not getting rich.
When I don’t join in on his enthusiasm, he halts his tirade. His tone changes dramatically as he begins the usual rant about me being lazy, a woman’s clothing boutique is not the place for his son, and he ends it with the threat to call in the loan.
I hear a gasp and spin around to find Betsy standing so close I’m sure she heard the whole conversation. I give my head a little shake. She glares at me but keeps her mouth shut. She doesn’t shift away like most people would to give me privacy for the rest of this phone call. Dad spends a few more minutes letting meknow all the ways I’ve failed him. When he’s winding down, I let him know a customer came in and I’ll call him later.
There’s no customer and I will not be calling him later.
Betsy waits until I slide the phone in my back pocket before she stomps her foot. It’s way less intimidating with those sandals on. She points at me, mouth agape. “That’s yourfather?”
She seems appalled.
“Why do you think I told you to stay away from him?”
She shakes her head slowly. “But he seemed so nice at church.”
I sigh heavily. There’s so much baggage there I don’t know where to begin. How do you explain a grown man being broken by the death of his wife? How do you rationalize that same grown man taking out life’s disappointments on his own children instead of getting therapy like everyone else?
“You have to stand up to him, Silas!” Betsy grabs my forearms and this time I don’t think she’s trying to flirt with me. “That’s sexist bullshit about men not owning a clothing boutique. If this is what you want to do, you should do it and screw him!”
That vise that closes in on my ribs whenever I field a phone call from my father starts to ease. I like how passionate she is about being on my side. Other than Mary London and Deuce, no one actually knows the pressure my father puts on me.
“It’s a bit hard to stand up to a successful man when your boutique is in the red. It’s even harder when that man is your own father. I know he wants the best for me, we just differ on what that is.” She’s still gripping my forearms, her blue eyes boring into mine. It gives me the courage to keep talking. To spill the things that have been swirling in my brain.
“I guess I’ve never really fit in. I didn’t get married right after college, have a herd of children, start a career in somethingthat’s deemed masculine. Hell, I’d even consider myself a mama’s boy, something that’s frowned upon in most circles.”
“Everyone would be a mama’s boy with that kind of dad,” Betsy drawls.
It causes a hint of a smile to float across my face.
“Listen, I never fit in either. Sure, a goth girl in the big city is more socially acceptable than here in the South, but it’s still considered alternative. I didn’t even have a father growing up. He cared more about his gigs with his band than showing up to my plays or back-to-school nights. Mom was poor and kids are brutal to other kids that don’t wear the latest, expensive things. But I refuse to be someone I’m not, because then every time I meet someone and they like me, they’re not even liking the real me. I’d rather be lonely than pretending.”
I slide my arms out of her grip so I can hold her hands. My pulse is hammering in my veins. Maybe from being honest. Maybe from the idea that I’ve found a true friend. Someone who can relate and remind me that I’m on the right path when everyone around me says I’m not.
“We’re just two misfits, aren’t we?” I say softly. I grin at her, all those piercings in her ears incongruent with her outfit. It shouldn’t be attractive, but it is to me. Hell, I’m starting to like this woman more and more every day.
She shrugs. “Welcome to the club.”
“Do we have a special handshake?”
She crossed her eyes and sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth. “No. But we have an initiation ceremony and it involves animal sacrifice.”
And now we’re both grinning at each other, holding hands in the middle of the boutique. “I shouldn’t have hired you.”
