I stuff the schedule in my pocket.
“Hey, you’re in a hurry! Are you leaving?”
Reed snags my arm before I reach the back door, and I whirl around to face him.
“Yeah, my shift ended at six. Are you headed out too?”
“Aw man, I wish. I’d offer you a ride home, but I told my dad I’d stay late to make sure the first day goes smoothly, so…”
“Well, that was kind of you. I can tell he places a lot of trust in you.”
He smirks. “You got THAT from hisDon’t open the garage doors a minute earlyspeech?”
“It’s more of a feeling, I guess.”
We both laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. But I do think Mr. Morgan trusts Reed. He wouldn’t have him showing up early and working a double shift if he couldn’t rely on him.
“Hey, listen, I was wondering if you wanted to get together tomorrow night? Maybe we can hang out?”
“Oh, um—” I drag my eyes from Reed to the back door as if the answer to his question is written on it.
“I can pick you up at your cabin around seven… I do live right next door.” He winks at me.
I clasp my hands behind my back so they have somewhere to fidget other than beneath his nerve-wracking stare.
“What, like a date?”
A smile splits across his face. “If you want it to be.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m curious about him, but I can just see it now. It starts out all innocent at first—the occasional get together after work, the subtle references to our shared history. We’ll spend every weekend together, forge inside jokes that onlythe two of us get, work together, eat together,sleep together, until I’m hopelessly devoted to discovering who Reed is and what he meant to me.
Nope. There’s a three-month sand timer. I have no time to give.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Forget the relationship snowball, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore. I’mexistingthis summer, not subjecting myself to reliving the past or forming future attachments who might try to convince me to stay. I’m not sticking around for what comes next.
Reed lifts his hands in the air in defeat. “Okay, not a date then. Just to hang out.”
“Listen, Reed, I don’t want to be harsh?—”
“I can text you!” he blurts.
I shake my head vigorously. “I don’t have a phone.”
“Right.” He rubs his neck just like he did this morning after he admitted to knowing about my accident.
“You seem like a nice guy and all, but the last thing I need in my life right now is a walk down memory lane.”
That familiar creep of panic accelerates my breathing. Maybe agreeing to work here was a gigantic mistake.I can’t do this.
I need space. I need change. I need…
Fresh air.
I close the distance to the back door—the same one that is no longer propped open by a shoe—and slam into it before getting the hint to spin the handle. It gives way about a foot before plowing into someone else on the other side.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I say, backing up.
