I need something dark, something quiet; something that won’t pry open the parts of me I’ve been duct-taping together. But instead, I’m stuck in a house that feels like a shrine, with its yellow cabinets and someone like Sadie next door.
The hits keep on coming.
four
Sadie
It’sbeenthreedayssince the dent in Colson Burke’s car happened and I haven’t heard from or seen him. Well, that last part is sort of true. I saw him peeking through the curtains yesterday morning when the kids started getting to camp. His car isn’t in the driveway anymore, which is probably best for everyone.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone in that house before now. Sure, there was some maintenance, like someone was checking on it, but no one living there. That’s a shame, considering it’s absolutely gorgeous. It was on the market for a bit, but it was way out of my price range. I know that it sold at asking price, based on the app I was practically stalking for new properties.
Today, there are no kids at the rec center. It’s Friday and most of them end up calling off anyway, going to do summer things with their families. So it’s only me and my long to-do list of admin things that waits for me until the end of the week.
Like my grocery list.
I head to the little market off Main, the one which always smells like apples and overripe peaches, with a cart that wobbles like it’s been in a bar fight. I’m scanning the produce when a familiar shape comes into view from the corner of my eye—tall, broad shoulders, baseball cap pulled low.
Colson.
Of course he looks like a commercial for T-shirts and bad decisions, with his muscles straining against the baby blue fabric.
For some reason, it feels like I should hide. I seriously consider ducking behind the apples, I really do. But then a voice—too loud, too excited—cuts through the aisle.
“Oh my God, it is him,” a college kid with hair falling into his eyes, in a neon-pink T-shirt, whispers not-at-all quietly to his friend. He lifts his phone. “I’m totally getting a video.”
Before I think, I step right between his camera and Colson.
“Hey!” I chirp, too brightly, waving like we’re best friends reunited in a sitcom. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Colson blinks up at me, thrown. “Uh. Hi?”
The tourist lowers his phone, annoyed that I’ve ruined the shot.
I keep my smile plastered on and tilt my head. “Do you mind?” I ask the tourist sweetly. “He’s just trying to buy groceries. Like a normal human who needs…avocados.”
Colson’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.
The tourist grumbles something and wanders off, defeated.
Once they’re gone, I step back and immediately the store feels too small. “Sorry,” I offer. “He was about to film you like you were the new animal at the zoo and it didn’t feel right.”
He huffs a laugh. “Is that…a common comparison for me? An animal?”
“Only on Thursdays,” I shoot back. The second the words leave my mouth, I’m wondering why I said that.
He pauses, looking at me fully, with a lazy-quiet intensity that makes my pulse stutter a little. “So you’re my bodyguard now?”
“Only part-time. And only because I still owe you for the dent.” I gesture vaguely, as if the dent is floating above us. “How’s the car?”
“Still dented,” he answers, but his tone feels a touch warmer, like the icicles on the edge are starting to melt. His eyes catch mine like ice caps on the lake.
Well.That does something to my insides I absolutely do not permit.
“Great grocery store.” I look around the space.
Colson’s brows knit together, following my gaze. “Isn’t it the only grocery store?”
I shrug. “Unless you count Big Joe’s farmstand.”
