Pretend? “When have I pretended to be anyone but myself? But you don’t know me.”
“I know you. I can see everything I need to know about you. From your twenty-thousand-dollar purse to your watch that probably cost more than this truck, you scream money. The average yearly income in this town is probably close to the outfit you have on. You wear those clothes like they’re a second skin. Like you’re entitled to always have the best. So yeah, I know exactly who you are, woman.”
Everyone wears these clothes and has these accessories in my circle of ‘friends’ in Urbium. It’s expected. Why would I think about what I wear? But people obviously are. And they’re deciding they know me based on them.
Wild.
And just a little bit hurtful that he found me lacking because I dress nicely. “There’s nothing wrong with wearing nice clothes.” Why did I feel the need to defend myself?
“No, there isn’t.”
We pull into a parking lot and stop. When Creed said this guy was opposed to technology, he didn’t mention that nothing at all was updated. Chic stores in the city spend money on antiques like they have here, but I don’t think these were antiques when they were bought. “Does he even have refrigerators in his store?”
“Yeah, though Timmons wasn’t happy about buying them. They’re about the only thing he has inside that isn’t at least forty years old.”
I can believe that. “Thank you for the ride. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Havoc opens the door like he’s going to join me.
He makes no sense, hating me one minute and shopping with me the next. I open the door and hop out of the SUV before he makes it to the front.
Havoc gives me an eyebrow raise.
Did he really expect me to wait for him to come around and open the door?
“Woman, you make no sense.” He walks next to me.
“Me? You think I make no sense?”
An old man opens the door, stepping out to hold it for us.
“Morning, Mr. Timmons.”
“Morning, Havoc. How is that boy of yours?”
“Good.”
“Thought you taught him manners.” Mr. Timmons doesn’t hold back, does he?
Uh-oh. “Havoc would have opened the door for me, sir, but I was just so excited to see your store, I couldn’t wait for him to come around.” Why did I stand up for a man who hates me?
“And who are you?” Mr. Timmons gives me a narrow-eyed look.
“My name is Greer Hestons. I moved in next door to Havoc and Creed. Havoc, like the wonderful neighbor he is—” Don’t smirk at the massive lie that just came out of your mouth. “—offered to show me where your store was.”
“Haven’t met many kinder souls in my life than Havoc.”
Are we talking about the tall, tattooed, grumpy man standing next to me? Because kind really doesn’t seem to suit him. “He told me all about your store, and I just couldn’t wait to see it. The décor is amazing.”
“My late wife did it before our boys were born. She picked every piece in here. I don’t know what I would have done without her.” Mr. Timmons must miss his wife badly.
“She had amazing taste. She must be sorely missed, but being surrounded by her love must be of a little comfort.”
He nods. “It surely is. You two have a nice little browse. I’ll be at the front register when you’re ready.”
“Why did you do that?” Havoc whispers as Mr. Timmons walks away.
“Do what?” I grab a wicker basket and put its handles over my arm.
