That makes her giggle. “Alright. Let’s go to the zoo.”
CHAPTER NINE
Hailey
At first,I was worried that spending the day with Jason might be awkward. Given that the only thing really tying us together is Hunter, I wasn’t sure what we’d talk about.
But he’s funny. Goofy. Grins when I bust his balls, and dishes it out as good as he can take it.
He insists we go to the gift shop after we spend ages looking at all the animals, reading the little placards outside each enclosure, and making sure we go to all the Critter Connections we can to learn more about the animals from the zookeepers.
“Pick something,” he leans in and whispers in my ear, and his breath on the back of my neck raises goosebumps. And when his hand brushes my arm, there’s a zing, almost like static electricity, but not quite.
What is that? Why is that happening? It also happened last night when I touched him to reassure him that it wasn’t his job to look after me.
I give him a quizzical look. “I’m not five,” I protest. “I don’t need a zoo shot glass or a postcard to remember today.”
He just grins. “Pick out something else, then. Seriously. My treat.”
Part of me thinks I should protest more. I shouldn’t let him spend so much money on me. I’m sure it’s largely motivated by some kind of guilt. But … he said he can afford it. And I looked him up last night. He signed a seven million dollar per year contract last year, so yeah, I’d say he can. It’s just … why do I deserve to be the beneficiary of his generosity? Wouldn’t it be put to better use being donated to a charity? Even the fund here?
He rolls his eyes at me like he can hear my thoughts. “Seriously, Hailey. This place doesn’t even charge admission. The least we can do is spend some money at the gift shop to support their mission.”
When he puts it that way … “Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms like I’m so annoyed to have to pick something from the gift shop. But really, I’m delighted. I don’t get that many treats these days, and today is just one treat after another.
I take my time browsing the offerings, debating between an enameled pin with a polar bear on it or one of the small artist prints. I could put the pin on my gig bag … or I could hang the print in my room. All the stuff hanging on my walls is carefully curated from my actual experiences—framed photos I took, postcards sent by friends or that I bought myself, and a few art prints like this. My mom’s into embroidery, and she embroidered a violin for me for Christmas one year that I have up too—one of the few things I appreciate that my mom’s given me. Of course, she made it before Hunter died, so there’s that. Still, another print would be nice, though I think I might have to rearrange a few things.
“Dude, those are both like ten dollars. Get them both. Or, do you want one of the bigger prints? Like this one?” He picks up the same image I’m looking at, but twice the size. Then hepeers more closely at the one in my hand. “That one’s not even a normal print. It’s a card. Here. Get this one.”
“Are you sure?”
With a sigh, he gives me a look like I’m being ridiculous. “Can we just take it as a given that I mean anything that I say? Especially when it’s something like this.”
Chewing the inside of my lip, I look from him to the print and back to the pin in my hand. “Okay. Thank you.”
He follows me when I go to put the pin back, then sighs dramatically when I hang it back in its spot, reaches past me, and plucks it back off the display. “Did I not say to get both?” he nearly growls in my ear.
I hold up my hands, an automatic gesture of surrender and apology all rolled into one. “That was before you said you’d get the larger print!”
“I never said that meant you couldn’t have the pin, too.” He holds it up and inspects it. “Besides, it’s cute. You should have it.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, not quite sure how to respond. He just smirks, turns, and heads for the counter, setting the pin and the print on the counter. I watch, still more stunned than anything that I’m here with Jason, and he’s buying me souvenirs.
A few days ago, I was living my life, delivering food, hustling for gigs, trying to plan out how to refill my teaching studio. And now, my car’s in the shop, I’m spending time with my big brother’s childhood best friend, and he’s footing the bill for my car and my souvenirs at the zoo. The sudden and unexpected change is enough to give me whiplash.
After Jason pays for my pin and art print, plus a shot glass and a crystal growing kit that he grabbed at the last second at the checkout, he hands me a bag containing my items, a wide smile on his face. “You hungry? Want to grab some food? Or a coffee?”
I shouldn’t be giving him the suspicious look that I know is on my face. “Coffee sounds really good, actually, but …” I roll my lips between my teeth at his annoyed expression as we leave the gift shop and head for the parking lot.
“But what?” he prompts.
I shrug, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and waiting for him to stop and face me. I want to gauge his reaction, and I can’t do that when we’re walking. “But …” Sucking in a deep breath, I look around, then throw up my hands. “But what’s the deal here? Is this like when you took me out for ice cream when I was thirteen? Or …? What are you getting out of this?”
Confusion furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”
With the bag still hooked in my fingers, I plant my hands on my hips and stare him down. “This feels an awful lot like a date.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise, and his eyes flash with something I can’t quite name. Clearing his throat, he looks away, scratching his cheek with one finger. “I just …” Sighing, he faces me again and crosses his arms, his own bag now dangling beneath his elbow, staring me down in return. “I made your brother a promise. I haven’t been good about keeping it. I’m making up for lost time.”
