“Better to swallow the expense now than die, isn’t it?”
Isla shifted on her seat, clearly uncomfortable, and something about the pained look in her eye – the one that had been lingering ever since Annabelle’s speech – made me soften.
Fuck it. Unclipping my belt, I climbed out onto the deserted roadside. “Can I offer you a piece of advice?”
She tucked her legs behind the pedals and rolled back an inch. “Maybe you should focus on your own problems.”
“Oh, you mean being the village pariah? I’ll pass.”
She stared at me. Not denying it.
Her cardigan had slid off one shoulder, revealing a pale shoulder that glowed in the moonlight. Her jeans were even more ridiculous, a floral pattern printed all over the flared denim that reminded me of dearly departed Granny Macabe’s old curtains. Why would anyone pick them out in a store much less wear them?
“You need to grow a backbone,” I said. “You let Annabelle walk all over you tonight with that bullshit rule change.”
She jerked. “What was I supposed to do? Demand they change the entire contest just for me?”
I shrugged. “You could have tried.”
She barked out a harsh laugh. “Maybe that’s how things work in your world, Alistair, where you inherit Daddy’s business and then cry about it. Some of us aren’t so lucky; we just have to make do with the cards we’re handed.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. I could see how I looked like a privileged arsehole from the outside. This wasn’t about me. “That doesn’t change the fact you’d rather spend the rest of your life miserable because you’re scared to ruffle a few feathers.”
Tonight had been a total disaster for me, but at least I’d tried. I wasn’t rolling over and giving up like she was.
She rolled her eyes. “Sharing a wall for four months doesn’t mean you know me. I have a backbone.”
Prove it, I almost said. But this definitely wasn’t the place for that conversation. “Get in the car.”
“No.”
I seized the handlebars – not roughly, just to hold the bike steady. My knuckles curled beside her freckled ones, close enough to feel her heat but not her skin. A shadow of a touch. How long had it been since I’d touched another person? Not as part of my work, or an alcohol-induced tumble with a woman I’d met on a dating app. But properly, so I could take my time with them.
I didn’t even know.
I swallowed at the thought. “What happened to our truce?”
“I don’t make bargains with arseholes.”
I had the oddest sensation in my chest. Laughter?
Nah, couldn’t be.
Maybe I was developing angina. The symptoms were all there: light-headedness and a tight feeling in my chest.
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” I cut straight to the truth of the matter.
“No!” she shot back far too quickly, then winced. “I am sorry about what happened back there. People aren’t usually so mean-spirited.”
“I grew up here, remember? I know exactly how these people are.” Though I’d underestimated how deeply they could hold a grudge. Amy was going to have a field day about it tomorrow. She’d warned me they wouldn’t be so easily swayed.
“Did you get any sign-ups?”
“One,” I admitted. “Heather.”
She cringed. “Oof.”
My thoughts exactly, but I kept my expression stern. Having my wee sister’s pity required a full return to factory settings.
