Page 9
I laughed anyway. “Knock it off.”
Henry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Give me a call next time and I’ll have your stuff ready to be picked up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I climbed into my truck, and Henry went back inside. I tried and failed to remember what the girl behind the register looked like. I’m sure she was a wonderful person, but I wasn’t attracted to her—I only wanted to get rid of the picture that had been stuck in my head all day.
The harder I tried, the more vivid it became.
There was only one pair of eyes I could see: Ryan’s.
And I had no idea why.
Instead of suffering in silence on the drive home, I distracted myself by cranking the radio up so loud that my seat vibrated and the wheel pulsed under my hands. The long highway drive worked in my favor: I couldn’t close my eyes, which meant I couldn’t see his staring back at me.
Back in Hazelbrush, the setting sun cast a warm glow over the view in front of me. There was one main road that cut straight down the middle of the town, and close to the end of it was the turnoff to the Dark Side–and Ryan’s place. As I sat at the stoplight, those brown eyes weaseled their way into my head once more. With nothing else to distract myself, more of his face crept into view. My hand teased my turn signal, tempted to push it down and take that left down to the Thompson’s place. Just when I thought I’d gathered the courage, someone pulled up behind me, forcing me to continue straight.
When I saw Charlie’s truck outside the shop, an idea formed in my head. Probably a bad one, but I dialed Charlie’s number anyway.
“Hello?”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“‘Hello Charlie, sorry I ran out on you earlier. How was your day?’” she mocked.
A laugh bubbled out of me. “I’m sorry I ran out on you. Now can you do me a favor?”
“I suppose. What’s up?”
I took a deep breath and questioned what I was about to do. But the words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “That kid from last night?”
“What about him?”
“I think he might have left something in my truck. Can you look his number up for me? Ryan Walker.”
“Sure…” I knew that tone. It meant that I was in for one hell of an interrogation. When I didn’t explain, Charlie seemed to think better of questioning me immediately. “Okay. I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
The loud work keyboard sounded through the speakers. Just as I was about to end the call. “Genie, are you sure everything’s okay?”
No.
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m good. I promise. I’m just tired and hungry, that’s all.”
Reluctantly, Charlie let me hang up without any further questions.
I turned the music down, which only left room for my mind to wander. Twenty-four hours ago, I would have given anything to get Grace’s face out of my head. Now? It would have been a welcome image compared to the cheeky smirk I was getting instead.
The way his eyes sparkled… the way he bit his bottom lip when he—gah! Fuck!
The image taunted me as I slammed the driver’s side door, grabbed my shopping, and stormed inside—and groaned, cursing the actions of past-Jason. Glass still littered the entryway, with the wooden frame of the mirror leaning against the wall where it had landed. With a sigh, I retrieved the supplies to clean it up, using the cheap plastic frame for stress relief by stomping it apart and putting it in the trash.
Had that frame done anything to me? No, but it helped me feel a little better.
Returning to the kitchen, I unpacked everything and completely lost myself in the meal. For the first time in over twenty-four hours, I was able to clear my head.
Cooking had become therapeutic for me over the years. When I felt vulnerable, splayed open for the world to see, it helped to pour that energy into something that benefited everyone. When people failed me, I knew I could fall back onto cooking, and when I was finished, I would feel better. Every time I had a bad day, or every time Grace and I had a fight, and especially nights when… when I considered inviting another man over for dinner, food was the one thing that never failed to ease my nerves.
