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Did he remember that it’s my favorite flower?
Cash gives me a brief, genuine smile that cracks me right down the center. Then he claps those large hands, the ones that were on my body last night, and rubs them together. “So, what are we eating?”
Seventeen
CASH
Spendingtime around June is dangerous. The way she carries herself, cares for Alex, talks, smiles, laughs, makes each second in the Heartstopper Diner stretch into a painful eternity.
“And we can come up with a song and maybe a dance together as well!” Alex says.
I nod, dragging my last fry through ketchup. “Sounds like a great idea.”
June is tucked into the booth closest to the window and she’s already finished her burger and fries. She peers out of the window, her chin resting in her palm, and I trace the shape of her profile with my eyes.
I release a breath. “Everybody done?”
“Yeah,” Alex says. “Thanks, Dad.”
“All right, I’ll get the check. Meet you out front in a second.”
“Thank you,” June says, her fingers moving to the sunflower on the table beside her plate.
I grunt and rise. June is a constellation of temptations, and I feel like a stargazer. I told myself that coming here was a bad idea, but I couldn’t resist. It beats eating takeout and thinking about June.
The more I expose myself, however, the more difficult this becomes. I don’t have anything to offer her here. She wants out of Heatstroke, I want to stay. I don’t even know if I’m capable of love again after Olivia.
I pay for the meal, ignoring the stares from the Heatstroke locals.
“Good lunch?” Marci smiles at me from behind the register. “Looked like y’all were having fun.”
“Fun?”
“Sure. Chatting. It’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?”
“What is?”
“The way Alex and June are bonding,” she says. “It’s weird, but they even look alike.”
I don’t respond.
“Have a good day, Cash.”
“You, too.” I tuck my receipt into the back pocket of my jeans then walk out onto the sidewalk.
The door claps shut behind me.
A tall guy, tattoos down his neck, and the back of his hands, stands in front of June, smiling at her in a way that makes me want to punch him in the throat. He’s wearing a suit that looks like it costs more than all the buildings in the street, and he’s got a lean, wily look about him. Like he’d be slippery in a fight. Agile. The type who hides a knife up his sleeve.
I grind my teeth as he takes a step closer to her.
Alex sits on a bench on the street, her legs crossed, watching the exchange with interest, both sunflowers in her lap.
“I’ll stop by here more often.” The guy’s voice is deep, and it makes the throat-punching idea even more alluring.
“Yeah, definitely,” June says, her hand on the back of the bench, inches away from Alex. She glances down at my daughter. “It’s a lovely town. Have you been here long?”
“Long? No.”
