Page 3 of Claiming Love

With Cassian itching to get out of here and Jordan out of sight, I decide it’s time to leave. As I head out the door of Gregg’s Hardware, I’m already planning my next visit. No way in hell is this the last time I see Jordan.

2

JORDAN

Iscoop the last of the egg whites and veggie scramble onto a plate and head out of the kitchen to serve my father his breakfast. The doctor told him to cut back on greasy food and red meat last month, but he only sticks to his diet when I’m the one cooking.

“More of that rabbit food you keep trying to pass off as edible?” he grunts as I hand him his plate. I frown at him, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just kidding. I know you’re trying to take care of me, but I don’t see why I can’t at least have a little bacon with my egg whites. Or steak with my oven-roasted broccoli. I’ve eaten this way for over fifty decades–”

“And your heart shows it,” I say, cutting off his well-rehearsed rant. I practically have it memorized by now, since he feels the need to express his opinion every single time I make a healthy meal.

My dad grumbles under his breath, but he starts eating his breakfast. Stubborn man.

“I was thinking,” I start, rocking back and forth on my heels as I stand beside my father’s recliner.

Dad freezes mid-bite, the fork halfway between the plate and his mouth. He looks at me slowly, and I know he doesn’t trust me. He never does. Though he would say it’s not me he doesn’t trust, it’s everyone else. Either way, the result is the same—I’m lonely. So very lonely.

“What’s that, now?” my father asks, regaining his motor functions.

He finishes his bite of food and sets his fork down, those green eyes focused on me. They’re the same emerald color as mine, but his are shadowed. They reveal years of sadness, exhaustion, and worrying about me.

“I was thinking I could open the shop today while you get some rest. You haven’t slowed down at all since your doctor appointment last month. Maybe I could start opening the store on my own, and you could join me closer to lunchtime when business picks up.”

“I don’t know, honey,” he replies, using the term of endearment as a way to cushion what is sure to be bad news. I’ve heard it all before.

“Before you say anything, I want to remind you that I’m twenty-one now. Most women my age have been off at college, living independently for years.”

My father’s face drops slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling into a sympathetic frown. His brows relax a bit as he softens his gaze. “You’re not like other girls your age,” he says in a gentle but firm tone. “You’re special.”

My hand moves instinctively to cover the jagged scars crawling up the right side of my neck. I usually hide them with my long hair, but I’m always aware of them. My bumpy, ugly, knotted skin stretches diagonally across my back, starting on the right side of my neck and shoulder and ending at my left hip.

“That’s not what I meant,” my dad huffs.

What else am I supposed to think? I know better than to say that out loud to him, however.

“Fine,” he says after a moment of silence. “You can open today. It won’t be a regular thing, so don’t get used to it.”

I nod, trying to tamp down my excitement. It may not seem like much to anyone else, but my father letting me leave the house alone and spend the morning in the store is huge. It’s the most independent I’ve felt since… well, ever, I guess.

“Thanks, Dad,” I tell him with a smile. I try to reign in my enthusiasm, or he may suspect I’m up to something. He’s always been protective, but he’s become increasingly paranoid lately.

I shuffle around the kitchen and living room, gathering everything I need for the day in record time. I don’t want my dad to change his mind.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m already well into the opening routine. We live right next door to the hardware store, so my commute is less than two minutes. I try to count the register to ensure it’s still balanced from closing last night, but I keep losing track of what I’m counting and how much there should be.

My mind keeps wandering to Huxley, the tall, muscled man from a few days ago with teal eyes I had trouble looking away from. I’ve replayed our conversation in my head a hundred times at this point. I’m sure I came across as a shy, awkward dork, but Huxley was so nice to me. I still can’t figure out what he meant when he said he was glad we were both in the same place at the same time so we could meet.

Surely, the tanned, toned, sculpted Roman god of a man has no interest in me. Why would he? I bet Huxley is just a naturally engaging person. With those magical eyes and charming smile, he must have women falling for him left and right.

Besides, he’s probably forgotten all about me by now, which would be completely understandable. I’m nothing special, despite my father’s earlier claim. In fact, I’m probably the most boring person in the world. The only thing I’m allowed to do is work at the family-owned business. After that, it’s straight back home.

Every once in a while, I convince my father to let me go shopping in the next town over for clothes and shoes. The general store here doesn’t have many plus-sized options aside from what look like giant floral tents that can’t be flattering on anyone. Sometimes, he lets me drive an hour to the nearest movie theater, but it has to be something I really want to see. Basically, I’m a loser whose only friend is her dad.

I drop a roll of quarters on the floor, the sound startling me out of my spiraling thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I try shoving all my emotions way down deep, packing them into the little box tucked into the shadows of my heart.

After finishing the register, I grab a rag and wipe down the counter and the shelves underneath. I get lost in scrubbing one particularly stubborn spot, nearly jumping out of my skin when the bell above the door rings.

I pop up from behind the counter where I was cleaning the shelves, shocked to see the man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

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