Page 85 of Pin-up Girl

Clint messaged me while I was making coffee—he had a knack for that—to make sure I was all right.

Me: As well as can be expected.

Clint: Then I hope your day only gets better.

The sentiment filled me with warm fuzzies.

Clint: I’m running around most of today, making plans for Dee to come home. I’m a text away if you need.

Wait. What? Instead of replying, I committed a cardinal sin and called him back. On the phone.

“Hey,” Clint answered quickly.

“Dee’s coming home?” Picked up the conversation where we left off. I was happy rather than upset that she’d be here more, but I was concerned that Regina was letting it happen. What was that woman up to?

Clint huffed a laugh. “That was why I called you last night. Regina is taking a job in San Francisco and leaving Dee here.”

“And you let us talk about feelings and fucking, and just neglected to mention that bit?”

He sighed. “It’s happening regardless and last night… It was good to know I have you both around. I’m worried about how Dee is taking the news, I’m happy she’ll be here full time. I’m conflicted, yanno?”

That made perfect sense. “I get it.” All of it. “If you need anything. If she does…”

“I know where to find you, and that you’re always there for her. That means more than I can say. Be safe today. Take care of Sylvie. Call me, Brodie, anyone if Peter comes back.” Clint paused. “Maybe not Travis.”

I laughed so I wouldn’t have to dwell on the fact that my sister was engaged—had been engaged?—to a narcissistic asshole. “Should probably make sure the two never meet. He and Travis would hit it off.”

“Ugh.” Clint grunted the sound.

Inspiration struck. “You know those gorgeous pointed-toe pumps I picked up a few months ago at that estate sale?”

“The ones you have on display in the window with the ornate iron work on the toes?”

I grinned like a madwoman at my empty kitchen. “Do you think I could work in those?”

“I wouldn’t, but I care about how my feet feel at the end of the day. Why?”

“It just seems like they’d be great for, oh, kicking someone in the balls. They might even do long term damage.”

Clint chuckled. “You’re fucking brutal. I love it. But he’s not worth hurting yourself over.”

I would argue otherwise. “He hurt my baby sister.”

“Maybe keep them nearby, and easy to change into if the occasion arises.” Clint was a real friend.

“You always steer me right.” As we said goodbyes and hung up, I couldn’t ignore the thought that Clint was more than a friend, and had been for a while. And I liked that feeling.

I finished getting ready for the day, including a pair of ballet flats that were easily replaced with more threatening footwear if needed, and headed down to my store shortly before opening time.

I was straightening displays and making little tweaks, while my opening girl prepared the register, when someone knocked on the glass. The sound startled me, and my mind wanted to go to negative places, but it was Rohde.

I let him in and locked the door behind him. He tugged me to the edge of the main floor, away from the employee. Not that anything we said up here would be private.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Thought you should know we had to let Peter out this morning, but we were specific about making sure he left town.”

The phrase struck me as amusing, even though there was nothing funny about it. “As in, y’all better git, pardner,” I said in a horrible old west accent.

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