Page 10 of Hemlock

"What?" I ask when he doesn't speak.

His eyes narrow, and I realize almost immediately that he's just as distracted, clearly already having forgotten that he asked for help in the first place.

"What can I help you with?" I ask, giving him a bright, customer service smile.

"With these."

He opens his palm, the hand opposite of the one he touched me with, and I see the little soap stones I'd already forgotten about.

"They say two ninety-nine," I say, glancing at the sign. "Have a good day."

"Wait," he snaps before I can turn away. "They're for my umm… nephew. I don't know what he likes."

"You should contact his parents."

I watch as he chews the inside of his cheek, his brows furrowing deeper before he speaks. "I want it to be a surprise."

"How old is he?"

"Why does that matter?" he snaps.

I raise both of my eyebrows, tilting my head at his annoyance.

"If he's young, then those might be a choking hazard," I explain, wondering if he also had trouble parking and is as equally annoyed as I was when I first got here.

"Oh," he says, as if he never considered such a thing. "He's umm... eight?"

"Are you asking me?"

He blinks slowly as if he doesn't understand the challenge. I feel my cheek twitch, wondering if I'll ever get to see that dimple of his in its full glory. It's probably better if I don't because I know it'll be devastating. It's already difficult to stand here, jealous over how thick his eyelashes are. What I thought were dark brown irises actually have hints of hazel and green in them, making his eyes seems like a galaxy worth of depth.

"He might be nine," he answers. "I’m not sure."

"I don't have much experience with kids, but I've seen a bunch of little boy clothes at my last job with dinosaurs on them." I look down at the three figures in his palm. "But they also have loads of animals, so either one of those should probably be fine."

"Thanks," he says, curling his fingers around the elephant, whale, and dog bone in his hand, and then, like a weirdo, he turns and walks soundlessly toward the register.

Usually, I'm a woman capable of taking a hint, but other than the bar, this is the most social I've been. Well, other than small talk with the cashier at the tiny grocery store near my house. Despite his lack of social skills, I sort of enjoy that rugged, pissed-off edge to him.

I wait off to the side as he purchases the figures for his nephew, hating the way the cashier flips him off behind his back when he walks away.

I glare at the kid until he looks rightfully ashamed of himself, but this gives Owen time to walk right past me.

"Owen," I say when he's halfway to the door, repeating the call of his name a second time, yet it still doesn't make him turn around to face me.

Insulted, I follow him to his bike.

He doesn't seem pissed to see me standing there, but I do get the feeling that my presence stresses him out some.

"Do you have plans today?" I ask. "Other than buying those soap stones?"

"No," he says, offering nothing else.

The silence between us is filled with the traffic on the main road that splits Pigeon Forge's most popular activity destination down the middle.

When he doesn't speak, my smile grows even wider, his attention dropping to my mouth. I have to clear my throat twice before I find the ability to speak.

"Maybe we can grab some lunch or something," I offer, finding myself growing nervous as his attention stays on my mouth.

---