Page 16 of The Charm of You

“Thank you for your permission,” I grumble.

And thank my lucky fucking stars, the infuriating woman skips toward the exit, and I can finally get back to work.

“Oh! I almost forgot.”

Shit. So damn close.

Addie spins back around, and her dark auburn hair flies over her shoulder. She pins me under her frowning eyes as she asks, “What happened between you and Keely?”

I grind my teeth so hard it’s like I’m chewing on rocks.

“At hot yoga this morning, Maren told me she heard from Tonya at work that Keely was spotted leaving Tanner Thomas’s house late last night, and then my mother’s neighbor saw Tanner at the grocery store, where?—”

“For fuck’s sake, if this town worked as diligently and quickly at nurturing something more productive than its gossip mill, we’d solve issues of wildfires and droughts. Hell, we’d be kings of the damn universe by now.”

“That’s why you’re lashing out today—Keely broke up with you again. As if that’s not bad enough, Caroline didn’t recognize you, and now you’re extra grumpy. So, I forgive you for your piss-poor attitude, Ragey McGee.”

“I’m not a cartoon.”

“You’re acting like one.” She purses her lips.

“Keely will be back. She always comes back,” I clip, even though I don’t really believe it.

“Of course. What is there to resist from the great Austin Kyle? He’s curt, prickly, and oh yes—extra grumpy. It’s a mystery why Keely ever broke up with you at all,” she says, and her tone reeks of sarcasm worse than this garage reeks of oil. “Let me guess. She broke up with you because you’re too close with your mother.”

“Why would you say that?”

“It’s true, isn’t it? That’s what she said, right?”

“She might’ve mentioned her, but she was way off base.” I shake my head. “Besides, women like when guys are close with their mother.”

“They do, but not when their mother always, always, always come first like yours. You run any time she calls. A couple of months ago, you almost took out a gas pump because she called while you were filling up, you forgot the pump was still in your car, and you tried to drive away.”

“She had an emergency,” I bite out.

“She was out of sugar for her sweet tea. It was hardly a life-or-death emergency, Austin.”

My blood boils near the surface of my skin, and tiny stings of annoyance prick my neck.

“I know you’ve both been through a lot,” she says solemnly. The shadow over her expression quickly breaks, though. “Some women just don’t get it, and it can be as off-putting as the smell you sometimes take home from this garage.”

A snarky remark rolls to the tip of my tongue, but instead of voicing it, I stupidly blurt, “Keely says I’m emotionally unavailable. Why the hell would she say that?”

“Because that’s totally accurate.” Addie laughs much like Keely did the other day when I expressed shock and disbelief, and it pisses me off yet again. Why do I ever open up to her?

Oh, right. Because Addie Lockhart is the most loyal and kind and patient person I know. Such a friend comes in handy when I’m this curt, prickly, and grumpy, which is ninety-five percent of my life. She forgives my “piss-poor attitude” without much groveling or too many apology coffees on my part.

“Austin,” she says more softly, sympathy radiating off her in waves as she walks toward me again. “You never got personal or intimate with Keely. No birthday or Christmas gifts. No long talks until the sun rose. Then there was also the time she told you her fish died, and you gave her a coupon to buy another one. Where did you even find a coupon for a fish? I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

“It was a nice thing to do,” I grind out.

“I’m beginning to think you don’t know what nice means.”

We’re sure as hell saying nice a lot this afternoon. It’s starting to lose its meaning, if I ever comprehended it in the first place. Judging from this conversation, I’m inclined to believe Addie’s right, and I’ve never grasped the sentiment.

“What was I supposed to do? Organize a funeral for a fish? That’s ridiculous.” I throw my hands up.

“To Keely, it was a big deal. She’d had the pet for almost ten years, and you didn’t even offer her a hug.” Addie tightens her lips into a frown, and her eyes further droop in the corners. “A little sympathy goes a long way.”

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