Page 92 of Collided

“Good. Because you’ve got orders to mail.”

A beautiful smile takes over her face and erases every ounce of sadness from earlier.

Good. This is better.

“Really?” she chirps.

“I don’t lie, Hope.”

“Do you know how many?” She jumps off the hood excitedly.

“I didn’t check.” I most definitely did.But the way she’s excited to see it for herself isn’t something I want to steal away. It’s her moment and she deserves to have it.

“Can I have your phone, please?”

I hand it to her and watch as her brown eyes fill with light.

I'm certain I’ve never seen someone look this utterly beautiful when they’re happy.

Fuck. I want to see this look on her a thousand times more.

“Heath, look at this.” She comes to my side and scrolls the screen. “There’s fifteen of them. I got fifteen orders. That’s the highest I’ve ever gotten. Can you believe that?”

My eyes don’t steer away from her eyes. I’m afraid that if I look away I’ll miss this pure joy that sparks in them.

This rare sight steals my breath away. I’m breathless over this pretty girl.

“We’ve got work to do.” To distract myself I breathe some air that isn’t lavender scented, and it bothers me.

For fuck’s sake.

“This is so good. I can’t believe it.” With a bounce to her feet, she slips inside my car as I open the door for her.

I linger, watching how she replies to everyone with a smile. The quiet organ in my chest beats crazily. It’s like she gave life to it.

I clench and unclench my fist to get rid of the tension coiling around my body. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I just agreed to be friends with her. I can’t feel like this.

Get a fucking grip.

Shutting down whateverI’m feeling, I get behind the wheel and start the engine.

Hope looks at me frantically. “Wait! Don’t drive. Let me make the packages so we can mail them at the post office.”

“We could do that at my house.” Derek would be on my ass and call Dad.

“Wouldn’t your parents ask questions?” she asks slowly.

“They would ask questionsifthey lived with me, which they don’t,” I reveal more than I was fucking supposed to.

“Oh.” She picks up her bag and retrieves the bracelets, brown paper, and twines. No wonder she’s doing magic on me. She uses twines for fuck’s sake.

“Do you need my help?” I ask, only because I’m bored, not because I have any intention of lending a helping hand.

I don’t help people.

But you help her.

I want to punch my inner voice after hearing that.

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