Page 20 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

“I know. I’ll stop by to see her before I go to the Garden.” I cut open the next box.

“Staying mad isn’t going to fix anything, son.”

“I’m not mad, Dad.” I pull more mouse traps from the box and stack them on the furthest shelf from Dad.

“Then what would you call barely speaking to Zach and not coming to Sunday dinners when he’s there?” Dad lets me keep my distance, but he speaks in a tone soft enough that I have to stop my work to hear him. “Is hurt a better word?”

Ouch. I definitely don’t want to call it that, even if hearing the word unearths the pain wedged in the narrow space between my ribs and my heart.

“Ok. I’m mad.” I inch my way back to the crate close to Dad and dig through it for other items to shelve. “I’ll get over it. I just need time. But I’m working on it.” It’s only been four months.

Dad gives me a quick nod. “Glad to hear it.” Then he walks down the aisle to me and squeezes my shoulder. I let my eyes drift from the crate to his face. “Might help to talk about it. Mom can still listen.”

I return Dad’s nod and look away. Quickly enough that I hope he doesn’t see me swallow hard. Fortunately, a knock on the front entrance doors is enough to pull our attention from tough things to necessary things. I glance at my watch and see it’s opening time.

“I’ll get it. I better head out and relieve Bear.” He pats my back, then walks toward the door.

I go to the front counter. The click of the lock signals my day has begun, and I’m grateful for it. A body in motion doesn’t have time to think about why things have to move so fast. Why they have to change so quickly.

I’m tying the apron around my waist when I hear a familiar voice talking to Dad.

“Hi there. I’m Evelyn.” Evie’s cheerful voice needles me almost as much as her running faster than me does. She probably needs groceries, but does she have to beeverywhere?

“Evie!” Dad grabs her hand in both of his, enveloping it all the way to her wrist. “So great to meet you finally. My son’s told me all about you.” Dad shifts just enough for Evie to look around his broad shoulders and smile at me.

“Oh. Hi,” she says. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Is there anywhere you don’t work?”

I try to think of a clever answer, but I’m locked in her smile. “Only here, the restaurant, and the occasional construction job,” I mumble. “Sometimes Britta’s too.”

“Is that all?” Her mouth twitches.

I see the same humor in the situation she does. She hasn’t been here twenty-four hours, and I’ve been everywhere she’s shown up. Three jobs is a lot, except in a town whose population doubles during the summer. I’m tempted to laugh. I feel a piece of the anger I’ve stored for the past few months struggling to slip away. But I don’t think I’m ready to let it go.

So, I hold back my smile. Which possibly comes out as… a scowl? I can’t be sure. The only evidence I have is the line that forms between Evie’s brows and the way her smile wobbles for half a second. Like I’ve thrown her off balance.

“Do you need something?” I clear my throat. There’s a weird scratchy feeling there that could be mistaken for satisfaction that Evie needs something from me.

She gently slides her hand from Dad’s. “Well, groceries for one. But I also need antlers.”

“Antlers?” Dad and I say at the same time, which makes her perma-smile grow even bigger.

“Yes, antlers.” She answers both of us but strides toward me.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Dad grins behind Evie and makes everything worse by topping it off with a wink.

He should know if he’s got any ideas cooking about Evie and me, I will only dig in more. Not interested. No matter what her crisp scent—is it cinnamon? I think it’s some mixture with cinnamon—is trying to do to my pulse.

“How are antlers going to help you renovate Grandma Rose’s?” I’m intrigued, not just by her smile. But she doesn’t need to know that, so I turn my back to her and bend down to straighten the candy that hasn’t been touched since Zach stole his chocolate bar.

“I’ve got an idea.” The brightness in her voice lures my eyes back to hers. “Do you have any? Your sign says I can get anything here.”

She scans the store, like maybe we have an aisle or end cap of deer antlers.

We don’t, FYI. “Don’t take that slogan too literally. We are very generous with the term ‘anything’.”

“Oh.” Her face falls for a millisecond before she returns to her regular happy self. “Do you know where I can find some?”

I wipe my hands on my apron. For some reason, they’ve decided to act like it’s a balmy ninety degrees outside. “You want to buy them, or you want to find an antler shed? Finding an antler shed means finding a deer habitat.”

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