Page 21 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

“Deerkeep their antlers in sheds?” She’s not convinced, and she shouldn’t be because she’s totally misunderstood me. But then she goes on in a voice laced with sarcasm. “Are these big sheds? Or more like one of those vinyl things you can buy at big box hardware stores?”

Everyone knows deer shed their antlers. Obviously, that’s what an antler shed is, so I don’t know how to take her snarky comment, other than to return it with some of my own.

“Somepeoplekeep antlers in sheds. I don’t, but there are people who do. I can show you how to Google them and you can buy as many antlers as you want. If you want your own shed to keep them in, I can special-order one.” I turn so she doesn’t see the smile fighting to get out. Only a city girl would think an antler shed is a storage room rather than where deer shed their antlers, and I didn’t think she was thatcity.

But...

I think we might be sparring, just like in my romance books. And I think I like it.

Then Evie steps in front of me with an expression that makes me doubt she’s feels the same about our back and forth.

“So, you think it’s funny to treat me like I’m naïve enough to believe deer keep their antlers in some kind of storage place?” Her voice has an edge to it. A soft edge, like she’s learned how to cushion words to keep them from being sharp.

“Iknowdeer don’t wake up in the morning, scamper to their sheds,” she walks her fingers through the air as she says this, “and pick out which antlers they’re going to wear that day. Like Moira Rose and her wigs.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “I don’t know who this Moira person is or what she does with her wigs, but I didn’t mean—”

“—Wait.” Her hand goes up, and the fingers I was just watching are now inches from my chest. “You don’t know who Moira Rose is? From Schitt’s Creek?”

“Do I look like someone who’d go somewhere called…” I don’t curse in front of ladies, so I wave my hand like I might conjure up a word I can use. “Fill-in-the-blank Creek?”

The corner of her mouth twitches, her eyes narrow, and I see the feisty side I suspected she might be hiding under all that smiling. “No. You look like a guy who’s so comfortable in Paradise, he has no idea what’s happening outside this valley, despite knowing how to…” she makes air quotes. “Google things.” Her blue-painted nails match her eyes and her hair.

She takes a breath, and it’s like a curtain comes down. Show’s over. When it rises again, sweet Evie is back, smiling brightly. “I don’t want a whole shed full of antlers, just a few. Is there someone local you know who has an antler shed? I’d like to pick exactly which ones I want.”

I shake my head as much to answer her question as to shake some sense back into myself. I’m thinking the little crinkles at the edge of her eyes are cute, and I’m not comfortable with that thought.

“If you really want to pick out your own antlers, find a deer habitat and maybe you’ll find an antler shed. It’s not a storage space; it’s what deer do every year when they’re ready to grow new antlers. They shedthe old ones,” I explain. Slowly, so there’s no misunderstanding this time. “You have to hunt for them, though, because deer don’t send a text or something telling you where they’ve left them. It’s called shed hunting.”

That should more than answer her question, and if I stay here much longer, I’ll offer to search the world over and find her the perfect antlers. That’s what the hero in a romance novel would do. Make a grand gesture.

But I’m no hero. I’m just a guy, standing in front of a girl, trying not to make a fool of myself. And it’s probably already too late for that. So, I walk back to the crates Dad and I were unboxing.

“Got it. Thanks. Super helpful,” she calls after me in a way that feels less like sparring and more like I’ve made a giant ass of myself.

Still, a sliver of disappointment tries to wedge itself under my skin when she doesn’t follow me. But a Johnny Cash song plays over the speakers, making everything okay. I sing along to it while putting items on the lowest shelf, doing my very best to forget Evie.

It doesn’t work. Ten minutes later, when I finish shelving stuff, she’s right behind me. Her cart full of fruit snacks, goldfish, and children’s cereals makes it hard to take her serious expression, well... seriously.

“Sorry to bother you again, but can you call someone to check me out?” Her face colors as she realizes the double meaning of her words.

“Sure.” I force my eyes not to leave hers, even though they’re burning to do exactly what she requested and check her out.

Evie turns on her heel and pushes her cart to the checkout stand.

Except, I’m the only person in the store who can ring up her groceries. When I step behind the register, her shoulders slump, and she lets out a long sigh.

“Really?” Exasperation is as cute on her as confusion. “There’s not one other person in the store who can do this? You don’t have a self-check-out or something?”

“Yeah.” My traitor lip twitches. “We keep the extra help and self-check-out stations in the shed with the antlers.” I’m in the fight of my life with the laugh trying to escape, especially when I see the smile she’s wrestling.

I finish checking her out—in every sense of the word—then drop her grocery bags into her cart. “Enjoy your Fruity Pebbles.”

“I will,” she says with a smirk. “Thanks for your ‘help’.” There’s the air quotes and blue fingernails again. “Now, I promise not to bother youfor real.”

I almost shoot backgood,as she walks out the door, but my words fail me. Maybe because I’m an expert at being unintentionally rude, but I’ve never been much good at lying.

And I’m not sure I don’t want Evie bothering me anymore.

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