Page 35 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

Adam grunts a few times, but that’s it. Which is fine. I asked some personal questions. I don’t blame him for not wanting to answer them. He could have said so politely, but then, I shouldn’t have asked them. My mistake thinking we’d made some kind of connection just because of our very-hard-to-find antler discovery.

We pull up to the old Victorian-turned-condos, and Zach is quick to jump out of the truck. “I’ve got to run. Thanks for letting me tag along.” He waves to me, but his words are for Adam. They’re gentle and sincere, unlike the nod Adam gives him. There’s still an underlying tension between them.

Adam opens his tailgate and pulls the antlers from the back of the truck. They were too big for the backpack he took to put them in. He pulls that out after handing me the antlers.

“I forgot about the snacks I brought for us.” He tugs at the backpack’s zipper. “Are you hungry?”

Yes.But I answer by peeking into the backpack, then shrugging. “Not really.”

There’s chocolate in there, and it hurts to pretend I don’t want it. But if Adam feels bad about being rude, he can apologize with words, not food. Or both. I’d take both. But words come before food on my list of love languages.

Plus, there’s his whole thing about not wanting Paradise to change, which is exactly what I’m here to do. I’m done trying to make friends with Adam. It’s better to keep my distance from him than indulge in whatever gourmet foods he may have.

Probably. No matter what my stomach is trying to tell me.

Adam’s dog peeks out the big bay window in his condo and starts barking like crazy.

“Quiet, Rosie!” he yells, then hands me the whole backpack. “Here. Nothing is really open on Sundays. Save it for later when you’re hungry.”

My eyes dart between the antlers I’m holding in both hands, and Adam’s face goes red. “I’ll carry it to your door. Or do you want me to take the antlers?” He slings the pack over his shoulder and grabs the antlers. Rosie is still barking.

“I’m fine, really.”

He tugs, but I don’t let go.

“I don’t mind.” He tugs again. “I should have done it.”

I tighten my grip. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need your help.”

“Rosie!” he yells again. “Shut up!”

“She won’t listen. She doesn’t know how to shut up!” I give the antlers a good pull.

Adam narrows his eyes and jerks back.

We are in a tug-of-war over many-pointed antlers, and the pointiest tines (a term I learned from Adam) are at eye level. Rosie’s barking is the soundtrack of our stupid fight, and I know I’m being irrational. But I’m prepared to lose an eye before I lose this battle.

“Fine,” he growls and loosens his grip. “Do it yourself.”

“I will.”

He lets go and huffs away, but once he props the main door open, he walks up the stairs to my condo instead of his. He drops the backpack in front of my door, then stomps back down the stairs to his place. His hand is on the door handle. Rosie has disappeared from the window and her barking has turned to excited yelps. Adam lets out a groan and turns back to me.

“Look.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. My -ex is still a touchy subject for me.” His breath comes out in an angry cloud, but his eyes are full of hurt. “That’s not an excuse for being short with you.”

I shift the antlers to a more comfortable position laying in my arms. “No, but I shouldn’t have asked you personal questions. I’m sorry.” Adam’s eyes tempt me to get closer.

I walk up the stairs to my door instead. “Thanks for your help today," I call down to him. "And thanks for the food, but I’ll really be okay without it.” I nod toward the backpack at my feet.

Adam shakes his head. “I packed it for you. Enjoy.”

He’s inside before I can protest. Rosie stops barking, and I wrestle the antlers upstairs to my place, almost wishing we’d never gone searching for them. Until I set them down and kneel to really examine them.

At first glance, they’d looked like they were all one color. Up close, they are varying shades of brown and white. One side mirrors the other, and all the tines point up. I don’t know much about buck antlers, but I know enough to recognize this is an impressive rack. Ideas about what I can do with them are already flooding my brain. They are going to be a stunning addition to Grandma Rose’s.

And I wouldn’t have found them without Adam.

I push myself up from the floor and make my way to the shower. My clothes are covered in mud and other brown stuff that’s probably grosser than mud. I don’t want to think too much about that.

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