Page 6 of Faking It with my Billionaire Grump

“Oh, man. Is she okay?” Joey asks, now more concerned with my problems than his.

“I don’t know yet. Marty’s given her a shot to help with the pain, and he’s coming back tomorrow to see how she is. The leg’s not broken, but there’s tendon damage.”

“Is that worse?” Joey asks.

“We’ll have to wait and see. She might need several months of rest.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Joey says. “That sucks.”

“It does, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed for good news.”

“Ever the optimist, huh?”

I chuckle. But he’s not wrong. I’ve always been a bit like that. My Dad was the same, so it makes sense that I picked up my glass-half-full point of view from him. I mean, if you can’t control it, what’s the point of worrying about it, right?

“Listen, I’ve got to run. Elsa needs food, and I could do with some myself, so I need to head into town. But give Sheila a hug from me and tell her congratulations.”

“I will. I’ll see you later.”

Heading to the truck, I open the passenger door. Elsa comes everywhere with me. She jumps inside with the agility of a typical active dog. When I slide into the driver’s side, she’s already got her head out of the window, raring to go.

“Alright, pup,” I say, rubbing my hand against the soft fur of her back. “Let’s go.”

I’m fifteen minutes out of the main town, and when I get to the parking lot, Elsa gives me a longing look. “Not this time. You stay and mind the truck.”

Once inside with my cart—I hate the darn things, but as big as my arms are, I can’t carry everything—I wave to Mrs. Windrow, who’s busy serving another customer, but that doesn’t stop her from hollering at me.

“Hey, Jake.”

Ten minutes later, I’ve picked up all the groceries I came in for, with a few extras for Elsa. I’m making my way back to the register when someone comes flying around the corner and crashes into my cart.

“Oh, I’m so—” But she stops short when our eyes meet.

Her eyes fly wide, and my jaw falls open as I gape at the last person I expected to see. Tilly Collins, the woman who left her mark so many years ago, is standing there, and for what is likely the first time in her life, she happens to be speechless. I certainly don’t remember her that way.

The shock doesn’t leave me, but I recover quicker than she does.

“Are the aisles bigger in New York?” I snarl. “Or are you just a bad driver, period?”

“I’m not Superman,” she snaps back. “I can’t see around corners.”

“Well, in this town, we have more consideration for each other,” I retort. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

I’m gripping the handle of my cart so tight that my knuckles are white, and though I should really just turn and walk away, I can’t help myself.

But Tilly was never one for backing down. “I know all about this small town. I was here for twenty long, boring years.”

“If the city’s so exciting, then maybe you should head right back to it.”

I yank my cart to the left and push past her. If I don’t get out of here soon, there’s going to be a brawl, and we already had one of those ten years ago.

“I’m not staying,” she calls as I round the corner.

Good. I couldn’t be happier to hear it.

3

Tilly

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