Page 28 of Beautiful Thing

She’s obviously got money—her hair has that extra, ‘rich girl’ shine to it, her running shoes look like some designer brand I’ve never even heard of, and if an asteroid ever wiped out the Earth, her wedding ring could serve as a small planet we could all repopulate—but beneath it all, she looks run down. And she seems starved for attention as she stares hopefully at me.

Dan throws his awestruck wife a glare and steps in front of her, human shield style. He folds his arms over his chest, lips downturned. “Well, I’m in finance. Mergers and acquisitions.Fortune 500 companies. Y’know?” he says to me. Like I give a fuck.

“Funny. I don’t remember asking,” I mutter, my eyes going to the little girl who is now trying to climb a shelf of insect traps.

Kathryn grabs hold of her daughter, scooping her off her feet.

“Anything I can help you with today?” I ask, more than ready for the whole lot of them to get the hell out of my store.

“We’re looking for faucets,” Kathryn says eagerly, struggling to keep a grasp on the little girl as she wiggles and kicks her feet in an attempt to get away.

It baffles me that Danstillhasn’t intervened to try and calm his children.

Instead, he’s puffing up his chest and mean-mugging me. “We just bought a second house out here in Starlight Falls. We already have a great place in New York. But it’s nice to return to the backwoods now and then. To relax. To run into old friends who earn a living changing lightbulbs at the hardware store.”

Friends?That’s rich. Dan Rochester is hardly a friend of mine.

The guy was always arrogant, condescending, uppity with nothing but his rich daddy’s money to validate his existence. And when he stole my girl, that was the straw that made me want to pound him into the ground.

I take a step into his personal space and his face blanches. “You have something against retail workers?” I grind my teeth, looming over him.

Together with my small team of hard-working employees, I proudly serve this town, providing them with essentials, day in and day out. So Dan Rochester can shove his elitist attitude and his silver spoon right on up his ass.

I can see that he hasn’t grown the hell up over the years. It’s absolutely wild to me that he’s so concerned with trying to havea pissing contest with me when his wife is practically drowning a few feet away.

I’m about to tell him just that when a ringing sound slices through the air. “Excuse me. That’s New York on the phone,” he announces self-importantly, stumbling backward with a tight grip on his device. “You wouldn’t understand, buddy. Nothing ever happens in lazy towns like this. But New York never takes a day off. Not even on the weekends. Bet you don’t know a thing about that.”

He chuckles to himself as he turns on his heel and strides toward a quiet corner of the store.

He throws his wife a scolding look over his shoulder, nodding his chin toward the stroller. “Keep them under control. I don’t want to hear all their racket. Especially when I’m on a work call.”

What a fuckface.My knuckles start itching. Nothing would make me happier than sending a fist through this dipshit’s teeth. But I won’t get my knuckles bloody—not for Kathryn’s sake.

In any case, he’s gone now.

Kathryn scowls, shooting eye daggers into his back as he walks away. “Asshole.”

The woman is clearly disgusted by the very existence of her husband.

Shaking it off, she turns to me with a shy smile. “How have you been, Archer? You own this place now? You look really good, by the way.” She rambles away, her eyes lingering on my beard.

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?You look good, too? Nice meeting your snot-faced little hellions? We should catch up over coffee sometime?

Fuck that.

My gaze sweeps over to Layla again. This time, she’s wearing a worried look I can’t quite decipher. She’s slipping her customer’s items into shopping bags and handing the woman her receipt as she hurriedly wraps up the transaction now.

I force my eyes to return to Kathryn. “What is it you said you were looking for?” I ask pointedly.

Her cheeks go red when I dismiss her attempt at making chitchat. “Oh, uh, fau-faucets.” She chuckles embarrassedly.

The moment Layla is finished dealing with her customer, she takes tentative steps in our direction, nervously dragging her palms down the front of her faded jeans.

“You need a hand with anything, boss?” Big brown eyes shine hesitantly at me. Like she’s not sure if she should intrude. She has no idea the instant sense of comfort I feel as she gets near.

“Do you mind helping this customer out?” I ask, eager to get away from my ex. “She—and her husband—are looking for faucets.”

Kathryn jolts slightly at the reminder that she made her choice all those years ago. She chose Dan—not me—and this miserable-looking relationship is her life now.

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