Page 16 of There's No Us Without You
All I manage in response is some slow blinking, my mouth dropping open. Is he always this rude to his customers?
“Christ. Here.” With a sigh, Will pulls out a pen from the back pocket of his shorts and scrawls on a napkin before sliding it over to me. “If you change your mind, this is my number.” He stalks off with a shake of his head, snatching up the tray of glasses again while mumbling something under his breath.
I swear I catch the wordbrat,although I may be mistaken. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately.
When he disappears behind the other side of the mirrored shelves, it gives me a moment to breathe. My shoulders sag and I let all the air out of my lungs. I swallow hard as I stare at the number on the napkin.
My brain is screaming at me to do something reckless. To show Kent and my mother I don’t need them to survive.
This is what I wanted, right? A fresh start.
Looks like I’m going to make another stupid decision. But desperate times and all that...
“Maybe I can see it first,” I call out. “It might help me decide.”
The cash register on the other side slams shut, and I hold my breath until Will pops his head around the shelves, the hint of a smirk on his lips. It disappears just as quickly when he turns his attention to a tall redhead I hadn’t noticed until she slides up to the right of me and places a stack of coasters on the bar.
She smells like roses, her bright-red hair falling over her slender shoulder.
“April,” Will says, “can you look after the place until Tommy comes in?”
“Sure thing, boss.” She gives me a quick wink before replacing Will behind the bar.
Seconds later, he’s stalking past me, pulling my attention from April. “Let’s go.” He nods to the exit.
“What? Now?”
“You want to see it, don’t you?” He glances over his shoulder when he reaches the door. “So, move it.”
Jesus, he’s so bossy. And why do I like it?
I scramble from the stool, grabbing the handle of my suitcase as I do. “Yeah, I guess.”
My shorter legs struggle to keep up with Will’s longer ones as we head out to the carpark at the back of the building. By the time I catch up to him, I’m out of breath and sweating again.
Can he hear my heart racing? Because I certainly can.
When I’m standing by the passenger-side door of the car he indicated to, I close my eyes to stop the sun from blinding me. There’s only red behind my eyelids until a shadow crosses in front of my face, blocking out the light. When I open my eyes again, Will has all but caged me in against the side of his car, his warm breath fanning my face. My body shakes as he glares down at me, those eyes such a brighter blue in the sunlight—just like the ocean. I’m momentarily paralysed as I imagine what it would be like to swim inside them.
Will clears his throat and motions to the door.
“Right,” I say, stepping to the side. “Sorry.”
It’s a huge cliché, but if the ground could open up and swallow me right now, I’d be forever grateful.
While shaking his head, Will opens the passenger door for me, then pries the suitcase from my sweaty hand and places it onto the back seat.
At least he’s a chivalrous arsehole.
I climb into the car and sink into the soft leather. It burns the exposed skin on the back of my arms while the heat seeps through the rest of my clothing.
Note to self: don’t buy a car with leather seats.
Seconds pass before Will climbs into the driver’s seat, overwhelming me with his enticing cinnamon-like scent. My mouth waters as all the memories from my childhood rush back in.
It’s been four years since I’ve been in a kitchen that smells like cinnamon. Would it disappoint my dad that I haven’t been continuing our weekly ritual? Mum always hated Sundays in our house when my dad and I would spend most of the day baking, so when he died, so did Sunday.
At least for me, anyway.
