Page 32 of Win Some Love Some
“Well, as soon as we dock you need to take me into town, I’m going to find myself a job.”
Nick’s eyes were so sympathetic they bordered on pitying. In fact, the longer I looked at him the worse it got. He touched my shoulder and I shook it off.
“I don’t need your pity, Nick.”
“It’s not pity. You’re too tough for that. Look, you had shit go down in Paris. It doesn’t mean you have to suddenly change your whole life.”
“Actually, it kind of does. I need to re-invent myself. Leave Old Nora behind and embrace New Nora. New Nora gets her hands dirty. New Nora doesn’t take short cuts. New Nora doesn’t rely on things like charm and a nice smile to get ahead. New Nora doesn’t need everyone in the world to like her. New Nora doesn’t give a shit.”
“New Nora sounds badass,” Nick chuckled.
“You laugh now, but you’ll see.”
Dad pulled the boat into his slip and cut the engine. Nick hopped off and reached his hand out for me. It was musclememory more than anything else that had me wrapping my fingers around his. His grip was strong, steady and what I used to think was the most reliable thing on earth.
Rene always wanted to hold my hand. Like he was almost weird about it. The second we got up from a table, or got out of a car, he was reaching for me. I told myself it was nice. A kind of old-world charm. But now I realized it was performative. And controlling.
It never felt safe. Or secure.
It never felt like Nick.
His hand was warm and big and thick with callouses and old scars. It was the kind of hand that could reach into a fire. Catch a ball without a glove. The kind of hand like my father’s.
A hand that would keep a woman safe.
Stop it, I told myself. This was the danger of being friends with him again, it was like my girlish infatuation was just waiting for me to let down my guard.
I pulled my hand away and he resisted.
“What are you doing?” I whispered. Aware of my dad watching us, he dropped my hand like it was burning.
“Nothing,” he said, rubbing his hand against his jeans like he was trying to wipe something off. “I can take you into town. If that’s what you’re set on,” he said.
I nodded. “I’m getting a job if I have to knock on the door of every business in town.”
“I knockedon the door of every business in town,” I told Mom and Dad later that night. Will and Bethany were already in bed. I was sprawled out on the couch between my parents, who hadbeen watching some Netflix documentary, but were now focused on my drama.
Again.
I sucked.
Also, I was exhausted from both job hunting and having to catch the entire town up with my life.
Every conversation today started the same way. A small wince. A hand squeeze.Are you okay, honey? Did he really take everything? How did you not know?
I loved my hometown. My hometown loved me. I knew their concern was born of genuine interest in my happiness and wellbeing. But having to smile, nod and dodge all those questions had been like walking over coals.
“Every business?” Dad asked. He was not a man for hyperbole.
“Mostly every business,” I admitted. “Petite III was closed. The summer crowd is gone. No one is ready to pick up extra workers until it’s closer to the holidays. Everyone wished me the best of luck. What am I going to do? I’m so broke.”
“You know there is always the Dumont-” Mom said.
“No,” I cut her off. “I’m not taking a charity job from Uncle Jackson. If I have any chance of reclaiming some pride, I have to figure out a way to do this on my own.”
“Nick needs help at the garage,” Dad said.
He didn’t say anything about that, which would indicate he didn’t think he needed help.
