Page 22 of Castaway Whirlwind
I have the boutique’s door open a hair when Russell pokes his head through his window, stopping me from going inside. “Are you off at ten again?”
I nod, tension coiling my muscles.
“I’ll be here.”
I knew it. I try to smile. “That’s ok. I can catch a ride home with one of my coworkers.” I wave him off, my anxiety multiplying at his grumpy expression, his lips pressed in a thin line. The only thing worse than taking advantage of him—a near daily occurrence—is how unhappy he is that I don’twantto take advantage of him, so no matter what I do, I feel guilty.
Three years of this, and it still doesn’t make sense to me. I’m beginning to lose hope that it ever will.
* * *
A man with a soft voice laced with concern speaks up from behind me. “Why are you still here? You should have left an hour ago.”
I scream in the middle of throwing the black garbage bag in the dumpster behind the boutique. It snags on the sharp corner, tearing the bag open, half the trimmed fabric and cardboard coffee cups skittering across the concrete in the wind.
I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees to catch my breath after nearly having the piss scared out of me. “Why areyouhere?”
Russell crosses his arms, eyes narrowed slightly, zipping all over me. “I knew you were lying about getting a ride home.” He clicks his tongue with disapproval.
I straighten, crossing my arms, too, because it’s cold outhere as the wind picks up, whipping down the alley behind the small strip mall.
“I didn’t lie,” I say through chattering teeth, shivering. “Mrs. Larsen said she would pay me to do a deep clean after closing, and I didn’t want to ask anyone to wait for me.” I shift sideways, tilting my head. “But really, why are you here, Russell?”
He grunts instead of answering and points to the back door of the boutique, which I’ve left propped open with a loose brick. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up.”
Once inside, Russell double-checks that the door is locked behind us, then follows me around as I collect and store the cleaning supplies. From the stockroom to the employee break area, the dressing rooms, and finally the front, he’s on my heels like a shadow.
He eyes me when I set the alarm, then lock the front door, his passenger side door already open and waiting for me before I’ve dropped the key in my tote bag. We’ve made it halfway to my apartment, with me twisting the handles of my bag on my lap before he finally speaks. “How were you planning to get home, then?”
I drop my head back, dreading the impending well-intentioned lecture.
“You were going to walk, weren’t you? Eleven o’clock at night, and you were going to walk all the way home in the dark, by yourself, in the cold, when you’re already feeling unwell?”
“Please don’t make it a big deal.”
“Your safetyisa big deal. Definitely more important than inconveniencing anyone for a ride, which is how I know you see it. Don’t give me that look,” he says sharply.
We’re stopped at one of the few traffic lights in town, not a single other car on the road, and Ifix my faceas my dad would say, wiping theoh, pleaseexpression off of it. The only sin worse than being lazy is being disrespectful to my elders.
Russell taps his fingers on his steering wheel with agitation while we wait for the light to turn green. “We need to have a serious talk about why you have such a visceral negative reaction to someone doing anything nice for you, darlin’.”
The endearment warms me more than the heat in the vents directed at me, my body relaxing into the leather seat, sleep tugging at my consciousness. “Please, Russell. I’m too tired to do this right now.”
“Exactly my point,” he says beneath his breath before dropping the subject.
* * *
“Layla.”
I jerk awake at Russell’s low whisper of my name, his fingers in my hair, combing it back from my face. For the second time today, I’ve woken up in bed after Russell has carried me inside. The beep of the microwave draws my attention away from his handsome face cast in dark shadows, the only light on in the apartment coming from the one switched on over the stove.
When I look back at Russell, ready to apologize for falling asleep in his truck, I find him rustling through my dresser. He goes to the microwave, then returns to my side, placing my heated rice pad and one of my folded nightgowns beside me.
It feels like hours have passed while we look each other in the eye before he finally breaks the silence. “I’ll pick you up in the morning to drive you to the diner if you don’t calloff.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.” Then, as if in slow motion, he bends and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin for so long that I close my eyes with pleasure, lifting my chin, wishing he would kiss me somewhere else. I love it so much that I reach up to cup his jaw, dragging my fingers through his beard.
