Page 24 of Drifting Hearts
“Well, it wasn’t a cake.”
Clayton blinked at me. “Two in a row. I’m impressed.”
I fell into step next to him and we headed for the restaurant. “I’d go for three, but I wouldn’t want to hurt myself.”
Clayton smiled and shook his head. “Have you been funny this whole time?”
“It comes and goes. Mostly I think I’m a grumpy old man trapped in a younger, hotter body.”Hotter body? Where did that come from?
Though I tried not to look at Clayton for his reaction, I didn’t miss the slash of color that had risen in his cheeks. It was nothing, I told myself. It was exertion from the long walk into the restaurant. It definitely wasn’t Clayton and me flirting. And he absolutely was not interested in me. And I wasn’t interested in him. I was just… invested in the outcome of his current situation because I’d been forced to care.
That tasted like the lie it was.
I cared about Clayton despite my intentions not to. Over the past weeks, I’d somehow let go of my original animosity. Instead of a thieving, money-grubbing, gambling addict, I saw a man who was lost. According to my mom, Clayton had practically broken out in hives when he’d asked for bus fare. That either made him a brilliant con man, or he was hell bent on changing.
We found a seat in the busy restaurant. The waitress took our drink order and both Clayton and I decided to get the special of the day. Our earlier flirting, if that’s what it had been, fizzled out and I couldn’t decide if I was glad or disappointed. It was probably for the best. Nothing could happen between us. Not only was he not in a position to be seeing anyone, but Shane would chop my nuts off if I slept with the enemy. Because while my feelings toward Clayton had softened, Shane’s hadn’t.
It was understandable, to a point, that Shane would harbor ill will for Clayton, even though their interactions had been minimal. He was deeply in love with Archer and willing to do whatever it took to make him happy. And apparently that included helping out Archer’s former best friend, even if Shane hated him.
“So the cast comes off next week,” Clayton said as he picked at the last few bites of his food.
“You don’t look happy about that.”
He shrugged. “I keep having dreams that my hand doesn’t work.”
“I’m sure it will be fine. Has the doctor given any indication about the use of your hand after?”
“They say it should be fine, but because my arm took longer to heal than my leg, I guess I’m nervous about it.” Clayton pushed his empty plate to the side and grabbed his iced tea. “Sorry, I should save this for my therapist.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He met my gaze with a furrowed brow. “Do what?”
“Treat yourself like a burden. It’s okay if you want to talk to me about stuff.”
Clayton took a slow sip of his drink. It was easy to see the skepticism in his eyes and the way he held himself like he was waiting for the ax to fall. It was the same look he’d had for weeks. Ever since I met him, he’d walked on eggshells. Until earlier when we’d been joking around. That was the most relaxed and open I’d seen him.
Secretly hoping for more of that man instead of the wary, downtrodden one sitting across from me, I paid for the food. Digging my keys out of my pocket, we left the restaurant and headed around the side of the building.
“Um, Kieran? Where’s the truck?”
Scanning the parking lot, my stomach dropped.
“I —” I looked around again, turning in a slow circle as if I’d somehow missed the sight of my own truck or walked past it somehow. “I parked right there.”
There was no truck around the side of the building. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Someone stole my truck. While we were fucking eating.”
“They probably wanted that birdbath.” Clayton winced. “Sorry, that was stupid.”
“I hope they drop it on their feet.” I pulled my phone out and called the cops after a quick google search gave me the non-emergency line. Despite the fact that I really loved my truck, it was hardly worth a call to 9-1-1.
I paced around the parking lot while I waited for the cops to arrive. Clayton made me call my mom and tell her what happened so she wouldn’t worry when we didn’t arrive backhome on time.
By the time the officer took my statement and a description of my truck, I was in no mood to figure out how I was going to get us home and I could tell that Clayton’s energy was flagging.
“Where’s the nearest hotel?” I asked the officer, a young guy who looked like he’d been dropped in this little town fresh out of the academy.
“There’s one just around the corner. It might be pretty full up, though. The garlic festival starts tomorrow and folks come from all over.”
