Page 35 of A Not So Merry Rescue
It’s never quite worked out in my favor.
Perhaps this is the time it does.
Though it’s not looking good.
Everyone and their mother are shopping at the local grocer. It takes triple the time to get the few things on our list because everyone stops to ask how the decorations are coming for the parade, if there are enough volunteers for the holiday breakfast, if there’s enough food donated. You’d think I was in charge or something.
Oh, right. I kinda am.
August Myers, the man who owns the local stables, stops us in the bread aisle. “Beck, still need the horses for the parade?” A hopefulness hides in his voice.
He asks me every time I run into him in town, which is fairly often. I give him the same answer I’ve given him the last several occurrences. “We’re good this year, August.”
His expression falters, as if hearing the news for the first time. “Ah, okay. Maybe next year.” Removing his cowboy hat, he runs a hand through his thinning, white hair. “See you around.” He shuffles away from us, the frayed edges of his dirty overalls dragging along the floor.
Maybe he’s going senile, but we haven’t had live animals in the parade in several years.
In the produce section, we’re accosted by Krystal Farnham. Decked out in holiday gear, including a light up sweater peeking from her unzipped jacket, she’s all smiles. Owner of the candy shop, she graduated high school with Autumn.
“Hello, Beck.” Her voice is jolly but not flirtatious. “Got a new recipe for the parade. Think you’re going to love it.” Her hand reaches out to touch my arm, but with a glimpse at Willa, she pulls it back.
“Hope it’s something chocolate.”
From beside me, Willa snickers. When I glance at her, her attention is on the tomatoes, holding one in each hand, weighing them for something to do.
“You know it,” Krystal asserts. “Pop by early on Tuesday and I’ll sneak you a taste.”
“I’ll do my best.” I flash her a smile, sans dimple, and bring my focus to Willa, hoping she takes the hint and continues on her way. Thankfully, she does.
After our third invasion, Willa had enough. She texted me her list and stomped out of the produce aisle. I couldn’t see where she went, but her feelings were adamant.
I do the best I can to hurry it along while also balancing my neighbors’ desires to stall me. Everyone’s excited about the festivities that begin in two days, their enthusiasm off the charts this year.
I’m trying not to let her bad mood pull me down, but my body’s conflicted between making her happy and my happiness.
Never in my life has a woman wound me up so tightly, had so much sway over the decisions I make, even when she didn’t ask for the control. It’s unfamiliar, and I don’t know what to do with it. The fact it’s been two days and she’s still a virtual stranger heightens the stakes.
After what seems like a full day on the job, I walk out of the store, shocked to find Willa huddled on a bench. Her thighs are pulled against her chest, my hoodie wrapped around her curled body.
I’ve never been so jealous of a hoodie.
I approach cautiously, not wanting to scare her. “Hey. Sorry about that.” She picks up her head and wipes tears from her eyes. Gone is the anger, replaced by sorrow. “What’s wrong?”
She unfolds her body, shakes her head, and laughs nervously, swiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “Not here.”
An anxious feeling sweeps through me, the kind I used to get before a big test at school. I want her to turn over her heavy burdens, let me carry them for a little while. Even if I don’t know what those burdens are. But first, I ask, “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
A wave of relief floods me that she’s not in physical pain. Something made her cry. Something caused her to go from anger to sadness.
And I won’t stop until I know why. I don’t want to cause her tears, even if unintentional.
As the youngest of four, pushing and testing limits is my specialty. However, with women—more so, those I feel a connection with—I’ve learned the hard way to back off, that pushing them to the brink only results in hardship for me.
“Let’s go.”
She stands up, and I can’t stop my arms from embracing her. There’s a moment of hesitation on her part, but when she gives in, she completely melts against me. A joltshoots to my core. Whatever she’s feeling balls up tight in her, and strangely, I want her to give me whatever she’s holding. I want to carry it for her, to take it off her plate and do the heavy lifting. It’s a heady thought, something that should scare the shit out of me, but the feeling of terror never comes. What comes through is peace, rightness, clarity.
