Page 41 of The Love You Hate
“I’m going rock climbing,” Ryan announces, checking his watch. “You guys finish the dough and call it a day.” Presley agrees, taking the task so seriously, she cuts our conversation short.
I tell her I’ll watch the counter and she agrees with a nod. We’re feet apart, but right now when she knows I’m lying about something it feels like oceans. Anger grows as I stew because she’s lying, too. Every single day about a multitude of things, and I don’t hold them against her. A few more regulars come in for their bread and as soon as Presley is done with the dough she hangs her apron up on the hook, grabs the keys off the wall and snatches her purse from a cabinet in the back. I’m drying my hands still when she blows out the front door and holds it open, waiting for me to get out so she can lock it.
“I have somewhere to be, Nate,” she calls as I fumble with my own apron and hit the main light switch. My jeans are dirty and my black tee is covered in flour fingerprints. “Let’s go.” I wasn’t planning on staying at the bakery, I just came to say hello to Presley, but then Gray was here, and Ryan left and it would be bad form to pop smoke on her while she’s by herself. My suitcase is in the passenger side of my truck, I haven’t even been home.
“I start at Spankies today. You told me not to work there until you got back, and here you are.”
“Woah, woah, woah. What’s going on here? Why are you acting like this? First you hugged me so hard it felt like you were trying to climb inside me and now you’re treating me like an employee or worse…”
“Who was that guy?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” You know what? While we’re doing this. “How did you get what my cousin needed? How was the damn medicine better than it’s ever been? How did you do that?”
The prideful air of her face dissipates a little when she realizes I’m using the same argument. “I don’t know,” she parrots back.
“Guess we both don’t know much, huh?” I retort. “I don’t want to argue with you, Presley. I missed you and God, seeing you has been the highlight of my day.” I exhale deeply. “Tell me you’re not serious about working at Spankies so you don’t turn it into a lowlight.”
“You know I’m serious about my bucket list,” Presley deadpans, lips in a thin line. “I missed you. But I know you’re right about being just friends. The secrets between us are too much. I can’t be with a person, even casually who isn’t fully honest.” I open my mouth to object, but she holds up her pointer finger. “And who I can’t be fully honest with either. I’m waving the white flag. Friendship is the most practical and I don’t want feelings to make things messy because I enjoy your company too much. I can’t live in Gold Hawke without having you.”
She’s finally coming full circle. Giving me the words I’ve been begging for, except now I don’t want them—wish she was still trying to annihilate my self-control. “Okay,” I reply, not meeting her eyes.
“Okay? That’s all you have to say? I’m giving in. Telling you you’ve been right all along and you’re just going to say okay?”
“Tell me what you want. Do you want me to argue with you? You saved my cousin’s life. I’m forever in debt to you. Whatever you want, you got it. Yes, okay is what I meant because you’re telling me that’s what you want.”
She licks her lips as her gaze darts everywhere except my face. “Okay,” she agrees. “I have to be at Spankies in two hours. The concern is me walking back to my car after my shift, correct?”
I want to scream that my concern is men who aren’t me ogling her naked body, but she just established boundaries and I’d be a fool to overstep. “Correct,” I say.
“Todd, the owner is only putting me on for a few hours so, if you want to swing by the back parking lot then, I’ll let you know how it went.”
“Sure thing.”
“Why are you being short with me?”
I swallow down the resentment. The jealousy. The pang of emotion that clogs my throat when I think of Presley Cohen. “I haven’t been home yet. I’m tired,” I explain. “Good luck tonight. I’m sure it will be… everything you want it to be.” I’m still not perfectly certain what that is. Voyeurism is one thing, but dancing mostly naked at Spankies is not that. “If I don’t see you tonight, know that I’m there making sure you don’t get mugged and I’ll see you in the bakery in the morning.”
“Just because I said I wanted a friendship doesn’t mean that it has to change between us. I like hanging out all the time.”
“Well, I can’t do that. That’s not how friendship works. How we were before wasn’t just friendship. Everyone saw it and made assumptions, Presley.” I clear my throat and try to rid myself of the guilt I feel by not giving her what she wants. “See you later.” She reaches into her back seat and hands me a tote bag. It has the laptop and the damn cell phone. I could tell her to keep those things, but that would be too friendly.
“See you later,” she pouts, getting into her Jeep, and driving off. This is why Charge Men shouldn’t engage in these types of games. I should have left Presley to her own devices, like I did Cecil, but I could have been more watchful. Then again, if I hadn’t gotten close to her, I’d be at Felix’s funeral right now. The world we live in is a fucked-up game of choices. I feel like I’m constantly making bad ones at every turn.
Driving home, I start to feel sorry for myself. I dump my suitcase into the small washing machine and add some soap in before heading out to the garden.Nothing died, I think, as I walk around and check for buds.Nobody died,I add. Happiness and relief should be coursing through my body instead of this existential dread. I sit down in the dirt next to the plants and put my head between my knees as I adjust the volume on my earpiece. It sounds like Presley is just walking into her house from the ruckus of bangs and slams echoing in my ears. She’s muttering something, but I can’t make out what. This is how it’s supposed to be. Her there, and me here in the shadows, watching over things, protecting. “He’s being such a jerk!” Presley hisses, and I settle in for a bitch fest. I’ve gotten used to hearing things I’m not supposed to, this is no different. “Why won’t he just kiss me? What is it about me that he can resist so easily? I’d do anything for him and yet he holds me at arm’s length.” My stomach turns and I feel nauseous. All her words in the parking lot were just for show. This is how she really feels, and I’m not sure if what that makes me feel is annoyed that she lied to my face again, or exasperated because we’re in the same spot we were before, except we’re lying even more. “What is wrong with me?”Nothing,I answer in my head. Everything is the matter with me. My job. My morals. My fucked-up code of ethics that don’t make sense unless you’re living them.
Standing, I traipse up to my house. I pull out her laptop and check the browsing history. All pole dancing shit. I cringe, pace away from the counter, then return. Nothing else in the history like I expected. She would have had to look up addresses or phone numbers or something to get in touch with the people who helped Felix. How is this possible? Unless she’s craftier than I give her credit for. There are a few other places I check and find the caches haven’t been cleared. Swallowing hard, I run through possible scenarios. Gray said she’d been home nearly the entire time I was gone. What if she wasn’t? Is it possible she was able to fake him out? That would involve her knowing who he is, and therefore who I am.
I head into the guest room and scribble notes, theories, ways in which she could have alluded a Charge Man without him knowing, and end up even more concerned than I was before. It would sure make sense of why she’s upset with me and was going on and on about honesty. If she knows I’m her Charge Man, that would be an unforgivable lie. But then again, is she saying all these things right now because she knows I’m listening and is trying to communicate with me? My mind is a live wire of possibilities and Presley is the detonator. Talk about throwing a wrench into my best-laid plans. She’s still talking to herself, about me, and it’s getting harder to listen to because now I’m reading into every syllable.
She’s slamming doors, and wondering aloud if she should ever talk to me again, when my phone rings. Felix. I say hello in a rushed panic because that’s the default for him. Logically I know if things were bad, it wouldn’t be his number on the phone, but old habits die hard.
“Hey man. I wanted to thank you again,” he says.
I mute Presley to hear him. “No thanks needed,” I say, alternating between being relieved and wondering if I’m missing hearing something important at Presley’s. “I did what anyone would have done for someone they cared about.” It’s true, but if I wasn’t close to Presley there’s no way he’d be breathing right now. So not just anyone could have done what I did—what she did.
“Still, I also want to thank you for taking care of Willow. She finally started talking again. She said you played with her the whole time. Best cousin status.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Tell her I miss her and that playing house was the favorite part of my visit.”
