Page 12 of State of Mind

Wilder wrinkled his nose, because yes, he had. Noah had cautiously suggested Paxton as an employee when he was taking over the business, but at the interview, something didn’t sit right in his gut. He couldn’t put his finger on it—and it was more than the fact that Paxton got a little too friendly during their meeting. Wilder generally followed his instincts when it came to who he trusted, though, and it was an easy pass.

He knew Paxton had gone on to work for Oscar, and he wasn’t surprised that Talia took issue with it. “I have. He applied to work at my shop, but I turned him down.”

“Smart,” Talia murmured, almost too low for Wilder to hear. She seemed to catch herself, and he cleared her throat, turning toward Wilder. “Sorry.”

Wilder waved her off. “It’s fine.”

Rubbing a hand down her face, she let out a small, frustrated sigh. “Oscar thinks his flirting is harmless, but I think maybe he doesn’t get it. I’ve watched Paxton. He’s…targeted. He was crossing lines with Adam about two years back, but I set him straight.”

Wilder’s mouth stretched into a small grin. “Did he learn his lesson?”

“I don’t know,” Talia said. “He’s left us alone. He asked Oscar out a couple of times, but Paxton knows he’s married. I don’t understand why,” she stopped and looked away for a second. “I heard a rumor about a year ago—I don’t know if you remember that guy getting fired from the paper.”

Wilder’s brows dipped. The details had been vague, and he’d been trying not to involve himself in gossip, so he avoided it. “Not really.”

“The details were private because I guess it involved a minor. Anyway, Paxton seemed to, uh…know more than he should?” Talia grimaced. “Sorry, this is so fucked up. I just have a problem with this kind of rape apologist shit.”

“Did he…”

“He just went off about how maybe the kid involved was leading his rapist on,” Talia said, her voice almost a low growl. “When I confronted him, he waved me off and said he was just joking, but I don’t think he was.”

Wilder’s stomach twisted, the idea of it hitting too close to home. He got lucky after he escaped Scott—most of the people in his life believed him, but not everyone. He knew that fear. He knew what it was like to face the idea of sharing his trauma and then being told he was a liar. Or that it was his fault for not leaving sooner. He rubbed at the scars on his arm through the sleeve of his shirt and allowed himself to feel grateful he had gone with his gut about Paxton.

“What did Oscar say?” Wilder finally asked.

“He said he’d keep an eye out. He doesn’t like to make waves,” Talia answered, then leaned back on her arms. “He will—when it’s important. He would never let anyone get hurt, but sometimes I think he goes too far.”

“And he thinks you go too quick?” Wilder offered, and at that, Talia gave a genuine laugh.

“You have siblings?”

The thought of his sister—their rift, how long it had been since he’d spoken to her—it stung in that moment. She had been the apple of their mother’s eye, but he still missed her. “I do.”

“I trust my brother,” Talia said. “I just don’t trust that little weasel.”

“It’s a good thing you’re here, then,” Wilder pointed out.

Talia nodded, but she didn’t look as confident as she wanted, and Wilder felt bad. All the same, he let the conversation slip away. Silence settled, and the night calmed them both. The wine rushed through his body, leaving him comfortably buzzing and feeling like he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the universe.

The world was fucked. He knew the darkest parts of it—and he’d survived. And he was finding something a little bit close to happy.

* * *

The next morning, Wilder noticed the lights flash in the kitchen just a few seconds before the door opened, and Dmitri poked his head around the corner with a hesitant smile. He’d been working at Whipped for a year—was better behind the counter than he was with the bakes, but he was trying, and Wilder loved that about him.

Dmitri had come in the day Wilder hung the help wanted sign in the window, looking for something full-time, which meant that the two part-time workers Wilder had wanted to hire would have to condense down into one. He made okay money—better in summers with the tourists, but not enough to support a full staff.

Still. Dmitri was determined, and he was full of a fire Wilder had once seen in himself.

“I think I can do this,” Dmitri had said, his hands clenched. “I know what you’ve probably heard about me…”

Wilder leaned forward and winked. “Probably not much.”

Dmitri stared, then his cheeks darkened with a flush.

“Oh, was that a joke, or…?”

“My dad always made really terrible Deaf puns whenever he was trying to calm someone down,” Wilder told him with a wink. “I mean it, though—I don’t really do gossip here, okay?”

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