601 Twilight Ln. by Kat Baxter
Chapter 2
Selina
I focus on restocking the easy lock fittings, waiting until I know he’s no longer behind me before shaking my hands out to dispel the tension radiating through my body.
Holy hotness!
That man was both huge & beautiful. Short cropped blond hair, blue eyes framed with long thick lashes and just enough scruff to make him look not completely wholesome.
But I know the type. Those too good to be true guys. The ones that are so handsome they look like models or movie stars. The ones that have honey coated tongues that make you believe their stupid lies until you fall in love with them and then they throw you under the bus if you don't give them everything they want.
Men that pretty are used to getting the world handed to them. They’re too damn spoiled. I no longer have the time or patience to deal with that shit.
Been there, done that, burned the t-shirt.
I hate men that make me nervous and self-conscious. I hate even more that there are men out there that have the power to make me feel so self-conscious when I should be old enough to know better!
I shake out my hands again and go back to stocking the drip irrigation supplies.
And now I’m pissed at my stupid brother. What the hell is wrong with him that he’d ask a complete stranger to check in on me? And a cop, no less.
I’m sure that’s the last I’ll see of Hot Cop though because I gave him a full dose of my bitchiness. My mother would have chastised me with some dated metaphor about bees and honey.
My dad would have pointed out that bees make honey, so trying to attract them with honey is absurd. And then my dad would have a good laugh.
At least, that’s how it would have gone down before and my father would have been amused. Well, at least he would have been at some point. Before the light drained from his eyes while he started fighting a string of shitty health crises that started with reactive joint pain and ended up with active tuberculosis.
Six months ago, I thought TB was the kind of thing people only got in third world countries. Turns out it’s making a comeback in the U.S.—especially in places with lots of tourists and lots of smoking.
Since my dad’s job at one of the casinos provided lots of both, but shitty insurance, he’s stuck at home for at least a year, taking very expensive medications that insurance barely put a dent in (and that was before he lost his job). Neither of my parents wanted me at home, where my own risk of getting TB from dad was increased. So they farmed me out to my cousin Rosie.
Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful for the TB-free place to live and the job at the Tractor and Feed. I’m grateful I have a place to live and work while I’m finishing up some of my on-line courses. I really am.
And, Rosie is even letting me use her barn to work on my welding and building skills so that when I can move back home and finish up my degree at the local tech school I won’t be too far behind.
But what I don’t have time for is to have some boy scout army buddy of Jacob’s babysit me. Yes, my brother is over there protecting our country, blah, blah, blah. But I’m the one over here fighting the war at home.
A war that consists of saving every penny to pay off my parents’ growing credit card debt and relentless amounts of paper work trying to get the insurance or Medicare or someone to help with the tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of antibiotics that are keeping my father alive and my mom from getting it too.
I don’t miss living in Syn City, but I do miss my parents, even my hard-to-please-easy-to-disappoint mom. As crazy as it sounds, I miss being able to do more.
Putting the boy scout out of my head, I decide to just forget this encounter ever happened and just get back to the important things in life. Like working overtime and as many extra shifts as I can to help pay for my dad’s medical treatment.
* * *
Three days later, after a long shift, I walk into Auntie Oakley’s Roadside Diner for a quick hot meal and a piece of pie. This week has kicked my ass and I’ve been thinking about this pie all day.
I nod at Liza, the owner, and make my way to a booth and slide onto the bench seat. I’m perusing the plastic laminated menu when I feel the entire booth shift as someone sits across from me. I drop the menu and fuck me.
There he is again.
Damn, boy scout.
This time he’s in plainclothes, wearing a tight black t-shirt.
“Hey, Selina,” he says with a cocky grin.
I give him the squint eye. “Do I know you?” Then I snap my fingers like I’m trying to remember an unimportant detail. “Wait … is it Houston? Boston? Something like that?”
He chuckles. “Austin.”
“I don’t recall inviting you to sit with me.”
“Only because you didn’t see me when you walked in.” He grins and I swear I spontaneously ovulate.
How is he this attractive? It’s annoying. Stupid handsome smile and those lines that fan out from the corners of his eyes that tell me he’s got an easy and ready smile. He’s a friendly and happy guy, they say.
Well, fuck that! I’m grumpy and I like it.
“Hmm.” I make a noncommittal noise that I hope will scare him away, and pick up the menu again to block out his stupid pretty face.
“Hi Selina, I thought that was you.” The familiar voice makes me smile. I drop my menu to find the owner of the diner standing at our table.
“Ms. Liza,” I say. “How are you?”
“I’m good, darling. But I didn’t know you knew my son.”
“Oh, I don—”
My words are cut off when Austin stands and one-arm hugs the older woman and smacks a kiss on her cheek.
“Hey Mama,” he says. He slides back into the booth and gives me a wink.
Infuriating man! And now I find out he’s the son of one of my most favorite people that I’ve met since moving to Cherry Falls.
Liza looks at me with that sweet, genuine smile of hers and I realize that their eyes are similar. I fight the urge to roll my eyes while I curse my luck.
“What are you having tonight, darling?” she asks me.
I hold the menu out to her. “Grilled cheese on rye and fries. Extra pickles on the side, please.”
She nods, then looks at her son. “Your usual?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She knocks on the table, then walks away.
“Is that for real?” I ask.
“What?”
“That charming, good boy, manners thing you’ve got going on?”
His grin broadens. “You think I’m charming, sweet girl?”
“I think you’re annoying.”
“Nah, I think you enjoy my company.”
“And you’re clearly delusional.”
He laughs and the sound is so appealing that I lose track of the straw from my drink and nearly stick it right up my nose. Zero cool is my motto.
The truth is, the good ol’ manners are a little charming, but I could have over looked them. I know all too well that manners and actions are not the same thing.
His quick wit is another matter entirely. His ability to smile through my barbs and turn it into banter completely disarms me.
Or rather, it would disarm me if I let it.
Which I will not. I have more than enough on my plate without being distracted by a charming boy scout, thank you very much.
Thankfully his mother saves me when she sets our food down in front of us. The smell of my perfectly-grilled-with-too-much-butter-sandwich makes my mouth water. Should I eat a salad or at least something remotely healthy? Yes, probably. But my ass is already big so what’s one more serving of fries gonna hurt?
I pop a fry in my mouth, then eye the burger on Austin’s plate. At least he didn’t order a salad.
Liza steps away from the table without saying anything and suddenly this feels very intimate. Sharing a meal with someone is supposed to mean something. Isn’t it?
But this isn’t a date. Not that the big, beautiful man across from me would be interested in someone like me anyways. You know what? It doesn’t have to mean anything. He sat down at my table. So whatever.
“So what’s with the extra pickles?” he asks, nodding to my plate.
I shrug. “I like sour things.”
“Fair enough.”
We eat in silence for a while and it’s not nearly as awkward as I would have guessed it would be.
And when we’re done, I try to pay, but he’s already taken care of the bill. He walks me to my car and it’s all feeling very date-like again. Once I’m in the driver’s seat and buckled, he knocks his knuckles on the roof of my car.
“Night, Selina. I’ll be seeing you.”
I don’t respond and I spend the entire rest of the night ignoring all the annoyingly cliched butterflies in my stomach.
