Chapter 7
Riley
"I'm sorry?" Sage asks as she stands there dumbfounded, mouth open, staring at me. "He said what?"
I feel a tinge of that same ache of pain I felt last week when the words rolled off his tongue as if we hadn't just had sex.
I lower my voice in an attempt to sound like him and distance myself a little from the pain.
"Do you want me to call a cab, or do you want to walk back to the bar?"
"Lindell doesn't have cabs, and he lives like four miles away from The Hairy Frog," Sage says as she pulls several more books from the shipping box. "He expected you to walk?"
"He's a charmer," I mutter, opening a second box that was delivered to the bookstore this morning.
That's Another Story is the cutest little store in downtown Lindell. The entire row of buildings here in town has been updated multiple times, and I think this spot is one of my favorites. I've been working here part time while trying to get my catering business up and running. I have to say that Sage is possibly the best boss a woman can ask for.
"I didn't walk," I tell her, unable to keep from growling as I try to fix the bent cover of the book I just unpacked. "Why can't they ship using more packing materials? Look at this."
I hold up the book, and she frowns. I'm sure she's frowning more at my disclosure than the book. We can send these back and get a credit, but it's a huge pain in the ass to have to waste time and energy when they could've just packed it correctly the first time.
"Stop," she says, holding her hand out and covering the book in my hands. "What happened?"
I turn away from her, starting the pile of books that we'll need to return. Looking at her is becoming too difficult, and I'm wondering if I should've just kept my mouth closed. But it's been eating away at me for days.
I regret bringing it up in the first place, but I wanted to see if my feelings were justified.
It was very reminiscent of how the seven minutes in heaven went all those years ago. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me, but for him, it meant nothing. It took me forever to get over the hurt from what happened in high school, and I should've known better.
I wasn't even drunk the other night. I'd just had a horrible day, and I wanted to forget about it for a little while. I've tried my best not to go over what happened again and again, but my brain has never really listened to my pleadings.
"Riley," Sage says, and I sort of hate the soft tone of her voice.
It means she pities me, and I hate pity more than anything else in this world. I never want to be the girl people look at with flat lips while thinking that I should've known better or receive that look that tells me that they're shocked I even expected something differently than what I got. As if it's audaciousness to experience something with someone and then them not turn on you in the next breath.
Despite whatever affirmations I have with myself daily, it's a serious blow to my ego and has left me feeling used and more than a little pissed off.
Tossing into that I decided to stay in town for Christmas and just sat at home by myself for the last several days. I think I might be losing my mind a little, and I'm doing my best not to internalize those events, but it's getting harder and harder.
"Riley?" Sage presses again.
I huff a sigh and face her. "I demanded he take me back to my car, and he chuckled like what he said was all a damn joke."
Her eyes narrow as if she's already planning his murder on my behalf.
"The crazy thing is that he opened the truck door for me when we got to his house and was very... accommodating. I thought he enjoyed himself. But then we rode in silence like we were complete strangers."
"If you tell me he drove off without waiting for you to get into your car—"
"He waited," I assure her, but I know better than to read anything into his actions. "I guess I didn't think he was still such an asshole. I should've probably told him to screw off when he made the offer, but—"
"Your wounded teenage heart wouldn't let you," she says, giving me a soft smile.
"I guess," I mutter. "But here we are again."
"I say take the wins and forget the rest."
"The wins?"
"Yeah. He made you come epically, and that's always the goal with sex, right? He played his role, and now you don't have to worry about him being clingy or interfering with your life in any way. It's a solid win-win situation."
"I guess," I say, grabbing another stack of books out of the box. "It was just an awful end to a horrible day."
I glare at Sage, just now remembering what had happened that led me to the bar that night.
"I didn't tell you," I say, clamping my teeth closed because I signed that damn NDA. "You can't tell a soul."
"I would never," she says, and I know she's being honest. Sage isn't one of the ones who is likely to betray my trust and gossip.
"I had that meeting with Scarlett LeBlanc, remember?"
"I do. I meant to ask you about it."
"She threw soup in my face and told me it tasted like cat piss."
Sage's eyes open a mile wide, her mouth agape in shock. "She what?"
"Threw it in my face, and then had the audacity to insist I clean up the mess she made."
"What is wrong with people?"
"People from the city? Everything apparently."
Sage's lips form a flat line as she dips her head in agreement.
It's not that people from town hate outsiders, but we aren't exactly keen on others coming in and treating us poorly or wanting to get out of the city only to complain about things that happen in our small town. I guess the whole rub is that we like it when people join us but not when they try to change us to what they left behind.
It's why the town's businesses have certain charters that have to be adhered to. Lindell has a no-compete clause, which keeps people from worrying about others coming in and taking business away. Sage will never have to worry that someone else will move to town and open another bookstore because it isn't allowed.
There will only ever be one veterinarian office, one law office, one café, one pizza place, and the town can even dictate what items are served in the eateries. Adalynn has a bakery in town, so Ruth at the diner can't sell cupcakes.
This is the issue with my inability to open my own restaurant because it would clash with what Ruth is doing, and that isn't allowed. The mindset is that people in town invest in their businesses without worrying about someone coming in and underselling them and forcing them to close. Prices for land and such here are lower than in the city and that appeals to folks wanting to make money. Unfortunately, that appeal isn't limited to those from the city.
I pull in a ragged breath, knowing I can talk to Sage about anything.
"Maybe everyone in town isn't hiring me because I'm a horrible cook," I mutter, looking down at a book that's been widely requested because it has gone viral on a social media app recently.
I read it weeks ago and wasn't really impressed, but having an opinion about a book is selective I guess.
"Stop," Sage snaps, drawing my eyes up to her. "Don't talk about my best friend like that."
I give her a weak smile. She's always going to come to my defense, even when it's a self-deprecating moment.
"You're a fabulous cook, and your time to shine is coming. I promise."
"You know," I say, pointing at her and feeling a little better. "This town needs a fortune teller. Then I'd know exactly what my future holds."
Sage tilts her head, shaking it back and forth as if I've lost my mind. "The Sisters of Liberty would never allow it. I have no doubt they'd call it witchcraft or Satanic and put an end to it before someone could even hang the sign on the front door."
"True," I quickly agree.
"You could call one of those expensive phone numbers, though," Sage counters. "If you want to waste money, then that may be the way to go."
I blow out a huff of air, but before I can pull more books out of the shipping box, my phone rings.
I'm hit with more emotions than I could possibly deal with when I see the contact lighting up my screen.
Shove those chicken and dumplings up your (peach emoji).
"Who is that?" Sage asks when I turn the phone around so she can see.
"Mac," I mutter as I send the call to voicemail.
There's no reason he should be calling me.
What happened, happened and there's no going back. If the man wanted to apologize for even opening that sexy and talented mouth of his and telling me to walk back to my vehicle, he could've done it that same night, or even better, never said such a hateful thing to begin with.
"Playing hard to get?" Sage asks.
"Not playing games at all," I assure her.