Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
TINSLEY
S o this is what a fall from grace feels like, huh? I have to admit, it’s not as bad as I thought and certainly not as bad looking. Well, except for my current appearance. Disheveled is putting it mildly. More like hot mess.
I’ll admit that Aiden is looking like a quarterback from behind but instead of a football uniform, he’s wearing well-worn jeans and cowboy boots. He opens the passenger’s side door of a highly polished Maybach and gestures for me to get in.
At least, I think it’s his car. Considering I stole my parents’ BMW, I suppose anything could be possible because a Maybach is not the kind of vehicle I expect to see in Butterbury or driven by a man in jeans and cowboy boots.
This is a rusty pickup truck kind of place. Or so I thought.
“Nice wheels,” I say.
“Eh, this old thing.” He waves his hand dismissively but wears the subtlest boyish smile that suggests that he cares what I think.
“Don’t be so modest,” I say, trying to figure out if I’m reading him correctly.
His lips twitch. “Won it in a bet of sorts.”
I slide into the buttery leather seat. When he was around his family and friends, he was, in a word, relatable. One of the gang. Very clearly himself. Now that we’re alone, it’s like he’s trying to impress me. No, that can’t be right. I look like I was up all night, slept in a car, and woke up in jail. Because I basically did.
I’m used to big guys with big money knowing they’re the big cheese. This is something different. It’s almost like I’m the girl next door, he picked me up for a date and is hoping his car doesn’t smell like cheese.
Interesting.
I’ve never been the girl next door. My brother has a silver Maybach. My father has two. Up until now, it was practically a requirement that the guys I dated have flashy cars, their names in lights, and an inexhaustible credit card.
At the moment, whether it’s because I’m tired or something else, I wouldn’t care if we’d gotten in a rusty pickup truck as long as the destination was the same...a bed, sleep, a shower. Perhaps Aiden is a secret billionaire with a luxury home somewhere in this nowhere town. Maybe he’s hiding his true identity.
Aiden glances over at me as he backs out of the parking spot. His gaze is soft and understanding. “You look like you’re thinking.”
The mental gears do feel a little rusty, but that’s only because I dove into that chasm of thought that I’ve been avoiding and it’s hard to navigate. “Thinking isn’t exactly what I’m known for. Is it that obvious?”
“I just meant your expression is thoughtful, peaceful.”
“Tired.” My body isn’t sure whether to yawn or sigh or tell the truth. I’m playing a role too. Looking back, I have been for a long time. “Aiden, for the record, I’m not entirely a bubbly, flirty, ditzy blonde.” The words are solid and strong but they don’t have sharp edges.
“I’m sorry if that’s what it sounded like I was implying. Not what I meant.”
“No, I know. You were right. I was thinking. My family has always expected me to be that way, but only because I’d conditioned them to do so. It was how I got attention. When I was the little nerdy kid with glasses who went to the library—in our house, not the public one—and researched the lifecycle of fireflies in the encyclopedia for fun or when I memorized lines from Shakespeare in my early teens, I was forgotten. Left to my own devices. I suppose I should’ve taken advantage of it. But like any kid, I wanted to be seen, heard, given a gold star.” I pause, half expecting Aiden to interject, but he simply listens—gives me what I needed all those years ago.
“I tested the waters with one bit of outrageous behavior after another. I made them spend over a hundred thousand dollars on my sweet sixteen, complete with a performance by the boy band Six Pak Boyz. For my seventeenth birthday, I insisted on using the family helicopter to get to a weekend music festival in the desert. When I turned eighteen, they rented me an island for a weeklong party because I threatened to share embarrassing family photos online if they didn’t.”
Aiden whistles low. “That’s intense.”
I share anecdotes that I once flaunted proudly and now make me cringe. As Aiden continues to listen, he pulls into the parking lot of an autobody shop with a tow truck in front.
“Anyway, that didn’t get me the approval and affection I’d have liked, but it got me something.” I gaze down at my hands.
“And now?” he asks.
“Now, it feels like I have nothing.”
Letting out a breath, he says, “Well, it might feel that way. Aside from your stuff in the car,” he points, “you might not have much in the way of what you’re used to. But you could also think of this as a new opportunity. A chance to start over in a way.”
His gaze lingers on mine and instead of longing, I see something else. It’s simple. It’s real. It’s the truth. It’s as if this man is on a lifelong quest for the truth.
And what have I been seeking? Fame, fortune, pleasure.
I can’t quite pinpoint what’s going on between Aiden and me, but I’ve never had someone look at me the way he does. Like maybe I’m part of a puzzle he’s been trying to put together.
Don’t get me wrong. Usually, guys look .
But not like this. There’s a certain intensity in his blue eyes like he’s waiting for me...or has been waiting for me.
Or perhaps it’s the other way around.
After a beat, he opens the car door and says, “Come on. We should head in. I bet Willy wants to get home on time for supper.”
I follow Aiden into Willy’s Wrecker and Auto Service .
It’s exactly how they portray places like this in the movies. A few metal chairs with cracked vinyl seats. Blinds with bent slats. A calendar on the wall with the car of the month. The smell of grease is strong and stains most surfaces.
“Hey, Willy!” Aiden says with a smile. “Wasn’t sure whether to come here or swing by Gus’s.”
The two men shake hands. Willy’s is considerably meatier than Aiden’s as if he often has dessert after dinner.
“Hey, it’s good to see you. I hear you’re back in town.”
“Happy to say the rumors are true. Well, most of them. Don’t believe anything if Stoll’s name is involved.”
“Nah. I stopped trusting him when he sent me a letter quadrupling my business tax. No, sir. That don’t fly around here.” He slaps a bug that lands on his neck.
If I were Mayor Stoll, I’d make myself scarce too. His fans are few and far between.
“Anyway, Gus’s tow truck has a broken tie rod. Henley had me park the BMW in the back. I take it you’d like to collect your personal items.” For the first time since entering the office, he looks at me.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Not a problem.” He holds out the keys and then winks. “Just make sure you bring ‘em back. Rules are rules.”
Aiden chuckles. “Don’t worry. She’s not going to drive off.”
I snort as I take the keys but not at his comment. Strangely, running away hadn’t even occurred to me. Only now does the thought float into my mind that I could call my parents, explain the situation, and use one of their lawyers to erase this blemish from public record. It can be done. Andrew had a late night, got pulled over, and no one knows what happened next because Mother and Father took care of it.
Previous to now, I think I would’ve pressed the “Easy Button.” But would I accept their help if they offered it? Would they offer it? I shake myself from the probing thoughts and take the keys.
I trail Aiden to the car while Willy locks up his office for the day. We transfer my bags to the Maybach as a familiar police cruiser pulls up.
Without thinking, I hold up my hands and the keys fall to the ground. Officer Henley gets out with a loud guffaw and holds a paper shopping bag.
“So jumpy. Don’t worry, kids. I’m not back to arrest you. Saw you parked here, Aiden. Wondering what time should I tell Bubba to expect you?”
Unfazed, Aiden says, “He can expect us at ten.”
“Sounds good. He appreciates it.” Officer Henley passes me the bag.
I’m confused because I already have my luggage.
“This is for tomorrow. You and Mrs. Henley are about the same size.” I peek inside to find a pair of boots, overalls, and gloves. “She keeps goats and makes soap, has plenty of working clothes. Figured you might need something to wear for work.”
“Oh, right,” I manage to mutter with a glance at my sequined dress, sparkling in the late-day sunlight. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” With a wave, Henley gets back in his car.
We do the same. As I sit down, I eye the forklift in the parking lot. Aiden might need to employ it to get me out of this seat when we get to his house. I’m not only tired, but I’m also touched.
The man who arrested me and sentenced me to thirty days of community service thought to bring me a change of clothing for work. I’m not typically a teary person, but his thoughtfulness moves me. To keep the emotion at bay, I pull out my phone and check my social media accounts. The array of hearts and comments, though considerably less than I’m used to, do nothing to stoke emotion.
I check to see if any of my friends reached out in private messages, but most people share their opinion about my and Puma’s innocence or guilt. The trolls think I should go to jail.
Been there. Done that. Have the community service assignment to prove it.
“For the record—” I start.
“Do you get the sense that I’m keeping records?” Aiden asks with a smile as he turns onto a country road.
My lips quiver, but this time with a smile.
“I just mean, in case you’re wondering, I had absolutely nothing to do with the charges against Puma Palmer. Much like you and I right now, we were just hanging out. He wanted more, but—” I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable with where I took this conversation and what Puma’s wining and dining suggested. My stomach churns with regret. What was I thinking? I know the answer. I wasn’t thinking. I was wanting.
“But I wasn’t interested,” I say.
“Much like right now,” Aiden repeats in a low, measured tone.
“Right. You’re helping me out. I appreciate it. I’ll pay you back too. I—” I pause, snagging on a thought. “Wait, why are you helping me?”
A pause stretches between us as the sun shifts to the tops of trees, painting the field in shades of pastel watercolors.
He rolls down the window, letting in a pleasant breeze, carrying a fresh mowed grass scent along with his reply. “Much like the work clothes.”
It takes me half a beat to understand what he means. “Oh, it’s southern hospitality? Generosity?”
“Something like that. You could just say it’s how we do in Butterbury.”
“Despite half a day in a jail cell, I’m going to admit something that might surprise you. It surprises me. It’s not so bad in Butterbury. I don’t plan to get used to it, but so far, it’s scenic. If I were scouting a location for a romantic drama, I’d pick here.”
“It’s home.” Just then, Aiden turns down a thickly tree-lined road with barely enough room for two cars to pass. In fact, had I been driving, I would’ve missed the turnoff. A frog and cricket-filled forest stretch in both directions. We leave the remainder of the sun behind.
Actually, plot twist. Scratch the romance movie. It’s turned into a horror film. This would be the part of the movie, when the audience yells, Go back. It’s not safe. He’s leading you to your doom.
My knuckles pink up as I grip the armrest on the door.
Aiden leans back in the seat, one lazy hand on the wheel as if he just left something behind.
His sense of direction?
“Where are we going?” I ask in a voice that sounds more like a mouse than a human.
“I told you, my place.”
“A murder cabin in the woods?”
He chuckles, and I tell myself the rough sound does not belong to a killer. Aiden coughs and then clears his throat. “Sorry. Inhaled a bug. I’m okay.”
I roll up my window as we reach a clearing.
“Welcome to my humble abode.”
Humble is right. A tow camper trailer sits on a concrete pad behind a rusty pickup truck. Under an awning, sits a folding chair and table along with a grill. A muddy four-wheeler hulks off to the side along with a shiny motorcycle. There’s some major incongruency between the camp gear and the Maybach.
“I could’ve taken a portion of the family property, but I wanted Mae to be happy. No doubt she and Taylor will carry on the Fuller Farm legacy. Plus, I wanted to start something new. Something of my own.” He gets out of the car.
I tentatively follow while tucking his goals and desires away to think about later because right now I’m worried about the present. Swallowing thickly, I say, “This seems like the place a Murder Doll would live.”
Aiden laughs long and heartily then slaps his thigh.
I edge toward the car. I could lock myself in if I have to. Then again, I don’t think anyone will come looking for me. If I scream, I doubt anyone will hear me this far out in the middle of nowhere.
When Aiden’s laughter goes quiet, he says, “Never, not once, has anything related to Murder Doll done anything other than giving me the willies. Fortunately, Murder Doll has been locked in my trunk since the Fall Fundraiser Festival.”
Forget feeling droopy, my eyes bulge.
“Taylor and Mae hid it in my rental car,” he goes on to say more about the prank, but I realize something catastrophic.
Embarrassed, I cover my face. “You were there?”
“Where? At the Fest?”
I nod slowly.
“Sure was.”
“That means you saw the whole thing.” I fight a massive cringe.
His lips quirk. “Sure did. Didn’t make the connection at first.”
If I were in my mother’s dressing room, I’d flop onto her antique tufted chaise longue. I’m barely recovered when I choke out, “You don’t seem to hate me like Mae and Bess. Taylor too.”
“They don’t hate you.”
“They don’t not hate me.”
“Give them a chance to get to know you.”
“Not if you kill me first,” I say not entirely sure if I’m joking. Although, the horror movie set aside, these last hours with Aiden make me feel giddy like the night before a big premier.
He steps closer, hands held where I can see them. “Promise. I’m not going to kill you. Although, I have a couple of steaks I’d like to toss on the grill if you’re hungry.”
“Just don’t say you like to eat yours bloody.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “I admit, I prefer it grilled rare.”
We both laugh—me nervously as he gestures that I take a seat. He goes inside the trailer and makes a few return trips. Questions about how we’ll both fit in there comfortably toss in my mind while I watch carefully to make sure he doesn’t charge at me with an axe or other sharp tool. Instead, he brings out another chair, a plate with a couple of steaks, and a can of bug spray.
I swallow with relief. While he lights the coals, I say, “So this is where you live? It’s kind of small, no?”
“This is where I live for now. What do you drink? I have sweet tea, lemonade, sparkling flavored water, and regular water.”
“You have plumbing?”
“Yes. Toby has all the bells and whistles.”
“Toby?”
“Yeah, Toby the trailer,” Aiden says in all seriousness.
The nervousness takes flight like the fireflies that appear in the field as the last of the silver threads of daylight disappear.
“Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”
Stepping inside, I kick off my high heels, leaving them on the welcome mat with a daisy on it. I brace myself for a miniature bachelor pad. I’m right about it being small—not even twenty feet from end to end. Barely enough for the kitchenette, the bathroom-ette, and the bed-ette. Barely enough room for Aiden and me.
But here we are, nearly pressed together so close I can’t escape his cool, woodsy cologne. The way his blue eyes spark in the dim light. The way his chest lifts and falls with each breath. I can practically feel his pulse.
Mine too, and it’s racing. Not because I’m afraid for my life. No, I’m afraid that my life as I knew it is changing...and I can’t say that I mind.