CHAPTER 17
Harper
“It can’t be jammed,” he murmurs. It is.
And I’ll give it to him, he is really trying.
I can see his muscles shift under his button up shirt as he pushes, shoves.
He takes those garage workouts seriously and it shows.
Not that I’m noticing. There’s just a lot of grunting and panting going on.
“We cannot be stuck in here,” he says to the door. We are.
Then I see it.
He actually is panicking.
“Hey,” I say. He locks wide, terrified eyes with mine and I ask, “You’re claustrophobic?”
He unbuttons his shirt collar, “What? No, just…just don’t like confined…I…shit. Shit shit shit,” he goes off and has a bit of a mental breakup, I think. He says all the expletives I know to exist, then finally sits on a crate and lands back on the first, “Shit!”
“Tyrone will come get us,” I say quietly.
“He will?” Aiden does not sound like himself.
I nod, wincing. He catches the expression. “Eventually…” I say.
“Can you text him? Text him! Right now!”
I say Hey, watch it! with my face, then soften when I catch the tremor in his hands. I explain, “I left my phone on the table. But you can try texting Steven?”
“Right. Yes. Okay,” he gets out his phone. Service is terrible here, but I’m not about to point that out. He discovers the fact quickly. “Bloody hell, there’s no service!”
“He’ll get it in a few minutes, maybe an hour.”
“An hour!” He stands quickly, hits his head on an overhead shelf, re-releases all the expletives he knows, untucks his dress shirt, and sits again. He keeps pulling at his collar. Like he can’t breathe.
“I’ll try Ben, he’ll get us out,” he mutters.
“Aren’t they in Europe somewhere?” I ask but he’s tapping away like a madman.
I understand panic. Not this variety, maybe, but similar.
“Hey, we are okay,” I try. He nods and squeezes his eyes shut. He inhales through his nose. “We can breathe, we can see with some light from the window and, hey!” I gesture around, “We can drink!”
He lets out a small laugh and says, “That won’t help, I don’t think.”
I almost chuckle, “But Benedict will?”
“He owes me, I took care of him throughout all of school, he can send a bloody search party. A helicopter, the marines,” he’s panting and seems to realize how crazy he sounds. He adds, “Bollucks, I don’t know. I’m losing the plot now, eh?”
I nod and watch him as he steadies his breathing. He’s clearly been through this before. So I ask, “If alcohol won’t help, what will?”
His eyes lock with mine through the shadows, “Talking.”
My turn to let out a small laugh. He seems serious, though. So I ask, “What do you mean you took care of Benedict, doesn’t he have two brothers?”
His eyes dart around the van like a door might appear at any minute, “Yes, but they weren’t assertive enough. Ben was teased for a bit there at the start because he was…kind, I suppose, and so I sorted it.”
“Sorted?”
“Yes, took care of it. I take care of things. Something needs done, I do it, always have,” he starts pushing on the door again, “Except I can’t seem to now…shit!”
I straighten up on the wheel well where I sit and raise my voice, ready myself for more talking. “Aiden. Aiden! I’m not from California, I just…like it.”
He finally stops looking around and stares at me, “Why?”
“What’s not to like?”
“The taxes, for one thing,” he says.
Eager for him to calm down, I decide to try more personal questions, “Do you live in London?”
He nods, “And New York.”
I tilt my head, “You don’t sound like a New Yorker.”
“Not a Londoner either, though,” he adds. I wouldn’t know, since I’m not an accent expert. But his tone is weird. Sad.
So I decide to mess with him.
“Would you feel better if I told you the secret to my coffee?”
His head snaps up, “Immeasurably.”
I shrug, “Too bad.”
He lets out a shocked puff of air, “Cruel.”
“Pft! You can have a team of flavor experts flown in to analyze it. Take samples to London and have it broken down in a lab.”
“Or you could just tell me,” he says, his tone getting better.
I shake my head, “I know something the great Aiden Vanderwell doesn’t. I’m drunk on the power.”
He lets out a chuckle. His color hasn’t returned yet. But his habit of studying me has. I look out the window to see if I can possibly bang on the glass or wave someone over.
“Whose dog is he?”
I look back at the curious billionaire. Curious about me. And my dog. I’m not sure why.
I glance out the window again but decide to answer with the truth, “He was left behind.” Like me.
“That’s a thing, people coming through town? Past boyfriends?”
“Something like that,” I say without turning around.
He goes on, “You’re very eager for me to leave, I’ve noticed.”
At that I give him a big fake smile, “And soon, you will.”
“You needn’t hate me so, I’m not truly trying to destroy your whole town.”
I roll my eyes and let the words slip out, “That’s not why.” His eyebrows try to fly off the top of his head. “I mean, I don’t hate you, I meant—”
“Too late now, you’ve admitted it. Some truth, finally. You are not the sweet little baker everyone thinks! You’re hateful. You hate me,” he teases.
I lean forward, “I don’t! I don’t like you, true. But I don’t hate you.”
“But the cause behind this dislike is not about the town,” he clarifies. He tugs at his collar again, too.
I lift a shoulder, “You’re a bully.”
“I am not,” he starts.
“You are,” I cut him off. “I’m surprised you weren’t the one picking on Benedict. You are rude, you put others down, manipulate and annihilate, and—”
“Annihilate?”
I shake my head, “I meant humiliate. You say mean things—”
He holds up a hand, “Listen, just because you don’t like how the truth sounds, that doesn’t make it mean.”
I get angry that he’s trying to defend some of the things he’s said about me and this town. “You are clearly used to getting whatever you want, Mr. Golden Boy all through your life, no siblings, just getting all the attention from your parents, right?”
“Something like that,” he says back to me.
I go on, “And it was probably like I want a pony and I want a sports car and now it’s here, son, have a whole town!”
“My father didn’t give me this town,” he argues, “I found it, I wanted it, I took it, honestly it—”
“Do you not hear how you sound like a toddler? You wanted it, so you took it? And whatever your accent, honestly, honestly!—all prim and proper and condescending all the time, why do you talk like that?”
“British boarding school,” he answers.
I laugh, “I don’t actually care about the answer! You sound ridiculous.”
“Well, now who’s being mean?” he murmurs.
“Me?” I screech. I stand and tick off his offenses on my fingers one by one., “You’re the one who has insulted my town, my ideas, my cafe and my food and even my eyes.”
He stands too, talking quickly, “Now wait just a second, I may be blunt but I’m not unkind on purpose and you must be projecting aaalll of the past bullies you’ve ever encountered onto me because I would never insult your eyes,” he moves closer.
“You did, I heard you.”
His voice is low and he’s close enough to me that I can see the perspiration on his brow, even in the dark, “I don’t know what you heard but you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Wait, what?
I blink, frown, look down.
“Don’t do that, look up. Look at me,” he tips up my chin with a shaky hand. “Your eyes are otherworldly, own it. Take the compliment. It’s the truth.”
I shake my head, “You really just say whatever you think? Do whatever you want, whenever you want?”
He looks at my mouth for a beat and his voice dips low when he says, “I’m not doing whatever I want right now.” He leans in, his eyes searching mine in the darkness, like he’s waiting to see the moment I accept what he’s saying. Like he’s asking for permission?…Like maybe he’s going to…
“Heyo!” Tyrone throws the back door open.
“Well! What exactly is going on in here?” Steven chirps beside him.
Aiden drops his hand from my face and says, “It isn’t what it looks like.”
“Looks like? Ew! No,” I say.
“Uh huh,” Steven smirks.
“Ew?” Aiden mutters.
I throw my thumb in his direction, “This dummy didn’t listen to me and jammed the door.” I turn and grab a case of beer and shove it in Aiden’s gut. “Here, now we can take these.”
I grab a case as well, then climb down from the van. I feel weird and tingly and my chin is on fire and I’m noticing every blink of my eyes. Like I’m remembering anew how weird they are.
Great. Now my own blinks are bothering me.
No, not my blinking.
Him. He’s bothering me.
But it’s fine. Any day now he’ll announce he’s got somewhere else to be and he’ll go. But now even the thought of him leaving bothers me which absolutely cannot be happening! I cannot get invested in someone else. This is why I don’t make new friends. I don’t cozy up to repeat customers.
Everyone leaves.
Aiden will too.
And I can’t let it affect me when the time comes. Somehow he’s working his way into the community. Daily coffees. Training crazy dogs. Joining in at every town event. Helping. Watching. Being…friendly.
But I can’t do it. I can’t be his friend.
I won’t.