Chapter 10
COLLIE
“If I were kettle corn, where would I be?” I ask myself, scanning the aisles of Coop’s Corner, the only grocery store for miles.
Grocery store is a stretch.
Coop’s Corner is more like a gas station in size, with what I’d consider to be gas station options. One to two brands of most things, and that’s it.
Ya get what ya get.
Lucky for me and Easton, the shelves are stacked full of nonperishables. Our camper has a built-in microwave near the back of the hatch, the one semi-decent option we have for “cooking” without having to use the fire. Although, we risk running out of gas if the van is used for too long.
And I learned real quick how much of a trip it is to get anywhere in Wyoming. There’s also a tiny fridge with built-in batteries to keep it running, so we don’t have to turn on the van. Thankfully, air conditioning isn’t a necessity in this climate.
Not gonna lie, I’m not sure how many nights I’ll last without some good ole fashioned circulated heat. It’s freezing outside, making me thankful for the trip into downtown to stock up on essentials. I could physically feel my body defrost seconds after entering the store.
“Got the candles and matches,” Easton announces, revealing himself from the other aisle. “What’d you get?” He scans my shopping cart, looking for things he likely won’t find.
“Oh, you know, the necessities.” I grin.
I see the moment he realizes I’m not one to be taken seriously. I’m never prepared. He’ll learn this about me. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, though. He should make note while we’re ahead that chocolate is the only way to my heart.
Not that he’s trying to get there, but for science purposes.
“There’s nearly ten types of chocolate in your cart and a case of water.”
“Man, you’re fucking smart. They teach you that in grade school? Never knew identifying chocolate was a grade-level requirement.”
That earned me an eye roll. “Not quite. This”—he points to the object of my cravings—“reminds me of my sister during her period. Minus the water. I always played savior to her need for sugar. Convenience stores hated to see me comin’.”
I bark out a laugh because that was really freaking funny. “A girl after my own heart.” I place a hand to my chest before glancing down at my cart again.
I’m not sure what the big deal is. We’re here for two weeks. Chocolate is a staple while road-tripping. Although I wouldn’t exactly call this a road trip, but still. I ate all my travel chocolate on the plane, likely from my blistering anxiety, with nothing but Red Vines left.
“Sir, be glad I’m stocking up on sugar. It’s for your own good.”
“Aren’t fitness instructors supposed to be overly regimented and eat strictly carnivore or some shit?”
I make a quick perusal of the things in Easton’s hands. Predictable.
Waterproof matches, three white candles, aluminum foil, and a block of butter.
“Listen, I can get down with some sweets, Ranger. Reese’s hate to see me comin’.
It’s called balance. I can keep a smoking hot body while still indulging in all my favorite things.
If you grew up with a mother who embedded in your brain: “We eat to live, not live to eat,” you’d understand my need for said balance.
I won’t, and never will apologize for eating chocolate and Gushers.
In fact, anyone who tells me otherwise can sit back and watch me eat more. ”
With that, I reach into my cart and tear open a pack of Reese’s before shoving one into my mouth. I moan from the chocolatey peanut butter goodness and smile at Easton, knowing good and well he’s questioning what in the actual fuck he got himself into with me.
Too late to back out now, handsome.
I know Easton isn’t judging me. He made an accurate observation based on my profession. Nothing more. Nothing less. But he’s right. As a fitness instructor, I do eat healthier. Healthy bodies are made in the kitchen. It’s true. But it’s not everything.
Living is more important to me than restricting myself from everything I enjoy. That’s what I’d imagine the makings of an unfulfilled life to look like.
Because life without this beloved chocolate and peanut butter combination? Sounds horrid.
“Sounds like your mom needs someone to put her in her place. That’s fucked up.”
I laugh, ushering Easton to the checkout counter. “Yeah, well, you get used to it. Eventually, tuning her out becomes easier than beating a dead horse.”
He stares at me without wavering, like he knows exactly what I mean. “I get it. Still doesn’t make it right.”
Truth.
“You’re right. It doesn’t.”
My issues with my mother are far more than what the world sees from the outside.
To my sister, Capri, I’m Mom’s favorite.
When Capri separated from her ex-husband last year, before meeting Jones, my mom found every reason in the book to make Capri out to be the villain.
The fuckwad cheated on her for the entirety of her marriage, making him the biggest villain of them all.
Capri has the purest of hearts, without so much as an ounce of evil in her body. So, making my mother’s motives seem passive was how she processed her manipulation.
I have never let Capri see how things are from my side.
It’s my job as her older sister to protect her.
But now’s not the time to remember the years that affected who I am today. Not when I have this kind man, now a friend, looking at me like he wants to take it all away.
Not sure that’s possible. So, I do whatever I can to create a distraction. It’s a skill I’ve mastered. I bury it.
“Come on, Ranger. Let’s walk back, and you can start by explaining that block of butter to me.”
Easton cocks his head in my direction. “Thought you were from the South, woman?”
Oh, he has so much to learn about me in so little time. Where should I start? But first, I wonder if they have a bank around here? I’ve got a fat check to deposit.
“You always carry around a five-thousand-dollar check in your pocket?” Easton asks as we exit the bank.
It feels dirty and invigorating all at the same time.
“Oh, all the time. Didn’t you know you were in the presence of wealth, Ranger Voss?”
“I really hate that nickname,” he tells me, tone dead serious.
“And you think I like being labeled a lost girl?” I counter.
“You are lost.”
I shift my attention to the side, locking eyes with him. “I am not.”
Following Easton into the little diner on the corner of Maple Street, we stand at the hostess station to be seated, and I wait for Easton to continue with his explanation.
There’s a big difference between the nicknames Ranger and lost girl. And I intend to find out why he assumes I’m so lost.
“You are. I can tell,” he says as we’re directed to a table. Easton leads the way because I can’t focus to save my life. I’m not sure I even recall taking a seat in the worn leather booth before badgering him again.
“Cut the shit, Easton. Explain.”
Suddenly, the menu in front of him drops as a loud bark escapes his lips. “The fuck?” he chuckles, and despite my need for explanation, I’m transfixed on his neatly trimmed stubble and full smile. “You’ve gotta be the most forward woman I’ve ever met.”
Jesus Christ, his teeth are perfect. White and straight with one small divot in the top left tooth. It adds the most unintentional character. “That’s what they all say.” I wave him off before the waitress approaches our table.
“Hi, sweet peas. Welcome to The Porch. What can I get ya started with this morning?” the kind woman with the name tag—Betty—asks us.
I turn to face her. “That depends, Betty. What do you recommend?”
She smiles wide, pretty red lips and short brown curls enhancing the warmth of her welcome. “Well, how hungry are ya?”
“Your girl can eat. I can promise you that,” I tell her, feeling my stomach growl simultaneously. “Something with lots of protein.”
I can sense Easton’s eyes on me, like once again, he questions what he got himself into. One minute I’m stuffing my mouth with Reese’s, and the next, requesting a hearty meal.
Betty answers me with certainty, “In that case, I recommend Hershall’s special. Three eggs however you prefer, one slice of ham, half cut of sirloin, bacon or sausage, a side of our famous loaded grits, and biscuits or sourdough bread.”
I groan, already tasting it. “Round ’em up, Betty. I’ll take my eggs scrambled with extra cheese and bacon—extra crispy. I intend to leave here full. Oooh, and an orange juice, please and thank you.”
She nods with a grin, writing down my order before turning to Easton for his. “And what about you, sir?”
“I’ll take what she’s having, but with a coffee. Black. Thanks.”
“You got it. I’ll get those drinks started for ya.”
Watching her retreat, I waste no time digging further with the stranger in front of me. “So, continue.”
“Continue what?” he deadpans.
I tilt my head. “Oh, don’t play that shit. You called me lost, remember?”
“Ah. Sorry. Got distracted or maybe just fell in love hearing you order like a fucking boss, Meadows. Hell, I don’t know.” He shakes his head, remembering our conversation from five minutes ago.
I hear nothing but the fluster in his voice, and pride fills me. “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun together.”
His round caramel eyes pin me. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
I don’t know what he means by that, and I don’t have time to pry further before he continues. “Yeah. You’re lost. The airport was a dead giveaway. And I’m not just talking about the fact you had nowhere to go.”
I’m not oblivious to the fact that I never settle. But lost? I’m not sure what to think about that. That’s probably why I’m so put off by the name.
It’s been eating at me since yesterday.
“No one has ever called me that before.”
“Maybe because they know you. Sometimes things are more clear in the eyes of a stranger.” He’s very intuitive. Mature and seasoned.
“Is that so?” I question. “I guess I could say the same thing about you.”
“And what’s that?”
Despite Easton being hard to read, especially with me being an open book, he’s captivating. It might be the fact that he comes off as a challenge. I’m so used to men pursuing me. Having a mutual need to get off, use each other, and carry on.
But Easton reads me. It’s clear he doesn’t want to fuck me, and I don’t know what to do with that either. It should make me happy, but instead I find it challenges me more.
“You’re guarded. Like someone hurt you, or you hurt them. Not sure which.”
A sharp hiss seeps from his lips, his eyes bulging in what looks like worry. But no words leave him just yet. I have an inkling I hit the nail on the head.
“That’s possible. Or maybe I’m just not a people person like you are.”
I tilt my head, skeptical of his reasoning.
“No…no. I’m not buying that. I think you’ve got some secrets, and for some strange reason, my heart hurts for you.
I couldn’t tell you one important thing about your life or who you are, but I know I want to defend you.
Not sure how yet, but I do. And between you and me, that’s the farthest thing from my usual character. ”
Maybe now will be the moment he tells me why he’s really here.
Easton makes no effort to contribute, just stares at me like I stole something of his and he wants it back. I wait, and just as his mouth opens to speak, Betty announces our drinks’ arrival.
“A coffee for you, sir, and an OJ for the lady.”
The moment is over. Buried for another day. Easton has no plans to continue, just stares at the grocery bags we carried in here, and picks right back up with the conversation we abandoned before we sat down.
“About the butter. It makes everything better. Simple as that.”
No, not that simple, Ranger. Things are not that simple at all.