Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Betsy
Of course Silas would be outside helping a customer take her shopping bags to her car like a true Southern gentleman when the grumpiest old man in all of Heaven, Mississippi, darkens our door.
Mr. Barrett comes in with a bang, slamming the door behind him, bell ringing out in alarm.
He taps his cane against the wood floors and glowers at me.
My lips tip up into the first real smile of the day.
Oh, sweet honey child. You don’t know who you’re messing with. If glowering could make money, I’d be one rich motherfucker.
“Where’re the blouses?” he barks. No hello. No good morning. Just blurts out what he needs.
It’s actually refreshing. If I have to engage in one more bout of small talk, I might just puke down the front of my borrowed floral dress.
Today’s outfit is courtesy of the clearance rack, a dress Silas ordered and wasn’t able to sell during the spring.
It’s a cross between Little House on the Prairie and a Cabbage Patch doll.
Add in the Doc Martens and I can understand why Silas winced when he first saw me this morning.
“Right over here, sir.” I come around the counter and show him the rack of new blouses we just got in this morning.
I have more in the back to hang up, but with Silas out playing Knight in Shining Armor, I have to cover the sales floor.
Mr. Bennett clomps over, his cane making as much noise as my boots.
“Where’s the blue?” he shouts at a decibel that just might break the city of Heaven noise ordinance.
I rear back, looking to protect my eardrums. “I can hear you just fine. No need to audition for a megaphone.”
Mr. Bennett’s eyes narrow, but he does lower his voice. “I need a blue blouse.”
I smile kindly, or at least what feels like a kind smile. Silas informs me that my smiles mostly look like grimaces. “Is the blouse for you?”
Mr. Barrett looks like the top of his head might explode. “Of course it’s not for me! It’s for my daughter. She’s interviewing for a new job later this week.”
Well, shoot. That kind of melts my shriveled-up heart. He’s buying his grown daughter a blouse for an interview? That’s a really sweet thing for a father to do. My dad can’t be bothered to call me on my birthday, let alone shop for my clothes.
I scan through the racks and pull out two blouses that have quite a bit of blue in them, holding them both up so he can get a look at them. He squints his hazy blue eyes and uses one gnarled finger to push his glasses further up his nose.
Before he can make a choice, the front door opens with a jingle and a woman walks in. I smile and say hello over Mr. Barrett’s shoulder. She takes one look at the old man and heads in the opposite direction to start shopping.
“I like that one, but not floral. She hates flowers.” She sounds like my kind of woman. “Do you have it in plain blue?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, no. Just in blue floral.” I hold up the other one that is plain blue, just a different style. “How about this one, then?”
Mr. Barrett frowns, pointing first at the plain blue, then the floral. “I want that blue in that style.”
I shake my head. “We don’t have that. You either get this one in plain blue, or that style in floral. Which will it be?”
Mr. Barrett whacks his cane against the floor, his version of the toddler foot stomp. “I want that blue in that style.” His voice is getting louder again.
I paste on my fakest smile. “I’d love to help you make that happen but I can’t do miracles on company time.”
The woman snorts on the other side of the room. Mr. Barrett’s eyes narrow again, and I might be hallucinating, but it seems like his lips are twitching. “I guess I’ll take the plain blue.”
I put the floral blouse back on the rack and check the size on the plain blue. “Great choice! This is a large. It would usually fit a women’s size ten to twelve. Does that seem right for your daughter?”
“She’s a little smaller than that I think.”
I push blouses across the rack and find a medium, holding it up for his inspection. “This look better?”
“The other style would look better,” Mr. Barrett snaps.
I hug the blouse to my chest, irritated with the man, but also quite liking him. I know what it’s like to feel that grumpy. To be that exasperated with life and people in general.
“Do you want the blouse or not?” I ask bluntly.
Mr. Barrett harrumphs and it takes everything in me not to burst out laughing at his grumpy expression. “Fine,” he finally mumbles.
I spin on my heel and march to the register, finally letting out the genuine smile I’ve been holding back.
I wrap the blouse nicely and ring up the sale.
Mr. Barrett pulls out a checkbook—a checkbook!
—and asks me for a pen. I gape at him, but manage to find a pen below the register. I don’t even know if we take checks.
“Why do you look like a fish?” Mr. Barrett asks suddenly.
I look up from the ancient relic known as a checkbook and see he’s studying me. I point at his checkbook, brutally honest. I feel like Mr. Barrett would appreciate honesty above all else. “I’ve never seen someone use a checkbook.”
He huffs. “You young things have no idea. Put you in a box without your precious smartphones and you wouldn’t be able to find your way out.”
He’s not wrong. “Put you old people on a computer and you wouldn’t be able to send an email,” I toss right back.
His lips twitch again. “Can’t find your way back home without directions squawking at you from your phone. You ever seen a paper map?”
I frown. “A paper map? Like what my mom would print out when she looked up directions on MapQuest decades ago?”
Mr. Barrett snorts, and I can’t help but laugh with him. Who would have thought my kindred spirit would be an eighty-five-year-old man in Heaven, Mississippi?
“You young things are worthless.”
I shrug, not even a little bit offended. “It’s okay if you don’t like me. Not everyone has good taste.”
Mr. Barrett hands me his check with a wink. I take it—and hope Silas won’t kill me for taking a check as a form of payment—and hand him his purchase.
“Tell your daughter good luck from a worthless young thing.”
Mr. Barrett whistles as he leaves the boutique. The woman on the far side of the store watches him go, then turns to me with a wide-eyed stare. “He scares me,” she whispers.
I wave away her comment. “He’s nothing but a teddy bear.”
Silas returns with another man in tow, wiping sweat from his forehead. “It’s already brutal outside.”
They both walk to the register, the tall, dark, and handsome man smiling at me like he knows me. Silas holds his hand out and does the introductions. “Deuce, this is Betsy Mae Coldreign. Betsy, this is my best friend, Deuce. He owns Saint’s Suits across the square.”
Deuce holds out his hand and we shake. He doesn’t let me go though, instead bringing the back of my hand up to his mouth so he can kiss it. “Charmed to meet you, Betsy Mae. I’ve heard so much about you already, I feel like we’re best friends.”
My eyebrows lift toward my hairline. “Oh yeah? I haven’t heard a damn thing about you.”
Silas chuckles while Deuce’s eyes widen. He lets go of my hand finally, but the smile doesn’t falter. He’s quite the charmer, which is saying something because Silas is also a natural charmer. These two in high school must have done some major damage with the ladies.
“I’ll have to take that up with your boss. He’s a mean son of a bitch sometimes, isn’t he?” Deuce winks at me.
I glance at Silas, who’s giving his friend a weary look. I think about all the times I’ve flipped him off and how he just amps up his smile.
“Actually, Silas might just be the kindest person I’ve ever met.” The words slip out before I can evaluate them. I guess I’m embracing radical honesty today with everyone.
Deuce seems taken aback by that, whacking Silas on the arm. “Did you hear that? You’ve managed to con the lady and she’s only been here a week!”
Deuce doesn’t give Silas a chance to speak before he leans over the counter into my space. He’s dressed in just about the nicest suit I’ve ever seen on a man. I almost want to reach up and stroke the lapel just to test the fabric. I have a feeling Deuce wouldn’t mind.
“Don’t you go fallin’ for his aw-shucks attitude. I’m so much more fun.” Deuce winks again. “And far more handsome, if I do say so myself.”
From a bazillion years in customer service, I’m a pretty good judge of character. I can tell Deuce is harmless. He’s just a natural flirt, so I go ahead and reach up to stroke his lapel because his suit is just that fabulous. And when he purrs in response, I toss my head back and laugh.
“See that, Si? If you start wearing my suits, you too can have ladies stroking you.” Deuce’s voice is nothing but a deep growl now. He’s sexy as hell, and yet I’m not attracted to him at all. It’s a shame really.
I drop my hand. “The polos are actually starting to grow on me.”
Deuce’s mouth pops open as Silas crows next to me. He slings his arm over my shoulders good-naturedly. Like we’re a team. An us. His cologne, though very light, smells like something I want to sink into.
“Did you hear that? The ladies like my polos.” Silas grins at his friend. “Double bonus, I’m not hot during the summer like you.”
Deuce doesn’t back down. “It’s not the suit making me hot. I was just born that way.” He smiles at me, clearly no issues in the self-confidence department. “When you’re done with frat boys, you call me, Betsy darlin’.”
Silas straightens up and pulls his arm away from me. I instantly miss the weight of it across my shoulders. My cheeks burn and it has nothing to do with Deuce’s flirting. “Go flirt somewhere else. Betsy Mae is off-limits.”
Deuce has a knowing grin. “Oh yeah? Says who?”
Silas leans his fists against the counter, forearms rippling with muscle. “Says me.”
I’m still thinking about Silas kicking his best friend out of the boutique after he flirted with me when I leave Nana’s to pick up some ice cream at the local Dollar General.
She made grilled chicken and salad for dinner, both healthy and easy to eat in the grueling summer heat. My contribution is an ice cream run.
Heat is still pulsing off the blacktop parking lot even at seven o’clock at night.
I get two flavors of ice cream and hop back in the car, cranking the engine over just for it to click at me instead.
I try again with the same result. The car doesn’t start and both me and the ice cream are sitting in the heat melting.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I take out my cell phone to call Nana, but realize I didn’t charge it after I got home from work.
It’s dead, same as my car. I lean my forehead against the steering wheel, cursing at myself for being so irresponsible.
I’ll have to go back inside and see if they’ll let me use their phone to call Nana.
Then I’ll have to pay for my car to get towed to a garage and then pay for whatever it’ll cost to get this clunker running again.
The only silver lining is that it didn’t break down during my cross-country drive out to Mississippi.
“Betsy Mae?”
I jolt away from the steering wheel at the sound of Silas’s voice. He’s in workout shorts, a sweat-soaked T-shirt, and running shoes. He swipes sweat from his eyes and peers down at me, lungs heaving. I have to swipe sweat from my eyes too. How does this man run in the heat of the day like this?
“Everything okay?”
I nod, swallowing hard. Silas fills out a polo nicely, but there’s something about workout attire that highlights how in shape he is.
I try to think of the last time I went running.
Pretty sure it was that one night years ago I took the bus home from a night out and some weird guy was following me and I had to sprint to my apartment for safety.
“Car won’t start,” I mutter.
Silas doesn’t even blink. “Pop the hood.”
I do, fumbling around until I pull the right lever.
He rounds the hood and opens it while I get out of the car and go close the gas flap I accidentally released.
When I get to the hood, he’s already crouched under there, the temperature even worse from my hot engine.
His capable fingers touch a square box and he pulls them back with a hiss.
Next thing I know he’s pulling his shirt over his head to use it as an oven mitt for his hand.
He must fiddle with something, but I miss it all.
I’m too busy staring at muscles flexing and bending and moving.
He’s got a broad chest, sizable shoulders, and a fit waist. Holy shit.
He’s got abs. Like, the kind you can count.
I’m not sure any guy I’ve ever dated has had legit washboard abs.
They were either a little thick through the middle from snacking at night while gaming or heroine skinny. Silas is something else entirely.
“Betsy?”
I blink and come to. Sweat drips in my eye and I whimper, the burning only adding to my misery. “Huh?”
“I said, it was just your battery cable. It jiggled off, but I reattached it. Want to try starting it again?”
With one eye screwed closed, I get back in the car and crank the key. It starts without a single ominous click. Air starts flowing through the vents. Not exactly cool, but any movement of air is welcome.
Silas pokes his head back in the car and gives me a friendly grin. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
“All good?”
I totally look. Damn. He’s even nicer to look at from the front instead of the side. My cheeks are hotter than the pavement below this car. “Yep. All good. Thanks.”
“Glad I happened to be running by.” He’s all smiles and sexy body and kindness and I can’t even look at him without ogling.
I grunt something in response. He closes the door with a soft clunk that breaks me out of my lust fog. He turns, tucking the T-shirt into the back of his workout shorts, broad back filling my vision. I remember my minimal manners at the last second and roll down my window in a hurry.
“You want a ride?”
Silas turns around, already ten paces away from me, and with that body on full display I’m already regretting the offer. “Nah. I’m only one mile into my run.”
I try to say something in return and fail.
He chuckles and takes off running. I watch him go until he’s out of sight.
Figure that’s best for safety reasons. I can’t be expected to drive a thousand-pound vehicle while he’s prancing around half naked.
I look down at the rapidly melting ice cream and think about taking up my own running habit.
Do I even own running shoes?
With a sigh, I put the car in gear and head home. Forget running. I’m built for ice cream and Netflix.