Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Silas
Betsy was acting strange yesterday after she got back from lunch with my sister and her gaggle of friends. I tried to start a conversation multiple times, but she just hummed louder and turned her back on me. I got the message loud and clear: she didn’t want to be bothered.
So it takes me by surprise when I pull into a parking space on the south side of the Square this morning and Betsy pulls her hideous white SUV in right beside me.
She waves to me from the driver’s seat and then climbs out with a bright-as-the-sun smile on her face.
I do a double take, my first thought being that someone has stolen her car and is impersonating her.
Doing a shit job of it though. Betsy has never once smiled that enthusiastically and never this early in the morning.
No amount of caffeine can pull her out of her funk until at least noon.
“You okay?” I ask, rounding the bed of my truck and studying her for possible drug use.
She nods, smile still in place. She’s wearing a dress I haven’t seen before.
A pink dress with straps that leave most of her shoulders exposed to the morning sun.
I’ve never thought of shoulders as sexy, but damn, Betsy’s are.
Strappy gold sandals give her an extra few inches in height.
Gold bangles line both wrists. It’s when I get to the curled hair that I know for sure something’s up.
“Good morning, sugar!” she greets me loudly.
I rear back in horror. What the actual fuck is going on here?
“Did you hit your head?”
She giggles. Giggles.
“Nope, sure didn’t.” She hooks her thumb toward my truck, giving me what on anyone else I would call a flirty wink. On Betsy, I think maybe she’s got something in her eye. “You got some big wheels on that there truck, Silas Grey. You compensating for something?”
My eyes bug out of my head. Is she…referring to my dick size not being sufficient? I’m not sure what’s going on here, but there’s no way in heaven and hell that I’m gonna let a rumor of that nature spread around town.
I lean in real close, so close I can see the mascara she swiped across her lashes and the absence of the heavy black eyeliner.
It gives her eyes the look of a startled doe, if deer had blue eyes.
My hands land on top of her sexy shoulders.
My thumbs take liberties and sweep back and forth across the exposed silky-smooth skin.
“Betsy Mae, you listen real good now, you hear? There ain’t no compensating here, darlin’. Not even a little bit.”
Her lashes flutter rapidly. I pause, trying to look closer to see if something got in them, but I see nothing.
“Okay. Welp. Good to know,” she chirps, then lifts an arm between us and boops me on the nose. Boops me!
I’m so stunned she’s halfway to Harp and Hemline before I get my butt in gear and follow her.
She waits patiently next to the door while I get it unlocked, that creepy-ass smile still frozen on her face.
I push the door open and let her go first, like always, but this time she does some weird little curtsy thing as she passes me.
“Thank you, sugar!” she calls over her shoulder.
I stand on the threshold, shaking my head, wondering if I should even step inside. Seems safer out here even with the rising sun starting to set the landscape ablaze.
“You comin’?” Betsy calls out.
I sigh and walk in. This is my sister’s fault. I can sense her work here. She must have said something to Betsy and it’s up to me to get to the bottom of it and tell her to cut this shit out.
“You’re weirding me out, storm cloud,” I mutter, rounding the counter and turning on the computer.
Betsy bends over to set a little gold purse down in the cabinet below the register, most of her legs now exposed as her skirt rides up.
Her back is arched, and fuck me, but I’m looking.
She straightens quickly, sees me staring at her, and winks at me.
Then she trails her fingertips across my arm as she walks away.
I feel that touch all the way south. I’m both turned on and terrified.
I put both hands on my hips. “Seriously, what the hell is going on, Betsy?”
She laughs, straightens some clothing on one of the racks, and turns back to me, smile now genuine instead of manufactured. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.” She shrugs. “I got flirting tips from your sister. Figured I’d try them out on you.”
Aha! Knew it. I scratch the side of my neck. I feel like maybe I should be offended, but she did say I was cute…
“Way to ruin it by bringing up my sister.”
Her tinkle of laughter is far more musical than the humming she starts up as she hangs clothing in the back of the storage room.
I shake my head and get to work. As much as I liked her flirting with me—once I knew what she was doing and didn’t suspect a head injury—I have the Battle of the Boutiques to win. I can’t be distracted.
It’s still a couple hours to closing time when my father calls my cell phone three times in a row.
I answer the third time, knowing if I don’t, he’ll conveniently swing by the Square and grace me with his presence.
Immediately, he goes into a spiel about the plot of land next to the plot of land we looked at two weeks ago and how if he can convince both owners to sell their plots, he could potentially have something he could sell at top dollar to a commercial developer.
Dad is firmly in the camp of developing our area into a mega mall complex with all forms of commerce and industry.
I’m more of a small-town boy who’s seen what development can bring to the various towns around us who went the way of profit.
I prefer to keep Heaven a small-town secret and continue to know my neighbor. Even if it means not getting rich.
When I don’t join in on his enthusiasm, he halts his tirade. His tone changes dramatically as he begins the usual rant about me being lazy, a woman’s clothing boutique is not the place for his son, and he ends it with the threat to call in the loan.
I hear a gasp and spin around to find Betsy standing so close I’m sure she heard the whole conversation.
I give my head a little shake. She glares at me but keeps her mouth shut.
She doesn’t shift away like most people would to give me privacy for the rest of this phone call.
Dad spends a few more minutes letting me know all the ways I’ve failed him.
When he’s winding down, I let him know a customer came in and I’ll call him later.
There’s no customer and I will not be calling him later.
Betsy waits until I slide the phone in my back pocket before she stomps her foot. It’s way less intimidating with those sandals on. She points at me, mouth agape. “That’s your father?”
She seems appalled.
“Why do you think I told you to stay away from him?”
She shakes her head slowly. “But he seemed so nice at church.”
I sigh heavily. There’s so much baggage there I don’t know where to begin. How do you explain a grown man being broken by the death of his wife? How do you rationalize that same grown man taking out life’s disappointments on his own children instead of getting therapy like everyone else?
“You have to stand up to him, Silas!” Betsy grabs my forearms and this time I don’t think she’s trying to flirt with me. “That’s sexist bullshit about men not owning a clothing boutique. If this is what you want to do, you should do it and screw him!”
That vise that closes in on my ribs whenever I field a phone call from my father starts to ease. I like how passionate she is about being on my side. Other than Mary London and Deuce, no one actually knows the pressure my father puts on me.
“It’s a bit hard to stand up to a successful man when your boutique is in the red.
It’s even harder when that man is your own father.
I know he wants the best for me, we just differ on what that is.
” She’s still gripping my forearms, her blue eyes boring into mine.
It gives me the courage to keep talking.
To spill the things that have been swirling in my brain.
“I guess I’ve never really fit in. I didn’t get married right after college, have a herd of children, start a career in something that’s deemed masculine. Hell, I’d even consider myself a mama’s boy, something that’s frowned upon in most circles.”
“Everyone would be a mama’s boy with that kind of dad,” Betsy drawls.
It causes a hint of a smile to float across my face.
“Listen, I never fit in either. Sure, a goth girl in the big city is more socially acceptable than here in the South, but it’s still considered alternative.
I didn’t even have a father growing up. He cared more about his gigs with his band than showing up to my plays or back-to-school nights.
Mom was poor and kids are brutal to other kids that don’t wear the latest, expensive things.
But I refuse to be someone I’m not, because then every time I meet someone and they like me, they’re not even liking the real me. I’d rather be lonely than pretending.”
I slide my arms out of her grip so I can hold her hands. My pulse is hammering in my veins. Maybe from being honest. Maybe from the idea that I’ve found a true friend. Someone who can relate and remind me that I’m on the right path when everyone around me says I’m not.
“We’re just two misfits, aren’t we?” I say softly. I grin at her, all those piercings in her ears incongruent with her outfit. It shouldn’t be attractive, but it is to me. Hell, I’m starting to like this woman more and more every day.
She shrugs. “Welcome to the club.”
“Do we have a special handshake?”
She crossed her eyes and sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth. “No. But we have an initiation ceremony and it involves animal sacrifice.”
And now we’re both grinning at each other, holding hands in the middle of the boutique. “I shouldn’t have hired you.”
Betsy loses the smile, and I want to kick myself.
Her voice sounds small when she speaks. “I thought we were finally getting along. I mean, I know I’m still not super friendly with customers, but I’ve been doing better, I swear.” She hurries to justify her employment, but I cut her off.
“No, that wasn’t what I meant. I meant I shouldn’t have hired you because now I want to ask you out on a date.”
Betsy’s mouth opens, but no words come out.
She doesn’t pull her hands away, not until the bell rings out, signaling a customer has arrived.
And even then she squeezes my hands first, then pulls away from me.
I don’t fully understand what just happened there, but I intend to revisit the subject at the first available moment.
I should be happy we have customers, but they stream in all afternoon, never giving me a chance to pull Betsy aside.