Chapter 16 #3
He let out a dissatisfied sigh, surveying me. “Do I need to monitor this break?”
I snorted. “Like I’m on parole? What about you? You’re using your vacation days right now, aren’t you? When are you taking a break?”
“I don’t wake up at three in the morning and work until the sun’s down, do I?”
Until I’d said that, I’d kind of forgotten James was only here temporarily. He’d return to Canada at some point. What would happen to the farm when he did?
“When do you go back?” I asked, hoping I sounded casual.
His gaze dropped to his hand, which fiddled with his jacket. “In a few weeks, I think.”
It went quiet for a few seconds as I thought about what he’d said—about living in the best town and belonging here. Like he wished he did too.
“Should we head back?” he asked.
“Are you going to make me drive?”
He smiled. “Yes. But can we make a quick stop at the hardware store on the way?”
I didn’t even protest. If I really was going to use this truck, I needed more practice, and heaven knew I was safer getting it with James sitting in the passenger seat.
The way into town allowed me to practice third and fourth gear, which, as James had said, were easier to get into than first and second. He kept reminding me to listen to the engine as a gauge for when to shift. I was still learning, though, so he had to coax me a couple of times.
I pulled into a spot in front of the hardware store—next to Keller’s.
James opened his door, then looked at me.
I was hesitating, trying to decide if I should go in or stay in the truck. We hadn’t been out in public together.
His questioning turned to recognition—and just like that, the easy dynamic we’d achieved shifted to something cooler. “I’ll be quick.”
I undid my seatbelt. “I’m coming.”
I hated that James didn’t feel like he belonged in Autumn Ridge—a place he evidently loved. Of course he belonged. This was where he’d grown up. It was where all his best childhood memories took place, where his home was.
As I skipped up next to him, he glanced at me.
“You don’t have to come in,” he said.
“I’ve got a few things to pick up.”
He cocked a skeptical brow as he opened the door. “At the hardware store?”
“For sure,” I said, doubling down on my lie. “I need a…two-by-four and some…screws.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Lemme know if you need help finding anything. I basically live here.” I strode confidently down the first aisle.
“Sadie?”
I turned.
“Screws are that way.” James pointed to the last aisle.
“I know. I’m just grabbing some”—I looked at the selection in front of me.
Ugh.
“Toilet lids?”
I nodded firmly. “Always good to have a couple extras on hand.”
“I’ll leave you to your business, then.” Smiling, James turned and headed the other direction.
I sighed and looked at the selection of toilet seats, and after a minute, I actually started to wish I had the money to buy a new one. The molded shape of the fanciest one looked very comfortable.
In the end, though, I went in search of James with no toilet seats, no two-by-fours, and no screws because I couldn’t spare the money to really lean into my lie.
I spotted him at the end of an aisle and made my way there. In one hand, he held a couple of long, thin metal sticks. His other hand was at his mouth, his index finger pensively tracing the arc of his lips.
My heartbeat stuttered as I wondered how those lips would feel.
He glanced up as I approached, his gaze moving to my empty hands.
“I figured I’d hold off,” I said. “My supply should tide me over a little longer.”
“You sure?” He jabbed his thumb toward the outside of the shop. “The truck bed can hold a couple dozen toilet seats. Could be good to stock up.”
I came up beside him to face the array of axes he was contemplating. “Definitely tempting, but I’ll wait.”
“Your call.”
I glanced at him, and we shared a smile.
I liked this dynamic we had going—the teasing, the conspiratorial smiles.
I maybe liked it too much.
A couple came around the aisle end cap and slowed at the sight of us so near.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Rigby,” I said.
The Rigbys were in their early seventies, their hands clasped between them while their free hands held canes.
“Hello, Sadie.” Mrs. Rigby returned my smile, then her eyes traveled to James, and her smile faded.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Rigby,” James said.
She gave him a curt nod, her lips pinched together, then she elbowed her husband gently, and they moved past us.
My heart clenched as I watched them shuffle down the aisle.
“Poor May,” Mrs. Rigby said, loud enough for her husband to hear—which was also loud enough for us to hear. “Loses her husband only to be abandoned by her only son.”
My eyes widened in horror, and I looked up at James.
He took in a long, slow breath, the furrow in his brow deep.
Was this how people treated him?
I felt sick to my stomach, but hadn’t I had the same exact thoughts Mrs. Rigby had just voiced?
My face burned with shame—for my own judgment of James and for the way my fellow townspeople were talking about him.
“Have everything you need?” he asked.
There was no joke about toilet seats or two-by-fours. He wanted to leave, and I didn’t blame him a bit.