Chapter 23
Don't Call Me Shirley
Ryder
Clutching the purple container, she stared like she couldn't decide whether I was here to swipe the bottle or steal her soul.
Fun fact. I didn't want the bottle.
As for her soul, I wasn't that ambitious. But I was intrigued.
She looked flustered and fierce all at once, like she had secrets worth protecting and zero trust in guys like me.
I considered everything I knew – of her, of Evan Carver, and of that whole shitshow in Chicago. And then I considered what I knew of myself.
I never did anything by accident. And yet, here I was, drawn in, for reasons I couldn't yet explain. But there was something about Tessa Sinclair that had me sticking around to find out why.
I glanced down. "So, what's with the bottle?"
She clutched it tighter. "What do you mean?"
"Do you carry it everywhere, or…?" I let the sentence trail off, even though I knew damn well this wasn't the case.
"No." She gave a shaky laugh. "Of course not."
I waited for her to say more, and when she didn't, I tried again. "So the bottle is what? A lucky charm sort of thing?"
She gave the bottle an anxious glance. "No. It's a cover-your-ass sort of thing."
My eyebrows lifted. "My ass?"
"I meant mine, obviously." And yet, her gaze dipped downward for just an instant before her eyes shot up again, looking a little panicked. "You're trying to trick me, aren't you?"
I laughed. "Into what?"
"Saying something I shouldn't."
I lowered my voice. "You mean…the word ass?" I let out a scoff. "It's not even four letters."
Her mouth opened once, and then closed again, before her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. I meant the tricking thing…maybe."
"So maybe I'm trying to trick you?" I grinned. "Which means maybe I'm not."
"Or maybe, that's exactly what someone trying to trick me would say." She gave a little jerk of her chin, as if to say, So there.
She looked cute as hell, protecting the bottle for reasons I still didn't get – because let's be real here. Bubble bath and covering one's ass usually didn't go hand-in-hand.
Yeah, I'd checked the label. What, you thought I wouldn't?
But then, as I mentally combined the two, imagining Tessa's ass covered in suds, I was seeing things a lot differently. And let's just say, the view wasn't half bad.
Okay, it was seriously fine.
But this wasn't why I was here. Why I was here, I still wasn't sure, but I did know I wasn't done yet.
The longer we talked, the more relaxed she looked, and for some reason, I liked it more than I should.
"Anyway…the bottle," I said. "Is it one of those egg parenting things?"
"Wait, what?"
"You know, like in high school where they assign you an egg to care for. Is that it?"
Her mouth twitched. "No."
"Well that's a relief."
"And why's that?"
"Because you already dropped it. No A for you."
For a moment, she looked almost insulted, like she wasn't used to falling short. It made sense. From what I'd learned, Tessa Sinclair had been a star performer until she'd gone up in flames.
As if to prove my point, she said, "Well maybe I wouldn't have dropped it if you hadn't startled me."
I spread out my arms. "Hey, I was just standing here. You were the one who turned around."
"I had to turn around," she said. "How else would I leave the store?"
Probably, there was a back entrance – not that I'd point this out. No need to give her ideas, right?
"Back to the bottle," I said. "Do I get another guess?"
She rolled her eyes. "Do I have a choice?"
"Nope."
"Fine. Then I'm all ears."
"Alright." I gave the bottle a long, serious look. "It's your Aunt Tillie."
She laughed. "Oh, please, like my Aunt Tillie would fit. And why would she be in the bottle in the first place?"
I considered telling her that Aunt Tillie's ashes would fit just fine, but now that she was laughing, the last thing I wanted was to remind her of death, so I replied with a shrug, "Maybe…she's a genie?"
"Or dead," Tessa said. "That's what you really wanted to say, wasn't it? Like I'm toting an urn." But then she laughed again. "That's so morbid."
I liked the sound of her laugh. It was warm and musical, like wind chimes catching the breeze. I wanted to hear it again. "Hey, don't blame me. I didn't kill your Aunt Tillie."
"Yeah, because she doesn't exist, which surely you know."
My response was automatic. "Don't call me Shirley."
Her eyes went wide. "Oh, my God. You're quoting Airplane! Seriously?"
Hell, yeah. I was. It was my favorite movie. I didn't care that it was older than me and defied all logic. The thing still made me laugh.
And I had to admit, I was just a little impressed that Tessa got the reference. I studied her face. "So you've seen it?"
"Yeah, only a dozen times." She gave me a sheepish smile. "I love that stupid movie."
This surprised me. Tessa didn't seem the Airplane! type. If I'd been placing bets, I might've put all my chips on something a lot more civilized – free of inflatable copilots and jive-talking grannies.
Suddenly I wanted to know more – not the résumé stuff, but what made her laugh when no one was watching.
The next thing I knew, I was saying, "You know what this means."
"What?"
"You and me – we've got to watch it sometime." I held out my hand. "I'm Ryder. And you are…?"
She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, fudge!"
I had to say it. "So…your parents hated you, huh?"
She spoke through her fingers. "Sorry, what?" But then, her gaze sharpened, and her hand returned to the bottle. "I didn't mean my name is fudge. If you want the truth, I almost said something worse."
I lowered my voice to a shocked whisper. "The other f-word?"
"Well, I wasn't about to say fiddlesticks." She turned and gave the shop's exit a worried glance. "Sorry, but I've gotta get back to work."
And with that, she turned and bolted for the exit, weaving through the crowd and taking the purple bottle with her.
I was still holding out my hand. With a chuckle, I dropped the hand and looked at the fudge.
Apparently, I'd be eating it alone. But hey, there was plenty more where that came from.
I meant the fudge, not Tessa.
Because she might be one of a kind.