Chapter Twenty-two #2
This ancient man shifts his full weight to me in order to hover, threateningly, an inch above me. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your mouth.”
“I appreciate the service industry too much to shut my mouth, sir. If you won’t calm down for civility’s sake, do it for the blueberry scones in your future.”
“ Or ,” Mars notes, behind me, casually, “do it so I won’t kill you right where you stand.”
Mars cuts in front of me, drawing Mr. Ferris’s eyes and separating me from the formaldehyde scent of a man already halfway in the grave.
“ You ,” Mr. Ferris hisses. “I have a lawsuit ready for your brother. He destroyed my truck.”
Mars tosses a card and catches it atop his stack. “You don’t say?” he asks, conversational. “Where’s the proof?”
“I have footage.”
“Do you?” Mars flicks his gaze up. “Are you sure ?”
Mr. Ferris sputters. “Y-yes, of course I’m sure. It’s about time this town steps up and puts you and your rotten brother where you both belong—behind bars.”
“Are you aware how long legal processes take, Mr. Ferris?” Mars steps closer, towering a mild two inches above the man.
“Days…weeks…months… years , usually. I wonder what I could do to you within the span of a few years .” His cards snap together.
“Walk away with your life…and check on that footage, why don’t you? I’m real curious…if it still exists.”
Mr. Ferris clenches his fists at his sides and plows past Mars, opening his mouth in front of me.
Mars speaks before he can, “Say one more word to her ever again, and you’ll have a permanent catheter in your future.
” His body tilts to face us both, and the world’s widest, most chilling, most beautiful smile overcomes his features.
“Move along before I decide your destiny is to be scraped off the pavement.”
“You’ll pay for this,” he snaps before he attempts, and fails, to slam a business door. His feet actually stomp like a toddler’s past the front glass windows, and I watch, pretty sure we won’t actually be paying for anything.
After all, I’ve done nothing wrong, and he doesn’t know where I live, and I have two men next door who are very big on karma. “It’s so sad when they go senile,” I murmur.
“If only,” Mars snorts. “Sadly, that’s not a mental health thing. That’s just the good ole Ferris family. They all royally suck.”
“Huh.” I face perhaps the hottest man alive, who has lost his smile in favor of utter disregard.
He’s staring past the glass doors, toward the direction Mr. Ferris went, with a stillness that makes me wonder if the man’ll live to see another week.
The calculation in Mars’s eyes alone calms the threads of anxiety tightening in my chest. Wetting my parched lips, I say, “What happened to his truck?”
Mars’s eyes focus, and a more gentle smile tips the corner of his mouth up. “I’m sure I don’t have a single clue what you’re talking about, and I’m positive there’s no proof that it has anything to do with me or my family.” Spinning on his heel, Mars cheers, “Vivi!”
The woman, who seemed perfectly at ease facing off against the grumpy man, tenses. “Mars…”
“What’s good today?” Mars sidles right up to the counter and plucks a purple egg from an Easter basket decoration there, tossing it to me.
My heart thumps when I catch it, and he takes in the menu posted above Vivian’s head on chalkboards.
A hand poised at his chin, he peruses as though Vivian hasn’t gone rod-straight. “Hm, hm, hmm… Muffins. Tarts. Donuts. Drinks. Frozen chai.” His brows rise. “Frozen chai sounds amazing. With a sandwich. Because it’s lunch time, and we always eat lunch at lunch time, don’t we, little goddess?”
I roll the cool plastic over in my hands, running my finger along the seam. “Oh yes. Absolutely. I am known for that.” I pop the egg open and unfold the piece of paper.
It, naturally, says: Better eat lunch to get your actual hint, me thinks.
When I look back up, Mars is perusing the sandwich options in the display cabinet while toying with another plastic egg. Because of course he is.
I scoot myself up to him and murmur, “Coerced into eating via scavenger hunt? Again?”
He tuts. “I would never. Coercion is wrong.” Chipper, upon his throne of lies, Mars smiles at Vivian. “One frozen chai and a veggie wrap for me.”
Expectation settles against my chest, so I tighten my grip on my Easter egg bag and scan the display. Egg salad? Roast beef? Grilled cheese? “Another frozen chai…and…”
“Struggling with the lunch part, Ceres?” Mars asks.
“Shut up,” I mutter and purse my lips. “Is a soft pretzel lunch?”
“If you get three of them, I might allow it.”
Allow . Heh. I’m being blackmailed by a colorful child’s game, and it’s working .
“Feta spinach soft pretzel and an egg salad sandwich, please.” I smile at Vivian while she rings up our tab, then presents the amount to Mars.
He runs it on credit before leading me to a table far away from the front glass windows, toward the quiet back of the shop.
Once he’s pulled out my chair, I sit and take in the peace of a bakery during the odd hours of the afternoon.
“Are you having a good birthday so far?” he asks, spinning my next plastic egg clue on the round table between us.
“Possibly the best birthday I’ve ever had.” I pull my attention away from the modest Easter decorations somewhat haphazardly placed around the rustic storefront. The bright shades notably clash with the wood and earth tones, but— somehow—it all works. “Why did you look up my birthday online?”
Heat swells in his eyes as he watches the plastic egg spin. “Oh, you know. I know where you live. I have your phone number. And your full name. And your floorplan. I wanted to complete my collection.” He glances at me. “Oh, or was the fact I’m obsessed with you unclear?”
It’s very clear, but I still find myself baffled when the obsession leads to care instead of anything more selfish. He cares enough to put in the effort for me. He cares enough to pay attention to things that don’t matter. Because, to him, I matter, and that’s enough. I ask, “When’s your birthday?”
“November 20th.”
An autumn baby on the cusp of winter. “I’d have expected summer.”
He stops the egg’s spin. “I’d never be that predictable.”
I push my hair back over my ear as Vivian delivers our food then skitters away like we’ll bite. Maybe Mars does. How thrilling. “What did you do to the waitress?” I ask.
“Vivi?”
“Is there another person working here?”
Mars stares at me, blinks, and tears a bite off my spinach feta pretzel before answering, “Sol. He just transferred in from where Brian works in the city. Sadly, this place remains somewhat understaffed even with his brilliant addition.”
Uh-huh. “You dodged my question. This time I’ll believe you if you tell me she’s an old flame.”
Mars laughs. “Yeah, no.”
“Then…?”
“We went to school together. That’s about it. That’s about all it takes to be wiggy around me—prolonged exposure to my me-ness .”
I lift Mars’s sandwich, lean forward, and take a bite, chewing thoughtfully before asking, “How long do I have, doctor?”
His eyes warm, sparking and lighting fires in my soul. “I don’t know. You tell me,” he says, then rolls me my next hint.