Chapter 6
Chapter Six
TRISTEN
Reese is unable to hide her blatant displeasure when she spots me outside the shop. Not sure why I was expecting a different response.
“Uh, hey, Tristen. What are you doing here? I’m in a bit of a rush, so I don’t have time to chat,” she states, her grip on her suitcase tightening.
“Des said you needed a ride to the bus station.”
Which is close enough to the truth. I overheard his plans during our weekly Madden gaming session, and as a good friend would do, I offered to take Reese for him since I had to go into town for an errand. I’m sure I’ll need something or other at the grocery store. So, technically not a lie.
Her mouth opens and closes, like she’s short circuiting through a list of responses.
“I . . . thought my brother was taking me.”
Of course Des didn’t tell her. That would have made this whole process too easy if he had.
“Nope. You got me.”
For a split second, she seems like she’s going to bolt, rolling onto the balls of her feet. I push off the truck and grab her suitcase handle before I have to chase her down Main Street. She jerks forward, refusing to release her hold, resulting in a game of tug-of-war.
“Wait,” she says and glances down the street again. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. He’s tying ribbons on a hundred wedding favors tonight.”
She nods, slowly accepting her fate. Me. Like I’m the root canal of a choice.
“Let go so I can toss this in the truck.” It comes out a little gruffer than I meant, so I add in a softer “please” to smooth things over.
Her top lip curls as she reluctantly lets go. “I can do it.”
“Oh, I know. But it’s nice to have someone carry the load for you every once in a while.” I pick up the suitcase and stumble back from the weight. Muscles straining, I heave it into the bed of the truck. The contents clang inside. “What the heck do you have in here? Dumbbells?”
“Just the body of the last bartender who got on my nerves,” she says without missing a beat.
“You scare me sometimes.”
She smiles, as if I’d told her she was beautiful.
A jolt of unexpected attraction hits me—and suddenly I want to tell her she’s beautiful.
Her hair is loose, draped over her shoulders, still damp from her recent shower.
Natural, freshly scrubbed skin, without the layers of makeup she wears when she goes out.
She’s softer now, with light blonde lashes and freckles sprinkled over the bridge of her nose and cheeks.
So faint, it doesn’t take much to hide them under her makeup.
Why she even wears that junk, I don’t understand.
She has never needed any of that to be beautiful. She just is.
I glance down at her lips and notice that even those are bare without gloss.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She scrubs a hand over her mouth. “Do I have toothpaste on my face?”
“Ahem. Yeah . . . you got it.”
She wipes her mouth again as I walk to the truck in a daze and climb in. What are with these abnormal thoughts lately? First she was adorable the other day, and now she is beautiful. I tap my temple, hoping there’s a reset button in my brain.
The door swings open and her backpack comes flying in, bouncing off my shoulder and landing between the seats.
“If you throw that coffee at me . . .” I growl, already feeling the weird tingles of attraction fading.
“I would never. This is my power fuel.” Reese climbs in and slams the door behind her with a frown. “I didn’t expect to find myself back in your truck so soon.”
“You could always walk.”
Her eyelashes flicker. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.”
I shift the car into drive and merge onto Main Street before she can take me up on the offer. As soon as we get on the highway, I take a deep breath and brace myself for the awkward conversation I’m about to start.
“I’m sorry about what I said the other day.”
“Okay.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I guess I was confused when—” I steal a glance at her when she giggles, her attention locked on a reel on her phone. “Are you listening to me?”
“Look, I see what you’re trying to do, and I’m not falling for it.” She scrolls through her social media feed. “I have a truce to uphold, thank you very much. You will not goad me into an argument.”
“So, you’re just going to ignore me.” My hands tighten on the wheel. “That was not the point of the truce. It was that we could talk to each other like normal people.”
Her head snaps up. “Are you saying I’m not normal?”
Biting my lip, I realize I have stumbled into our verbal minefield again. One false move, and we’ll both be screaming at each other. Time to slow down, breathe, and choose my words carefully.
Her narrow gaze locks on me, her phone forgotten.
At least I have her full attention now.
“I don’t want to argue,” I state.
“Neither do I. Which is why I said it was better if we don’t talk at all.”
“No—that will only let things fester. We need to talk this out. I meant what I said about the truce, but we both have to try—”
“Are you saying I’m not trying?” she asks, bristling.
I point at her. “That right there. You keep assuming I’m out to get you.”
Her mouth opens like she wants to retaliate, but she settles with a stiff, “I don’t.”
With a huff, she turns to the window, and a wave of disappointment washes over me. Typical Reese. When anything gets too difficult or emotional, she tunnels inward or runs away. Stuck in my truck, she has nowhere to hide.
“What happened to us? We used to be friends,” I ask softly, finally voicing the question that’s been eating away at me.
“You’re Des’s friend,” she replies, matching my tone.
“If that’s true, then why did we text every day? Hmm? Or meet up for lunch once a week? Even after Des left for college, we still hung out.”
“That was a lifetime ago. Before my poor choices, before Burns, before Granny . . .” Silence hovers between us before she continues.
“I never realized you thought of me as a friend before. I always thought Des forced you to check in on me. A ‘bro code’ or something. You were always watching out for me at the bar like you were my personal bodyguard.”
“I mean, he did ask, but it was also because I wanted to—I care about you.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks as my words echo in my head, sounding like a stranger’s.
Reese spins in her seat to me, her hand on her chest in a mock swoon. “Aww. You care about me?”
I cringe at her response. “Actually, I do.”
“Oh . . . you’re serious?” Her devilish grin slips. “Uh, thank you? I didn’t realize I had two brothers—”
“Brother?!” My whole body recoils at the insinuation, and I accidentally swerve over the line from shock. We flail about, our seat belts the only tether as my truck’s twenty-year-old shocks fight with the rumble strips on the shoulder of the road.
“Are you trying to kill us?” She grabs the handle over the door as she bounces in her seat.
“Sorry. Hold on.” I jerk us back onto the road.
“What the heck? You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she scolds, her hands still clinging to the handle like a lifeline.
“I think I gave one to myself too. Are you okay?”
“Jostled but alive. This Uber is getting a one star.”
“Does that mean you’re paying me?”
“Um . . .”
“That’s what I thought.” I roll the stress kinks from my shoulders. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Never better. You?”
“Yeah. I freaked out for a second.”
She rummages through her backpack. “You don’t say . . .”
The hint of strawberries fills the air, and I turn to catch her practiced movements as she applies her lip gloss in two precise swipes, then blots her lips together in a distracting manner.
“Eyes on the road, weirdo,” she says and pops the gloss’s top on with a satisfied tap, twisting it closed.
“You’re the weirdo,” I mutter under my breath.
She shoots me an exasperated look. “Are we just completely giving up on this truce?”
“No.” This is the most she’s talked to me in months. We can’t stop now. “Banter and joking don’t count.”
“Huh. Convenient how the rules change just when I was winning,” she says dryly.
“You gotta read the fine print, Reese’s Cup.”
“Also, you gotta stop calling me that. I’m not seven.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t. Also part of the fine print.”
She shakes her head but not before I catch a hint of a smile. Satisfaction rolls through me, and I can’t stop the grin stretching under my beard.
“So, we are good now?” I ask.
“I’m not about to buy us best friend pendants, but I’m willing to try to be better. But you have to give a little too.” She wags her finger at me like I’m the problem.
“Me?” But her raised eyebrows have me nodding instead.
“Good. Anything else you need to get off your chest?”
I chance a glance in her direction. “A bus, huh? Why that instead of flying?”
“It saves a lot of money that can be put back into repairs. I’m going to need paint, fabric, wood for shelving, and maybe a new sofa—the one in there looks worn. If I can find one on sale, an electric fireplace would be nice.”
“Need help?”
“Probably. I was thinking of asking Holt for an extra pair of hands with the broken dinette, but I know he’s been swamped with getting Mount Restoration up and running.”
My thumbs tap on the wheel, waiting for her to ask the obvious. After a minute, I give up. “You know I can help you, right?”
“Not sure if we’d survive a group project together.”
I shake my head. “We helped renovate the Rocosa Library together. How is this different?”
“There were different levels in the library. In an RV, we will be on top of each other.”
“That doesn’t bother me.” I smile knowingly. “Unless it’s you that has the problem.”
“I don’t. Fine. You can help,” she grounds out like I twisted her arm. “But don’t come crying to me when we are screaming after an hour.”
“Oh, I won’t. If I can survive the coaster calamity, I can survive anything.”
To my delight, she leans her head back and roars with laughter.