Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sam
It’s looking like I may actually have a job! I’m feeling triumphant. Totally.
And I am not irritated in the slightest that I had yet another awkward, frustrating interaction with my landlord slash the sheriff slash a man who should not be appealing to me at all based on his inability to behave rationally around me.
The way he jumped down my throat about coming out of the doctor’s office—what on earth? Where in his mind did it seem like his business to question me? And why is his approach always to be suspicious or harsh?
At the same time, that’s not quite true. I’m living in his garage apartment and paying less rent than he could charge. He did extend his hand in a way—he apologized and I believe he meant it.
And the other thing? The way his gaze tracked over my face earlier? It felt… heavy. But not in the grumbling, suspicious way it has at other interactions. This time, it was different.
This time, just like that wink he sent me, just like the flicker of a smile I caught, just like the sight of his very silhouette tends to do, our interaction left me buzzing.
Obviously not turned on. Buzzing. Irritated. Annoyed.
Completely put off by his abrasive approach to every single thing he does, minus that look he gave me that sent my stomach to my toes and my heart to my throat…
I shake that off and run through the contents of my fridge.
Getting hired at Jerry’s today is the absolute best news, and even though I don’t think I want to be a waitress forever, I’m genuinely looking forward to the work.
It’ll help pay the bills, let me keep my fridge stocked, and get Mr. Bingley back into his wet food luxuries, and I’m hoping it’ll give me a little space to figure out what I do want to do in the long run.
I might even be able to enroll in a class and take a tiny step toward my bachelor’s degree, which I’ve had to put on hold for years.
May declared we needed celebratory coffees when I texted her the news, but when I stopped by Corner Coffee, someone else was there pulling espresso and she was apparently out at a meeting.
I haven’t figured out all the things May’s involved in, but so far, I know she volunteers at several different organizations from the library to the clinic to the animal shelter, and is somehow also an elected official for the town or something?
Not the mayor, but something else. I’m baffled by the way she’s involved in every inch of the town’s life, though she’s got the energy and charm for it, no doubt.
I remember the bags of thrifted clothes I left in the car earlier and jog down the stairs to retrieve them. Inevitably, the sheriff’s vehicle comes trundling up the long drive right as I’m pulling the stuff from the trunk.
My stomach flips. I debate scuttling back inside, but before I can get my car locked and disappear, he’s sending his daughters inside and hollering at me.
“Ms. Ellis.”
I turn, my insides in a jumble. I do not want to talk to him. I definitely don’t want another interaction that leaves me feeling like living here was a bad move and my days are numbered.
But I can’t just run away. “Call me Sam.”
“Sam.” He halts a few feet from me, the kids hauling backpacks inside the front door of the house. “I’m sorry for earlier.”
“Thanks.” I won’t say no problem because it was genuinely not his business to be questioning me coming out of the doctor’s office. It doesn’t matter that it’s his brother’s practice, nor does it matter that I was only in there to chat with Evie for a minute.
I also won’t look him in the face, which is rude of me, but I’m just not up for the sight of him. It’s too much.
“I was over the line. It’s not an excuse, but I do want to explain I was crashing—hadn’t eaten and I’ve been preoccupied with some things at work. Anyway, again, it’s no excuse for the way I spoke to you, but I’d like to think it’s not how I normally behave.”
This forces my gaze up to meet his and I find his brow knit with his hallmark severe Grant expression. He’s got the crown of his sheriff’s hat in his fingers at one side and he brushes his hair with the opposite hand, almost like he cares what it looks like after being flattened down by the hat.
What kind of man is he?
Evie said he’s a good man. I’ve seen some proof of that. But every time I think I understand him, like I’ve got him nailed down, he shucks another layer and I’m left with something more. Complex.
Frustratingly alluring, given the amount of upheaval he also ignites in me.
But he’s here, literally hat in hand, and I can appreciate it.
“Water under the bridge. Truly.” And now I’m ready to go, so I hold up the shopping bags and tip my head to the side. I’m not sure it communicates exactly what I mean, but I don’t know what else to say.
Or, rather, I don’t know how to navigate a person like this, who seems to want so little to do with me but is essentially forced to interact with me.
I’m not entirely unused to being seen as a burden, but I can often overcome that.
I used to be a pretty sunshiny personality as people go, and I wanted people to like me.
Maybe it’s pathetic, but I wish I could go back to feeling impervious to bad moods.
Now they feel like ill portents—they’re clues I could miss if I let down my guard. So I don’t.
But after what feels like far longer than a year of not having anyone and working myself to exhaustion more often than not, part of what I want here is a fresh start.
It’s the whole reason I came. And the more time I spend, the more I suspect that part of what I want is friendship, a sense of community, and yeah, I want the residents of my new town to like me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to simply ask if we can be friends. Maybe it’ll defuse this weird energy between us. Maybe we’ll be borrowing cups of sugar from each other immediately once we do.
He’s still scowling when he declares, “I’ll be home at five on Friday. We’ll leave by five thirty.”
It’s that same bossy, “let me tell you how this is gonna go” voice that makes my jaw clench and the part of me that fought to get here and away from someone who wanted to control everything in my life go on alert.
It’s not the same, and logically I know that, but my gut response is an instant no. No man is bossing me around again.
My chin dips to acknowledge his words, and he does the same as I take steps backward toward the garage.
Something makes me want to keep facing him, to keep taking him in, even though I’m frustrated that he made the effort to apologize to me and then tore up all the nice work by barking out orders again.
A minute later, I’m in my little apartment, doors shut and locked, and I watch him from the window that faces his house at the side of the garage. He wanders slowly back toward his house, glancing over his shoulder at the garage, and my stomach drops when his gaze reaches the window.
Our eyes meet, and I swear I can see that stunning blue color from all the way over here. He’s still not wearing his hat, but he’s still in uniform, and with a little distance, I can’t pretend it’s not an excellent view. A man like this? Too beautiful for his own good and looking at me like that?
I’m certain I’ve never felt this pull toward someone—not ever. And it has every instinct urging me to step away, but every stubborn, wanting little voice shouting I won’t be the one to break. For starters, I certainly won’t be the one to cave to his orders when he barks them.
After a beat, he turns and goes inside.
And for a dozen reasons, I know I won’t be here at five thirty on Friday.