Chapter 4 The Slow Burn #2
“Son of a bitch, I thought she liked me.” He looks back at the shop and then, with a chuckle, he continues, almost to himself, “Though I can’t imagine she’ll be the only person to warn you against me.”
I blink, looking away for a moment. I know exactly what he means. Paige’s parents never wanted her to be around him. No-good Rafael, reckless Rafael, who always gets in trouble.
“I’m sure she meant red,” I say teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.
“Like our clothes?”
“More like from that big flag you’re waving.”
“Ah-ha,” he fake-laughs. “I have half a mind to take my shoes back.”
“Maybe after our next stop.”
“Which is?”
“The ice cream shop around the corner.” I take a step, then look back, where he stands still, watching me with a pleased expression. “You coming, Gray?”
A slow nod. “You bet, Freckles.”
“I knew you were a mint chip girl,” he says as he swirls his tongue around his cone. Truth be told, my ice cream order changes depending on my mood, so I’m not excluding the possibility that I’ve been conned into this flavor.
“Coffee and vanilla,” I say as I glance at his cone. “What does that say about you?”
“I don’t know. That I have excellent taste, while you’re eating toothpaste?”
A laugh escapes as he shifts forward, leaning his elbows on the table. His eyes linger, warm and intent, as if he’s cataloging the sound and the way it lights up my face. The intensity of it sends a flutter through my chest, and I quickly glance down at my cone, pretending to focus on a drip.
Over the years, my mystery-loving brain has contemplated several theories about Rafael Gray’s sudden disappearance, ranging from the absurd to the unsettling.
Like how he might have joined a secret society—one of those underground cults you read about in true-crime stories.
Or how he was maybe recruited for some elite spy program, gone on to save the world.
Then there’s the one theory I never liked to dwell on, but it’s the one that feels most plausible. The night he disappeared, his father was attacked. Maybe he did it.
It had been a scandal. John Gray whisked away in an ambulance in the dead of the night, my dad responding to the scene, telling us that the assailant had left and Rafael was nowhere to be found, and then he never returned.
John Gray eventually gave a description of the culprit, who he said wasn’t Rafael. But I always thought… Maybe he lied. Maybe he was protecting his son.
I push the thought away, wishing I could offer him my condolences, but I’d have to admit I know him, and it’d open the floor to a lot of questions I’m not ready for. Like who am I, have we met before, am I still the pathetic little girl who crushed hard on him? No, thank you.
But I will say, he’s really not that bad. I’m almost reminded of why I liked him so much back in the day. His aura of mystery, his charming smile, his witty sense of humor.
He flashes me a look that could melt the rest of my ice cream. “Change your mind about me yet?”
My cheeks heat, and I look away, trying to muster up some sort of answer that doesn’t betray how close he is to the truth. “Hm? No.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do I at least get to see your face?”
When I shake my head again, he fishes into his pocket. “Well, I still have about… fifty dollars’ worth of swoon to change your mind.”
“Good luck with that.” The streets are now empty, and I doubt there’s even a single thing open this late. There’s no way he’ll find somewhere to spend it all tonight, not unless he wants to drive to Springfield or Providence.
“Pretty sure the motel up the interstate has a forty-nine ninety-nine package. Room, entrance to the strip club, and breakfast buffet.”
I glare at him, but it’s half-hearted.
“Ahh, there it is,” he says, pointing a finger at me as if it’s a grand discovery. “You want to be mad at me, but you can’t. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“That I’m tired?”
“Nope.” He leans back, watching me with a cocky grin. “It means you like me, Freckles.”
Like him? No, I don’t like him.
The only boy I ever liked is Rafael, and with how long it took me to un-like him, I’m not about to start again.
I shrug. “You keep telling yourself that.”
“I will. It makes me feel real good.” I roll my eyes, and he snickers, the sound soft and warm like caramel, blending with the light breeze and the smells of sweet waffle cones drifting from the ice cream shop.
“I don’t like you.” Feeling his gaze on me, I add, “Because I don’t like anyone.”
“Anyone?”
“Ever,” I admit, crossing my legs. Why am I even saying this to him? “If you’re looking for a reason not to date me, that’s probably it.”
I shoot him a quick look, and his expression is calm, not as surprised as I expected.
“You must have had a boyfriend or two at some point.”
“Just one. But it’s not for me. I can’t fall in love. Sometimes I think I might just… be incapable of it.”
He snaps his fingers. “Maybe you’re a psychopath.”
“Do I look like a psychopath?”
“Well, you keep saying you don’t like me.”
I let out a soft, amused breath, focusing on my cone.
“Could you be a lesbian?” he asks. “Because that thing you keep saying about how you don’t like me would make sense, then.”
“Oh God,” I whine, laughter bubbling up again.
“Okay, look,” he says, shifting to a more serious tone as he adjusts his mask. “We met at a singles event that you stayed at for exactly seven minutes before you plotted an escape. So… are you incapable of falling in love or just unwilling?”
I shut my eyes for a moment, considering. I guess I’m not holding my breath waiting to meet the right guy. I don’t really put myself out there, either, because I’m terrible at flirting and dating.
“I’m not romantic. Grand love gestures make me cringe, and I’m the person who forgets anniversaries, buys practical gifts, and thinks date night sounds exhausting.”
“Not every love story needs to be a Nicholas Sparks book,” he counters. “You choose what your love life should look like.”
“Really? Even if I enjoy sleeping alone and only cuddle with my cat?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “The right person will respect your boundaries. And maybe you’ll find out along the way how you like cuddling with them almost as much as you like to cuddle your cat.”
“Or maybe I’m just too… broken for love. Too damaged.”
He waves me off. “Every single person out there is irreparably damaged by their experiences. Enriched by them, too. That’s what makes life interesting.”
I tilt my head. “So… I am weird, but it’s not my fault?”
“So everyone is weird, and it doesn’t matter.”
His words settle into some raw place that feels soothed, understood. “Everyone is weird, and it doesn’t matter,” I repeat.
Judging by his smug expression, he’s aware he just won a million points.
My gaze wanders down to his shirt, hugging his chest and flat stomach, then to his long, muscular legs, wrapped in fitted dark red pants, and I can’t ignore the pull of another thought entirely.
Love might not be in the cards for me, but now that I think about it, his motel idea doesn’t sound so bad.
“What?” He looks down at his suit. “Did I get ice cream on my shirt?”
“Huh? No.” I shift my gaze to the ground, warmth rising up my neck. “I guess it’s your turn, isn’t it? Any idea how we’re going to spend that money?”
“I’m actually not sure.” He bites his plump lip, looking around, and then his gaze settles back on me. “But I’m open to suggestions.”
Should I? I shouldn’t. It’s crazy—I can’t offer to sleep with him. Although he wouldn’t have spent tonight with me if he wasn’t interested, right?
“Well,” I say, nervously pointing behind me. “There’s a parking lot around the corner. I’m pretty sure we can spare two dollars to park your car there for a while.”
There. I said it. So what if he says no?
His chest rises slowly with a long inhale. “And what exactly would we do there?”
“We could, uh, listen to some music. Or chat—we could chat, too.”
“Uh-huh.” A warm thread of tension crackles in the inches of space between us. “You said you’re not good at that.”
“Right. So maybe we could do something else,” I manage, chewing on my lip.
I’m pretty sure every book I’ve ever read taught me not to enter a stranger’s car in the dead of night, but I’m channeling my inner Paige for once.
Forget about murders. Focus on horizontal gymnastics. “Less talking and more acting.”
“Ah.” The tip of his tongue swipes over his upper lip. “Best way I’d ever spend two dollars in my life.”
I grimace. “That makes me sound like a cheap prostitute.”
“Heard it the moment I said it,” he says, running a hand through his hair. The smile slips from his face, replaced by something softer, almost wistful. “I’d love to. Truly. But… I think I should go.”
My heart skips a beat, my insides tangling together in a knot.
“Oh.” Okay, I think I’m ready to drop dead. Did I misread all his signals? His looks, his closeness, his flirting—seriously, how is this happening?
“It’s not like that.” He shifts the mask over his nose, and for a moment I think he’ll lift it, but he doesn’t, and just tucks his hand back into his pocket. “If it’s okay with you, I’d rather not rush it. I think I’ll enjoy getting to know you little by little.”
I trap the butterflies in my stomach, shove them into a bottle, and lodge it somewhere deep inside me, never to be found again.
Getting to know me little by little? He didn’t hear a word I said about my inability to catch feelings, did he?
And besides, how long is he planning to stay in town?
I’d assumed he’d leave again after his father’s funeral.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t enjoy sex more?”
Laughter booms out of him. “Sex is great. But I have a feeling that this…” He points at me, then at himself. “This will be better.”
“I’m not dating you,” I breathe out.
“I’ll see you around, Freckles,” he says, standing up.
Goddamn it.
“You don’t even have my number!” I call after him as he walks away. “And I have your shoes!”
“You said it yourself.” He turns to me. “Five thousand people in this town. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
I watch him walk away, shoeless, for a moment, then walk in the opposite direction, toward The Oak’s parking lot, the same tingle spreading through my skin and deep beneath.
I can’t believe Rafael Gray just rejected me.
Again.