Chapter Two Damion
CHAPTER TWO
“Oh, holy shitballs, here she comes.”
—Remington
Damion
I couldn’t stop looking at the photo.
At the stupid, cheesy wallet photo in my hand.
For starters, who actually kept pictures in their wallets anymore? This thing had to belong to someone at least seventy years old, right?
But there was something about the picture that I couldn’t look away from.
I just wasn’t sure what it was.
It was a photo of a girl wearing a winter hat and gloves, her body swallowed by an oversized barn jacket, and she was laughing.
Laughing while surrounded by one-two-three-four-five-six—six dogs.
Six golden retriever puppies.
She was on the ground in the snow, with her head thrown back and her mouth open wide, her eyes squinted as she laughed at the dogs, who’d obviously knocked her down in their bid for her attention.
I knew nothing about the girl, but it felt like I could hear her laughter.
Yeah, she was cute, but it was the aliveness of the photo that had me kind of wanting to keep it.
I mean, of course I wouldn’t. Some idiot tourist (because no one in Gardenwood would have a wallet like that) had dropped his wallet on the sidewalk and was probably looking for it that very moment. I’d turn it in with contents intact because I wasn’t an asshole, but—
“Hey!”
I glanced up at the shout, then did a double take when my brain registered what I was seeing.
Holy shit, it’s her.
It was the girl from the photo, only she wasn’t smiling in real life.
No, she was pissed.
Pissed and headed straight for me.
“That’s my wallet!” she yelled, stepping into the street and crossing without even looking. A black Mercedes honked and slammed on its brakes, but this chick didn’t even slow or look in its direction.
No, she actually started jogging, her eyes narrowed into an angry squint as she came at me like she fully expected me to start running in the other direction.
She had long curly hair the color of a pin oak tree in the fall, that cross between brown and bronze and the deepest of reds.
God, I’m even thinking like Remi now, I thought offhandedly, but how else could I explain that specific thought?
Uncle Rem was obsessed with trees, mostly because that was where his true obsession—birds—tended to live, so I’d spent a lifetime listening to the man wax poetic about tree types and foliage colors.
But he was clearly taking over my brain when that was what I was thinking as a clearly enraged girl with wild-ass Pretty Woman hair was now sprinting toward me.
I’m not sure why, but when she got close enough to grab for the wallet, I yanked it up and out of her reach.
Which wasn’t hard because she was kind of short.
And I was not.
Short, that is.
“Give me the wallet,” she said loudly, out of breath as she did a little jump and tried to grab it, “and I won’t call the police.”
I knew it was unwise, but I couldn’t not laugh when she said that.
First of all, it was hilarious that she thought I would want to steal an ugly wallet that clearly belonged to someone who wouldn’t have more than a Costco membership card and a ten-spot at their disposal.
But I loved the take-no-shit attitude.
“Wow, you’re such a badass tourist, obviously knowing exactly how to deal with big-city wallet-stealing thieves like myself,” I said. “ ‘Speak firmly and tell them you won’t call the police if they give it back’—I bet you read that on the internet.”
“Just give me my wallet,” she demanded.
“How do I know it’s your wallet?” I asked, holding my arm straight up so she had zero chance of even getting close to it.
“Because you’re holding a picture of me in your other hand,” she said in outrage, her face scrunching into a scowl so overexaggerated that I had to laugh again. “A picture that came from said wallet.”
“Is that you?” I looked down at the photo without lowering the wallet by a single millimeter. “I don’t know. This girl looks happy and nice, whereas you look… well, I don’t want to be rude, but not—”
“Come on,” she snapped, lowering her arm to her side. “You know it’s me, knock it off.”
I could tell by the expression on her face that she was about to jump for it again.
“I’m just not sure,” I said, for some reason wanting to mess with her. “And who carries a photo of themselves in their wallet? That doesn’t make sense, unless you’re a narcissist, so I’m not buying it.”
“It’s mine and you know it!”
“Do I?”
“I think you do,” she said through gritted teeth.
And then she jumped again but only managed to smack my elbow.
Which made me laugh. Again.
Which made her make this little growling noise in the back of her throat.
“I mean, it appears to be a man’s wallet,” I said, wondering if the long lashes that framed those angry eyes were natural or extensions. “And you do not appear to be a man, so…”
“Of course you’re a gender-stereotyping kind of guy who—”
“So I’m going to have to check the ID,” I finished loudly, talking over her. “But you need to take a step back so I can do so.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.
It wasn’t a step back, but the arm cross felt like a concession. So I lowered the wallet just enough to pull out the driver’s license, then I raised my arm back up again, still holding the wallet out of her reach.
Which made her give me another sigh and eye roll.
“Better be careful or they’ll get stuck like that,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Your eyes.” She knew exactly what I’d meant. “It’s obscene how hard they’re rolling.”
“Can we get on with this?”
I looked down at the driver’s license in my hand, which actually belonged to a guy who looked like he would own a lot of unironic camo.
“I’m sorry, kiddo, but the wallet appears to belong to someone named William Malone.
This dude has blond hair, blue eyes, and a tragically awful mullet, so the judges are giving you a big, fat nope. Not yours.”
“He’s my boyfr—was my boyfriend,” she said with a sigh. “Not that it’s any of your business. But if you check behind where his license was in the wallet, you’ll find mine.”
“Will I?” I said, going back to the wallet.
“Yeah, you will, wiseass,” she replied, so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it.
“Wiseass,” I repeated, shaking my head as I saw the top of what appeared to be another driver’s license. “First you accuse me of theft and now you’re calling me names. I am grossly offended.”
“Sure you are.”
I pulled out the license that clearly belonged to her.
The photo confirmed both the brown eyes glaring at me and the mass of auburn curls.
Julia.
The name suits her, I thought as the song by Mt. Joy started playing in my head.
Julia
Fix me a blue sky in the warm sun…
“This license belongs to Julia Lowell,” I said, obnoxiously looking back and forth between the identification in my hand and her in-person annoyed face.
“That’s me.”
“How do I know this is you?” I quipped, unable to stop myself from antagonizing her. Something about the stubborn jut of her chin and the way she looked at me through narrowed eyes made it impossible to let her off the hook.
I was having way too much fun messing with her, this ridiculous person who thought I wanted her ridiculous boyfriend wallet.
“Just. Look. At. The. Photo,” she said in frustration, her voice coming out as a groan through clenched teeth.
I looked down at the identification and then everything came at me, all at once.
Cold water, slap to the face, punch in the gut.
Holy, holy shit.
She was Julia Lowell.
Lowell.
With a Nebraska driver’s license.
Nebraska.
And a Springfield, Nebraska, mailing address.
Springfield. Nebraska.
No way.
As my mind was wrapping around the insane reality that I was face-to-face with one of the Nebraska Lowells who’d come to town to steal Uncle Remi’s house, she jumped up and reached for the wallet.
And this time she successfully knocked it out of my hand.
It fell to the pavement, and as I quickly bent down to retrieve it, because now I definitely couldn’t let her win—at anything—she did the same thing.
Only she tried boxing me out, turning her body to push mine out of the way.
And as she did that, she somehow managed to throw back her head and ram it directly into my nose, the back of her skull slamming into my face with the full force of a major leaguer’s baseball bat.
“Shit!” I managed, straightening my glasses as I saw stars and involuntary tears filled my eyes. My hands came up to cover my nose as I stepped away from her with a stumble—dear God, it feels like she shattered my fucking face.
“Shit,” she said as she grimaced and raised a hand to the back of her head, rubbing the spot where I assumed she’d have a hell of a bump because my nose had to have dealt a blow to that hard-as-a-rock cranium.
She must’ve determined me to no longer be a threat now that she’d headbutted me, because instead of running off with the wallet, I heard, “God, are you okay?”
“Are you serious right now?” I asked, wondering if my nose was broken. I half expected it to be gushing blood for how much it hurt, but she didn’t look horrified, so I was probably okay.
Although, she very well might be someone who wasn’t horrified by the sight of blood.
She was one of them, after all.
Springfield. Nebraska.
Holy shit.
She looked worried, those long lashes blinking fast as she gnawed on her bottom lip and watched me cup my busted nose. “Can I, uh, I mean, is there anything I can—”
“I think you’ve done enough, Julia,” I snapped as my nose started throbbing. “And let’s not even pretend you feel bad that you broke my nose, okay? Just run along and go do whatever you were doing before you discovered me trying to find the wallet’s owner like a decent human being.”
“I’m sorry,” she said defensively, tucking a long curl behind her ear. “But you were the one who—”
“Who dared to touch your ex-boyfriend’s ugly old abandoned wallet, yes, I know,” I interrupted, done with this and done with her. “Run along, honey, and this time maybe look before you cross the street. People in the big city get killed that way.”
Her mouth dropped open in outrage, and she just stared at me for a second, like my words had rendered her frozen.
But the girl recovered quickly.
“Y’know, you’re kind of a jerk,” she said, the remorse instantly gone from her face as she shoved the wallet into the front pocket of her jeans.
“Y’know, I kind of am,” I agreed. “A jerk with a broken fucking nose. Thanks again for that.”
For another half second we just glared at each other, her brown eyes moving all over my face while I wondered if she’d moved into Remi’s house yet.
Are you sleeping in my favorite bedroom, Nebraska, the one I used to make blanket forts in?
The thought of it made my stomach literally clench as the grief came at me harder than a headbutt.
“No problem,” she said, her teeth once again gritted. “Nice meeting you, um…”
“Damion.” I let go of my nose and slid my hands into my pockets. “And I only wish I could say the same, Julia.”
She made another snarling noise before turning and marching away, once again not looking before running out into the street.
This time there weren’t any cars about to mow her down.
Talk about a lucky break.