Chapter 14
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According to my grandfather, I didn’t cut my hair short enough. I had a feeling he would feel this way unless I asked Anna to take a pair of shears to it and leave me bald, but hearing his snippy remarks still annoyed me.
I’ve been holed up in the shop for the past couple of days since. Or hiding, more like. I’m far too old to be avoiding the old man, but I prefer my hide on my back, not hung on the back fence, and I have a feeling that if I go near him right now, I won’t be able to keep myself in check.
The weeks of tension and unspoken feelings regarding my past actions have kept the entire ranch on their toes, always prepared for the blowback.
The fact it hasn’t happened yet is alarming.
Everyone has something to say about my leaving besides my grandfather.
He’s been focusing on nitpicking the million other things I’m doing wrong instead.
Banana: You’re a bit prickly today. Anything you want to talk about?
I think back on the text that I saw before leaving to grab lunch and frown. My mood was shit when I woke up this morning, and I didn’t notice that my attitude had travelled through cyberspace. Talking to her has become the one thing I’ve been looking forward to every day.
I still don’t know who she is or what she looks like outside of that singular photo, and as much as I hate to admit it, that’s starting to frustrate me too. I’d have to be delusional to deny that I want to meet her in real life.
Would we get along just as well as we do now? Does she listen to my music, and would she admit that to me in person? Would her knowing who I am change anything between us?
Shaking my head, I turn off my truck and open our long thread of messages before typing a reply.
Me: Sorry. It’s just family drama.
The parking lot of the grocery store is nearly empty, and I’d bet the only other cars here belong to the employees.
I linger in the truck, delaying having to step out into the snow.
The heat starts to dissipate the longer I sit here, though, the chill from outside starting to seep in by the time my phone buzzes.
Banana: Oh, I know all about that. How about you tell me something and I’ll do the same?
Me: Alright. My grandparents resent me for choices I made a few years ago. They’ve never forgiven me.
My lack of hesitation should be alarming but isn’t.
Me: Your turn.
Banana: My father tried to sabotage my sister’s relationship with her now husband because he’s a self-serving bastard. None of us speak to him anymore.
I suck in a breath.
Me: I’m sorry.
Banana: I’m sorry too.
Me: Do you miss him?
Three dots appear for longer than usual as she types but never sends a message. I’m prepared to take my question back when she replies.
Banana: He’s my father. I think a part of me will always miss him, but I won’t ever forget what he’s done. For that reason, I’m going to continue living my life without him having a place in it.
Banana: Do you miss your grandfather?
Me: I haven’t lost him. How can I miss him?
Banana: You don’t have to lose someone to miss them. Not physically.
I reread the message over and over again, trying to understand how she can be so aware of my feelings. My chest tightens as I shift gears and focus on her admission to me.
Me: Your father doesn’t deserve you. Your bravery is admirable.
Banana: Thank you. So is yours. I couldn’t spend every day with someone who held resentment toward me.
Me: I’ve worked on a lot of trucks because of it. Turns out I didn’t forget anything while I was away.
Banana: Will you ever tell me where you went?
I type out a message before quickly deleting it. Will I ever tell her? I want to, but not like this. The way we’re speaking now. If I decided to tell her who I am, it wouldn’t be when I don’t know who she is.
Me: Will you ever meet me in person?
Banana: Is that something you want?
Me: I think so.
Banana: Let’s start with a phone call and go from there.
My stomach bottoms out. The chill from outside suddenly doesn’t register as my skin heats on its own.
Me: Just tell me when.
Banana: I’ll let you know. I have to go, but we’ll talk later?
We’ve spoken every day for the past month. As if I’d change that up now. I doubt it’s even possible at this point. I’ve become attached to her.
Me: Yeah, we will. Bye, Banana.
Her goodbye comes instantly, and then I’m pocketing my phone and stepping into the cold.
With a bag of jerky in one hand and a bottle of Coke in the other, I stalk through the store toward the front tills. My wet boots squelch on the tile floor, the sound grating along my spine. At least the heat is blasting to fight the cold.
It’s almost unheard of to step away from the ranch to pick up lunch, considering my grandma’s love language has always been feeding hungry mouths, but I’ve been skipping most of her meals for a while now.
I love her food, but the company that comes with it, not so much.
A half hour spent tensely eating across the table from my grandfather and his withering looks isn’t my idea of an ideal break.
So I’ve been driving into town every afternoon to grab something to dull my hunger and taking my dinner straight to the shop every night.
It’s a miracle I haven’t been called out on either yet.
There’s only one till open today, and I double blink when I notice the woman setting her items onto the conveyer belt. I ignore the urge to run my fingers through my hair, the ghostly feeling of hers doing the same just the other day slamming into me head-on.
She wasn’t supposed to be the one to cut my hair, but fuck if I wasn’t going to just accept her help and get on with it.
I didn’t mean to treat her so poorly, and I’ve regretted being the one to bring that wounded look to her eyes since the moment it appeared.
My judgment was misplaced, and she was undeserving of it.
I just hope my apology for everything sticks.
Anna speaks to the male cashier with an easy smile on her face, and for some reason, I’m almost jealous of the ease with which she speaks to him. There’s never been that ease between us. I haven’t allowed there to be.
He asks her if she wants a bag for her items, and she nods, taking it from his extended hand before starting to pack up her items. I narrow my eyes on her premade salad and sandwich, piecing together that she must be on her lunch break too.
I reach the till and hesitate to drop my items on the belt.
Anna has her back to me, not noticing me yet.
Her hair is up today, the slick length of it swinging back and forth across her back.
She’s wearing that jacket again, the one that’s not warm enough.
A pair of pink mittens stick out of the left pocket, so at least she’s not baring her fingers to the cold.
The tips of her ears are red, though, so she didn’t wear a toque.
When she finishes bagging her items and turns around, she catches sight of me and jumps, rosy lips parting. I laugh, lifting the jerky in my hand and waving it around in greeting.
“I’m starting to think you’re following me,” she says. The slight quirk of her mouth gives away her amusement.
Finally, I set my things down and move closer. She’s so much shorter than me but seems to hate that fact if the way she fixes her posture to make herself as tall as possible is anything to go off.
“I’m just a man lookin’ for something to eat,” I reply.
Her eyes fall to my lunch on the belt. “I took you for a Cherry Coke guy.”
“I’m not a fan of overly sweet things.”
“The more bitter, the better, then?” she challenges, the double meaning in her question hitting home.
I can’t stop my laugh as it tears free. The cashier watches our interaction closely, no doubt making note of it to tell his friends later. I don’t care what he does with it, and that surprises me.
“Are you goin’ to pay anytime soon?” I ask, changing the subject without giving her an answer to her question.
“Right,” she mutters. After she steps up to the debit machine, the guy reads how much she owes, and she reaches into the jacket pocket stuffed full of mittens. As she pulls her hand back out, her cheeks flush. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
The anxious pitch of her voice has me on alert. “What’s wrong?”
“My wallet’s at the salon.”
Oh . I shrug a shoulder, looking to the cashier. “Just add my stuff to hers, and I’ll pay.”
“Alright,” he says before reaching for my beef jerky.
Anna jumps toward me. “No! You’re not buying me lunch.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you to.”
I laugh through a half-smile. “Consider it a real apology.”
“You already apologized,” she notes, still so damn stubborn.
It’s no wonder we butt heads so much. We share one of the most polarizing traits.
I don’t reply to her until the guy has finished scanning my items and tells me the new total. The slap of my card over the machine hardly sounds before she’s swatting at my hand.
Laughing, I turn my hand and capture hers, pulling it away from the card machine. Her palm is soft and warm in my grip, her fingers so much smaller than mine. They’re delicate. I’d bet she’s appalled at the state of my hands. The scars and calluses must feel so off-putting.
Remembering myself, I drop my hold and thank the cashier before moving past Anna and dropping my things into her packed bag.
“Are you goin’ back to work now?” I ask her as we leave, the bag in my left hand.
The wind howls when the automatic doors slide open, and we step outside.
She shivers, the movement causing our arms to brush and the thin material of her jacket to become even more bothersome to me.
When I snag the mittens out of her pocket and hand them to her, she doesn’t fight me on taking them and slipping them on.
“Yeah. I walked, which probably wasn’t the best choice, but I don’t like driving on these roads yet.”
Are her cheeks pink from the cold or embarrassment?
“What part of BC are you from?”
“Vancouver.”
I nod, spying my truck in the parking lot. Something claws at my subconscious, a plea to consider whether I’m really going to let this woman walk back to the salon in this cold fucking weather. Especially in that goddamn jacket.
“This is definitely new for you, then. Have you driven much around here yet?”
She diverts her stare at the question. “Not once, actually. The idea of the car sliding out of control terrifies me.”
We stop walking when we reach the start of the parking lot, and I release a long breath. The angel on my shoulder grins proudly. Fuck me, I’m really about to do this.
“I’ll drive you,” I huff.
She whips her head in my direction, eyes full of curiosity. “To the salon?”
A deep breath. “The salon. Home later. To work tomorrow. Just tell me when.”
“You’re offering to be my chauffeur?” It sounds even more ridiculous coming from her mouth.
“Don’t make me take the offer back.”
“Is this you still apologizing?”
“My grandmother would kick my ass if I let you continue to walk in this weather. It’s only goin’ to get worse. This is nothin’ compared to what will come in January.”
Playing it off doesn’t help make me feel any less of a loser. I don’t have the time to be driving her around town. I’m already pushing the limits stepping out for lunch every day. It’ll be a miracle if I can sneak off the ranch in the morning when everyone’s up and rushing around.
“You’re sure about this?” she asks, voice suddenly sounding shy. The tone is out of place enough that I can’t help but focus on it. “I work every Monday to Friday from nine to five.”
I force myself to nod. “That’s fine.”
“If you’re sure . . . then that would be really nice. Thank you.”
The appreciation shining in her eyes as she stares up at me is almost too much. The brown is even softer now than before, warm like melted chocolate. My chest is twisted up, and before I notice what’s happening, I’m grinning at her.
Grinning like I haven’t just complicated my life with a woman who three days ago made me want to shout into a pillow.
Great.