Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
FREYA
I’ve only half opened my front door when there’s a to-go cup being thrust into my hand.
“All in here?” Oscar grumbles as he passes me.
I almost laugh. It’s six a.m. and he’s like a grouchy bear emerging from a cave.
He looks around my apartment for a few seconds and I’m about to get embarrassed by the clutter, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.
He spots the stacked-up bins of yarn and the folded display racks and starts work without a word, picking up two bins and taking them back down the steps to his waiting truck.
I take a small sip of the drink. It’s perfect. Exactly what I ordered at Becca’s.
Of course it is.
He doesn’t look at me as he comes back up to the door. I watch him, the way his shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt. As he picks up the next box, I have to look away, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth at the sight of his forearm veins.
I snap myself out of whatever trance I’m in and help Oscar get everything loaded.
He doesn’t say much, any question I ask answered with a grunt or a single syllable until I give up altogether.
Oscar lets out a long yawn, and then nods back up toward my front door.
“Go grab your stuff, I’ll wait out here. ”
When I’m back by the truck, purse and drink in hand, Oscar moves to the passenger side and pulls the door open, gesturing for me to get in.
As I take my seat, he ducks down, gathering up my skirt where it’s spilling out the side of the vehicle and carefully smoothing it away, tucking it in to avoid getting dirty or trapped in the door.
I stare straight ahead, spine rigid. My heart thuds in my ears and I don’t know if I want to pull away or beg him to wrap him warm hand around my calf and squeeze.
The tips of his fingers graze my ankle and I stifle a gasp. The light touch sends little icicles all up my leg and I have to curl my fingers in to stop myself from rubbing it away.
It’s confusing sometimes, craving contact so badly but finding certain kinds so uncomfortable. I desperately want the points of connection, but only if it’s the way I need it, the way that isn’t going to hurt me.
Oscar slams the door shut and rounds the hood. He slides in, giving me a small smile as he starts the engine.
“You got the address?” he asks.
I nod, pulling the scrap of paper out of my purse.
“Here.” He hands over his phone. “Password’s 9506.”
I open it up, surprised at how easily he’s giving me free rein. Aaron’s phone was always completely off-limits. I once answered a call when he was in the shower and he didn’t speak to me for three days.
I take a deep breath and head to the navigation app. Once the directions are loaded I slot it into the holder he’s got attached to the dash and we settle in as he pulls out of the lot.
We don’t talk much for the first half hour. I lean my head against the cold glass of the window and watch the scenery pass us by as we head out of town and up onto the highway. Oscar asks about what the fair’s going to be like and I run him through my plans for the setup.
I can’t take my eyes off the mountains. I know it’s cliché, but it’s hard not to feel like every problem I’ve ever had fades into insignificance when faced with their scale.
The whole time we lived in Connecticut I used to google the Rockies, spend hours poring over any image I could find, trying to feel the same way I felt growing up. Trying to feel like I was home.
“You can go to sleep if you want,” Oscar mumbles. “We got a little while to go.”
“I’m good.” I straighten in my seat like I’m trying to prove it.
He reaches behind his chair and digs around, one hand still on the wheel. I turn to help but he finds whatever he’s looking for before long. His arm snakes into the front and a paper bag drops into my lap.
“There’s breakfast if you want it.”
“Really?” I open up the bag to find six different pastries, each one wrapped in paper.
“I didn’t know what you would want so I got a mix.”
I examine the selection more closely.
“Which one do you want?” I hold out the bag for him to choose but he waves me away.
“Whatever you don’t have is fine.”
Unease licks up my spine, my instincts telling me that this is probably some kind of trap. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” He frowns, casting a quick glance my way. I hesitate, waiting for him to say something else, but there’s nothing.
I pull out an almond croissant and start unwrapping it. Oscar looks my way again and it feels like he stares for half a second too long, because my hand’s out before I know what I’m doing. “Did you want this one?”
He chuckles. “Just eat the croissant, Freya.”
My face flames and I start chewing in silence. Oscar roots around in the bag until he finds something he’s happy with, and promptly has it wolfed down in around four seconds. I guess firefighters are used to eating fast.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” I say after a few minutes of silence. I thought I could just leave it, but my brain keeps catching on the idea, and I need to know.
“Anything,” he says easily.
I take a deep breath. “What did your mom mean about Jamie Riley?” There was real vitriol in the way she talked about him.
I know how she feels. I got on his radar about halfway through fifth grade and after that it was relentless.
Calling me names, hiding my stuff. He realized that I would freak out if anybody touched my food and made a point of messing with it any day he could.
My mom went to the school a bunch of times but it only stopped when we were twelve and he moved to a different school. I never knew why he left.
Oscar winces and I knot my fingers in my lap. “Not about to drop that, huh?”
“Did you know him?”
His jaw works from side to side. “I saw him around.”
“And when you said you got into it…”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
The vaguest memory flickers, like a shadow at the edge of my vision. “Wasn’t there a kid who punched him? Right before he left?”
“Uh, yeah.” His cheek twitches in a chagrined smile.
“It was you?”
“It wasn’t my finest moment.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You don’t remember?” He frowns, casting me a glance.
“Remember what?”
“He threw mud in your hair.” He almost growls it, eyes dark.
I whip around, turning in my seat. What is he talking about? “I don’t understand.”
“He had it coming.”
“You hit him because of me?”
He shrugs. “Nearly got kicked out of school. His mom wanted me expelled but mine threatened to go to the board.”
“Are you kidding?”
“I told you, he had it coming.” The look he gives me sears through me, filled with a heaviness I can’t quite parse. I blink and Oscar clears his throat. “Nobody deserves to have a kid like that making their life hell.”
Is that why Jamie’s mom moved him? Because of Oscar?
“You should eat that.” He changes the subject, nodding at the pastry I’ve been holding in midair.
I numbly take a bite, though I don’t manage to look away from him.
As I eat, I take in his outfit for the first time.
He’s wearing a pale blue button-up tucked into brown slacks.
He’s still got on the work boots I’ve never seen him without, but his hair’s combed back, and I think there might even be gel in it?
“Did you dress up?” I blurt out.
“What do you mean?”
“You just… I mean, you don’t normally look so…” I trail off, realizing that I’m being rude.
“So what?”
“You just look very nice?” I say it like it’s a question, my grip threatening to tear into the paper bag I’m still holding.
He snorts. “How do I usually look?”
“You’re just normally more…”
“Like a slob?”
“No!” Fucking hell. I’m getting ready to open the door and roll out of this vehicle.
“No, you always look great! I just mean—you always—argh!” I cover my face with a hand, laughing in frustration.
When I peek out from behind my fingers I see Oscar’s face, split into a wide grin. Hell, he’s handsome when he smiles.
“I know what you meant, honey, I’m just messing with you.”
My head whips to look at him, and I note his jaw is locked tight. Did he mean to say that?
“And you’re right,” he continues. “I might have dressed up a little.”
“What for?” I frown. “It’s pretty casual.”
“I didn’t want to make you look bad. You’re always so…”
“Overdressed?” I offer. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard this, but I love my wardrobe. I can finally wear what I want without someone else’s opinion, and I’ve been making the most of it.
“Not that,” he says firmly. “You’re always so put together. I didn’t wanna stand next to you looking like I just rolled in off a twenty-four-hour shift.”
“Oh, that’s…”
“I’m representing your business, the least I can do is tuck in my damn shirt.”
“Oh.” I look down at my hands, his words bouncing around my ears. “Well, thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”
Oscar shrugs off my thanks. It seems like such a small thing, him wearing nice clothes to work with me, but I feel like there’s a stone balanced on my chest. I guess I’m just not used to people taking me seriously.
Back home, everyone always treated my work like a hobby, never believing I could build something real. But Oscar hasn’t doubted it once.
“I guess it doesn’t matter much either way,” he says. “Nobody’s going to be looking at me when you’re wearing that.”
I look down at my outfit, a cornflower blue tea dress with a white collar. I debated adding the petticoat that goes with it, but I thought it might get in the way when I’m working. “Is it too much?” I ask, getting nervous.
“Definitely not too much.”
“Are you sure?” I glance down, observing it through new eyes.
“You look beautiful, Freya.”