“Except you.”
As I opened the door and stuck my key in the outside lock, I frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
She gave me a head tilt as if my question was ridiculous. “I see the way you look at him. And you’re so tense and standoffish around him. You don’t like him—either because he’s Smith’s competition or because you’re jealous of his store and the fact that everyone does love him. It’s not like you, but I see it. You can’t stand him. And I don’t really get it. You’re a lot like him. I mean … I’d think you’d like the products at his store. And you've always been someone to go out of your way to help other people.”
“You’re right. It’s not like me. But you’re also wrong … I’m not jealous of him.”
“Good. Because Amber is having a get-together at her house tonight, and he’ll be there. I’m going, and I just don’t want you to be pissed off if I don’t act all douchey toward him.” She stepped outside.
I pulled the door shut and turned the lock. “You know for a fact that he’s going?”
“That’s what she said.”
Turning toward her, I deposited my keys into my purse and hiked it up onto my shoulder. “Have fun. No need to be douchey on my account.”
Bella smirked before leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Sorry. That was a little douchey of me to say that. Thanks. I will have fun. Tell Amie I hope she feels better soon.”
“Will do.” I waited for her to disappear around the corner at the end of the square before I headed to What Did You Expect? It was closed, but I could see the light on by the register.
I rapped my gloved hand on the door several times. Kael glanced up from the computer screen. He waited a few seconds with an unreadable expression before sliding off the stool and taking his sweet time to open the door.
“We’re closed.” He blinked at me with eyes void of that usual sparkle of life.
“I know. I thought we could talk before you go to Amber’s.”
“Why does her name sound so sour coming off your tongue?” He didn’t open the door any wider or step aside as if he had any intention of inviting me in for that chitchat.
“Sorry. She’s young enough to be my daughter, so the fact that we’ve been intimate makes it a little hard to swallow the idea of you and her together.”
He shrugged and it was filled with an air of cockiness or lack of giving a shit about what I thought. “Well, she’s not young enough to be my daughter, and she’s a consenting adult so …”
“Kael …” I deflated. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen. Then he held the face of it to me. It showed a green light and a microphone icon. “Sorry for what, Mrs. Smith?”
I remained silent, staring at the screen.
“Are you sorry for sending your best friend over to fake food poisoning at my store?”
I didn’t react.
“Are you sorry for fucking me behind everyone’s back because you were too ashamed to have something for yourself?”
I flinched.
“Or are you sorry that I don’t need a church or even a God for that matter to be kind to other people? To do the right thing? Is that it? Are you feeling sorry that you’ve been preached to your whole life—WWJD—yet you failed miserably when things got tough? Or are you sorry that playing the grieving widow no longer gets you sympathy sales for your outdated shit?”
Tears filled my eyes as I continued to focus only on his phone screen.
“Go home, Elsie.” He returned his phone to his back pocket. “I’m willing to clear your driveway, repair a leaky faucet, change a flat tire, or fuck you to Sunday, but I’m not willing to help carry your emotional baggage.”
I didn’t like to think about the twelve-year age gap between us when we were having sex. But I definitely didn’t like to think about it as he so expertly schooled me on being a good person and doing the right thing.
Before I could formulate a response, a new plea … he shut and locked the door on me. And I deserved it.“Hey, Elsie. Did you have a good Thanksgiving?” Myra, Amie’s mom, hugged me as soon as she opened Amie’s front door.
“I did. Thank you.”
“Amie’s in the living room. She was feeling a little under the weather, so I brought her some of my homemade broth.”
Dragging my guilty self into the living room, I affixed the proper, regretful grimace onto my face. It wasn’t hard—I really did feel awful for Amie … and Kael … and my devil-lassoed-soul.
“Don’t.” She forced a groggy smile from her recliner, blanket over her legs, cup of soup in her hands. “You’re not allowed to look so dang distraught.”