“Oh, Celeste, aren’t you just the sweetest girl to let us know your schedule. We would love to come back and check out in your line next time.” She offers a saccharine sweet smile to our cashier and Celeste falters, her smile fading before giving Noelle a once over. For whatever reason, she appears to find Noelle lacking because her eyes take on an icy glare before turning back to me, ignoring Noelle once again.
“You come back and see me. Once you’re done with,” holding the receipt for me, she tosses a brief glance at Noelle, “things.”
Noelle lets out a little huff and walks a few feet away to peruse the display of touristy trinkets, appearing enthralled with the cheesy variety of postcards, keychains, magnets and bottle openers boasting the small beach town of Fernandina.
My eyes come back to rest on Celeste because no way in hell am I about to let anyone disrespect Noelle like that. Narrowing my eyes, I accept the receipt, lean in and lower my voice dangerously. “You might be young, but you’re old enough to know better than to disrespect a man’s woman like that, Celeste.” She visibly pales, quickly averting her gaze on the next customer in her line.
As Noelle and I walk out, with me pushing the cart through the exit doors, we’re both silent. The silence continues while we load the backseat of my truck with the groceries. It isn’t until we both get buckled in and I start the ignition, truck still in park, that I speak.
Turning, I see her gazing out the passenger side window. “I’m sorry about that back there.”
She shrugs before facing me. “No worries.” There’s a brief pause. “You really didn’t have to do that, you know?”
“Do what?”
“Defend me. I wasn’t worried.” Looking away, she gives another shrug as if she doesn’t recall sliding her arm through mine, displaying what was clearly jealousy, merely minutes prior.
“Huh. That’s interesting coming from the woman who all but pissed on my leg in front of the cashier.”
Her head whips around to stare at me. “What are you talking about?”
I raise one eyebrow. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Davis.” Impersonating her voice, I say, “You’re the sweetest girl to let us know your schedule.” Then, in a normal tone, I add with a smirk, “Us. You said ‘us.’ Like we’re a thing.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Kavanaugh. Alert the news crew.” She has a look of disgust on her face, but she avoids my eyes. “I was just messing around.”
With a small chuckle, I back out of the parking spot and pull out of the lot to head to her place, musing about her show of jealousy. Usually, I don’t care much for shows of jealousy. It normally turns me off.
For a minute there, though, I found myself imagining what it would be like to be with Noelle. There’s no way in hell I’d ever admit to it, and I’d deny it ’til the day I leave this earth, but in that moment, imagining Noelle and I as … a thing?
It was a pretty damn sweet image.
Chapter Eighteen
Noelle
“Dude. What’s with you and the grouchiness? With a scowl that dark and scary, I wouldn’t put it past you to rough up some Girl Scouts for Thin Mints.” Miller has a smirk on his face, leaning back casually in his desk chair, flipping a pen back and forth with his fingers. The man is a doppelg?nger for the former University of Florida quarterback, Tim Tebow; over six feet tall, extremely fit and muscular with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes.
Kane, of course, jumps right in. “Now, darlin’. That’s just blasphemous talk. Tagalongs, maybe. Those are where the magic’s at.” Turning to Foster, he gives an analyzing look. “Yep. Definitely more of a Tagalong kind of guy.”
“Or maybe he’s roughed up some Boy Scouts for some of their popcorn. Which reminds me; I totally missed out on last year’s fundraiser sale. I really liked the chocolate covered caramel corn they had.”
“Or he joined a cult and ‘the darkness’ is taking over. Like one of those cults where you have to have the same haircut. Or dress the same.”
“Or have some secret hand sign? Like this, maybe?” Miller does the Star Trek sign, spreading his fingers apart into a V.
“What if it’s something like David Koresh and the Branch Davidians? Weren’t they the ones who drank the Kool-Aid?”
Miller shakes his head. “No, that wasn’t them. That was the Jim Jones guy in Jonestown.”
“Maybe he’ll have a secret question and answer they’re usually required to use in cults. Like,” Kane deepens his voice, “Clam chowder, red or white?” His eyes crinkle with humor.
Miller holds up a hand, his face a mask of seriousness. “White. Always the white. I refuse to acknowledge the red.”
“Are you ladies done?” Foster rolls his eyes in exasperation. Silently, I have to agree because it’s slightly disturbing how much info they’re spouting off about cults.
The two other men glance at one another before turning back to Foster and say in unison, “Maybe.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, running a hand over his face.
The contract file I successfully got e-signed by the proper channels for a new site finishes printing. Rising from my chair, stapling the paperwork, I walk over to set the hard copy on Foster’s desk. He’s a bit old-fashioned and likes to peruse the printed contracts himself.
“Davis. I’m craving a burger.”
Giving him an odd look, amusement lines my features. “A burger?”