She needs to stop staring at me. As if her eyes aren’t hard enough to avoid, magnetic and curious all at the same time, there’s also her scent. Out in the fresh air it’s assaulting, stuck in the cab of the truck it’s penetrating. It reminds me of clean sheets and fresh flowers. Pure, yet complex. Comforting and intoxicating. I resist the impulse to relax in her presence, determined to get through the day without the blackout I feel shading my mind.
We’re almost to the warehouse to pick up the tile, and we can’t get there soon enough. Her get-to-know-me games and light laughter had me more at ease than is safe.
Maybe it’s her no-BS way of communicating. Her ability to come right out and say whatever she’s thinking, damn the consequences. She is who she is, lays herself out there, and makes no apologies for it. She’s brave, and regardless of her gender, I can’t help but admire that. It’s when her curiosities are aimed at me, when she looks at me like I’m a puzzle to solve, my fear instincts flare and the darkness closes in.
We round the corner of a large brick building.
“If you can back up there.” Shyann points to the loading dock of the warehouse. “I’ll run up and ring the bell.”
I back in easily and she hops out, but rather than sit in the truck I follow her up to the door. She lifts her hand to ring the bell and jumps a little when she notices me behind her, but smiles.
My chest throbs with the force of her small show of affection. God, I’m pathetic.
The door swings open to reveal Jim, the warehouse manager I’ve met a couple times before. “Afternoon, sir. We’re here for the travertine Mr. Jennings ordered?”
“Oh, sure thing, Lucas.” He waves us inside. “Come on in. I’ll get it on the forklift.”
She aims an annoyed glare over her shoulder at me, and just like when we were playing Would You Rather, that strange tingly feeling in my face has me grinning so wide my teeth get cold.
Then something amazing happens. I watch as her gaze slides to my mouth and the irritation in her expression softens and turns into a brilliant smile. A tiny flush hits her cheeks, a kiss of pink against her olive skin. The myriad of emotions that play so openly across her face is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. Staying neutral around this woman is proving harder than I thought.
“If you want to check this out . . .” The man’s voice jerks my gaze from Shyann, and he motions to the pallets stacked on top of each other, piled high with beige and dark brown marbled travertine tile. “Make sure this fulfills the order.”
Shyann heads over with her purchase order and makes quick work of counting and referencing the slip. “It’s all here.”
Jim slaps the stack. “’Kay, let’s get ’er loaded.”
Thirty minutes later we’re pulling away with several hundred pounds of tile strapped tightly to the flatbed.
“I don’t get it,” Shyann mumbles.
“What?”
“Why my dad insisted I come along. I mean, you had it totally handled out there.”
I shrug but don’t offer any opinions on the issue. I was equally shocked when I realized Mr. Jennings was sending her with me. I mean, he knows nothing about me, my past, what I’ve done. If he did, he’d never trust me around his daughter. Most likely he’d gather the townspeople and run me out with pitchforks. Which is why I need to keep my mouth shut and my head down in order to keep what little I’ve managed to attain.
“I’d kill for a green chili fry bread taco.” She turns those piercing blue eyes toward me so quickly it sends a lock of her shining black hair over her eye. “You hungry?”
My stomach twists, a combination of hunger and fear, but I nod.
“Do you like Native American food?”
“Never had it.”
“You wanna try some?” Her expression lights with excitement.
I tend to stay away from food that’s prepared for me and stick to what’s bland and safe, but I fear saying no will wipe that look off her face, and I kinda like it there.
I nod.
“There’s a great place we can stop on our way out of town. I used to go every chance I could, which was only when Trevor and I were covering stories in the Valley. They make the best—”
“Who’s Trevor?” The question flies from my lips before I can think better of it.
She purses her lips. “Eh . . . he’s no one really. Coworker. Ex coworker.”
My skin suddenly feels too tight as I consider her spending time with this man Trevor. It’s unjustified and completely ridiculous; a beautiful woman like her probably spends time with a lot of guys. It’s not my concern.
She gives me directions that take us to a tiny shack of a place just off the highway. Its bright blue paint is chipped in places as the sign on top reads THE FRY HOUSE, but the F is merely an outline of the letter that is no longer there. Its parking lot is nothing more than a flat spot of dirt and there are a few old wooden picnic benches scattered around the simple structure.
Fragrant spices fill the air along with the hint of fry oil and sweet dough. My mouth waters and not necessarily in a good way.
“Don’t freak out. It looks shady, but it’s safe. I promise.” Shyann lifts an eyebrow as we make our way to the single window of the building. “Do you trust me?”