But then she looked over my shoulder, and a jealousy I’ve never known gripped me. It was for show. And of course it was. She didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, like I told her, it’s exactly what I would have done if someone I would want to make jealous was nearby. I just wish I could say it didn’t sting to realize it meant so much to me, and was only part of a maneuver on her end.
I thought…never mind. Doesn’t matter.
Postkiss, I went to the bar for a beer. But if I’m being honest with myself, I went to meet the jerk sitting at the bar who had the audacity to leave Annie in the middle of a date.
And I know he’s a jerk because when I walked up and ordered a beer, he asked me if Annie and I were exclusive. For a long minute, all I could do was stare at him. Stare at him and imagine punching the shit out of him because he only wanted Annie after he saw her make out with me in public. He’s not the kind of man who’s going to savor her or treat her well or peel back her layers to gain her trust. He’s looking for a quick good time with her, and that’s too much to stomach.
But if that’s what Annie wants, it’s not my business to get in her way no matter what I think about him. So I was honest. “Nah—it’s not serious. I’ll most likely be leaving at the end of month.” And for some reason, saying that last part had every muscle in my body tensing.
His eyebrows had gone up in a look of anticipation that made me hate him more. “Really?” He smiled as he took a drink of his beer. “Cool. I guess I misjudged her.”
And then I hated myself in that moment, too, because I felt like a disrespectful asshole for talking about Annie without her present. For throwing her to a shark all because I’m terrified to admit that holding her in my arms is the closest I’ve come to feeling truly happy in a very long time. I didn’t even know I was lacking happiness. But now that I’ve realized it, I can pinpoint it with scary accuracy.
I don’t know what this means for me now or where to go from here. Nowhere, maybe?
And that’s why I’ve been hiding and avoiding her the last few days. I invented a bogus fan threat and told Annie I needed to stay parked outside of Amelia’s studio while she worked, and that we couldn’t go into town. Even Amelia didn’t question it because this kind of thing happens from time to time. Our agency keeps a close watch on her known stalkers, and we get alerts when they are in a certain radius to her. Do I feel bad about adding potential unnecessary worry to Amelia’s life by suggesting said stalker is nearby, no. Because I’m not the good guy—even though spending time with Annie makes me feel remarkably close to one.
Today we’re headed into town, though. I couldn’t keep up the pretenses of a potential threat much longer. Currently I’m escorting Amelia down the sidewalk toward The Pie Shop. The paparazzi sightings have been pretty minimal lately, and even now I can only spot one carrying a long lens on the opposite side of the square, but I spoke with my agency last night, and they predict a steep rise over the next two weeks leading up to the wedding.
I’m in full work mode when we’re out in public, keeping an eye around us at all times for any potential threat. Zero percent of my brain is focused on Annie or what she’s doing or what her days have been full of or why she hasn’t even texted me at all. And that’s when my foot hits a divot in the sidewalk and I trip, nearly busting my ass on the pavement before I catch myself.
“Holy crap, Will!” says Amelia, stretching out a hand to help me up. I don’t accept her hand and instead pop up on my own with extra exuberance, brushing my slightly raw palms against my jeans. “Are you okay? I’ve never seen you trip before.”
“I’m fine, let’s keep going.”
Amelia’s mouth is open and she looks near laughing. “You’re blushing. I’ve never seen you blush either! I didn’t know you could be embarrassed.” Now she is laughing and I hate her for it. Are we sure she isn’t actually my annoying little sister after all?
“Come on, we don’t need to stand here. There are paparazzi over there.” Who most definitely caught my spectacular fall on camera and will publish it ASAP. Cool. Just the sort of image I want buzzed around the internet. Clumsy Blushing Bodyguard.
This is Annie’s fault. Another reason I need to get my head out of the clouds. Relationships interfere. They’re bad for people. They’re—
“Where the hell is Annie?” I ask Amelia when we pass her flower shop and see a Closed sign on the door.
“She’s sick.”
“What? Since when?” My voice sounds a little too eager.
Amelia points to the little sticky note on the door. It’s in Annie’s handwriting. Only in a town this small would someone leave a note like this: “Out sick! Be back when I don’t feel like I have plungers up my nose anymore.”
I look sharply to Amelia. “How long has she been sick?”
“I think since the day after Hank’s.”
Shit. I had no idea. Now I feel terrible. This whole time she’s been sick, and I haven’t checked in on her at all. Wait. No. It’s not my job to check up on her. I’m her dating coach, not her boyfriend or her nurse. If it were anyone else in the world, I’d never think twice about someone having a cold. In fact, I’d stay even farther away so I wouldn’t catch anything. I’m just going to put her out of my mind and see her when I see her.
We walk in silence a few steps.
“Do you think she has a fever?”
Amelia chuckles to herself. “She did…but I don’t know if she still does.”
I tap my thumb on the side of my thigh and try to stay silent again. “I just don’t understand why no one told me she was sick.”
She pauses and turns to me with laughing eyes. “And I didn’t realize I was supposed to give you updates on Annie’s day-to-day health.”
“Well, now you know. I always want to be kept in the loop about…everyone’s health.”
“Okay. Now I know,” she says, with deep satisfaction. We walk a few more steps before Amelia breaks it. “Davey’s son broke his arm last week.”
“Who?” I frown down at her.
“You know. Little Charlie?”
“No.”
“And Mabel said she had a tickle in her throat the other day. I wonder if she’s catching what Annie has.”
I breathe deeply to counteract my annoyance. I see what she’s doing.
“Oh—and I heard Gemma is going to have to have surgery for some of her bunions later this month!”
“Amelia.”
“What!” She laughs. “I thought you wanted to be kept in the loop about everyone’s health. I’m just looping you in per your request!”
I groan. “I say this with all due respect as someone who works for you—please, shut up.”
As soon as I say this, Noah steps out of The Pie Shop. “She doesn’t know how to. I think it’s physically impossible for her, actually.” He grins at her and she steps into his arms, angling her face up to kiss him. Right out here in broad daylight where the paparazzi get their fill. These two don’t care, though—they’re in a lovesick bubble. So sick that Noah came outside to greet Amelia like an overeager golden retriever. That’ll never be me.
Amelia looks at me over her shoulder once they’re finished with their PDA. “Thanks for walking me in, Will. I’ll be here all afternoon with Noah and then ride home with him. So you’re off the clock for the rest of the day to go…wherever you like—and see…whoever you’d like to see.”
Noah frowns lightly. “You’re talking about Annie, right?”
She lightly pinches him in the side. “I was trying to be subtle.”
“I love you, but there was nothing subtle about that. Leave him alone and come bug me instead,” says Noah, pulling Amelia away as she tries to stare me into spilling my guts on her way into The Pie Shop.
Only when she’s out of eyeshot do I turn around and take off jogging down to the market.
I set a box of tissues on the checkout counter, followed by a box of cold medicine, a few various types of hot tea, and some random produce; and then let my eyes trail over to the town petition, trying to stop me and Annie from dating. So far, it’s looking grim. Three votes in favor (Mabel, Emily, and Madison) and over a hundred votes against. Why does that make my stomach sink?
I shake it off and look up into the most terrifying eyes I’ve ever seen: Harriet’s. This woman is severe and calculating at all times. And she really hates me.
“Hmm…cold medicine,” she says in an odd way.
I nod and fish my wallet out of my back pocket as she begins scanning everything besides the cold medicine.
Suddenly a scratchy voice sounds from the right of my shoulder. “A lot of cold and flu products there, William. Feeling under the weather?” Mabel. She’s everywhere.
“Uh—no, ma’am.”
“Then why do you need all this cold medicine, hmm?” says Harriet, lifting her brows to her hairline. “Are you planning to make drugs with them?”
I frown at the single box of Tylenol Cold + Flu Severe. “I think you’re thinking of the medicine that contains pseudoephedrine.”
Her eyes narrow on me, down to my tattoos and back up to my face. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”
This makes me laugh. Yes, my sleeve of intricate flowers and foliage paired with the butterfly really falls into the usual profiling for meth addicts. I wonder what this town, or the general public for that matter, would think if they found out I was the valedictorian of my graduating class. That I had scores so high and excelled at so many extracurricular activities (hello, science club) that I got into MIT. That I didn’t even go on my first date until I graduated from high school and decided I was tired of living my life to perfection only for it to still not help anything.
I look back at my younger self and cringe remembering how I thought bringing home straight A’s would help my parents fight less. That doing lots of extra chores around the house and taking care of my younger brother would remove some stress from them so maybe they’d actually enjoy being around each other. Yell less and smile more. Nope. Instead, I had zero fun in high school for nothing. The second I graduated, I hit a wall. I couldn’t bring myself to go somewhere and continue to work for something I didn’t care about. That’s when I joined the military.
“Harriet, what are you thinking? You’re being suspicious about the wrong thing,” says Mabel, pushing her way up beside me to put her hands on her hips. “The man isn’t trying to make drugs, you ding-dong. He’s trying to make love.”
“I’m sorry—what?” I ask, but Mabel isn’t paying attention to me anymore.
“Don’t call me a ding-dong, you old kook. And that’s even worse if he’s trying to make love to a box of medicine.”
I shake my head. “No—I can assure you both, I’m not—”
“Gross, Harriet. Not to the box. To Annie! The woman he’s dating. He’s clearly buying all this shit to take care of her because he loves her.”
“No. Again, I don’t—”
“That true?” Harriet looks up at me—trying to decide if I’m going to do unspeakable things to this box of cold medicine or not. I can’t decide whether she thinks that’s better or worse than doing it with Annie instead. “Are you taking all of this to our Annie?”
I sigh, really wishing I didn’t have to bring the whole damn town into this poorly thought-out decision to take care of my fake girlfriend. “Yes. It’s all for Annie.”
She hums as her lips purse tightly together. “I don’t really take you for a nurturer.”
“You and me both. But here we are,” I tell her in a rare moment of vulnerability.
“Just a minute, William,” says Mabel, disappearing into an aisle before returning with an armful of ingredients and setting them on the counter with a firm nod. “I’m going to teach you how to make her favorite soup. It’ll cheer her right up and get you a few extra brownie points.”
Do I want brownie points?
Dammit, I do.
I thank Mabel with a smile and then turn back to Harriet. My smile falls. I nearly jump from the stern look in her eyes. Like she’s slowly extracting my soul and weighing it. Silently, Harriet comes to some sort of conclusion about me, and then grabs the box of cold medicine and begins scanning.
Bizarrely, I find myself feeling relieved by that. Maybe even a little proud.
There’s clearly something in the water of this damn town.
