Page 24 of Where You Left Me

Now we’re nothing.

“Mia? Mia? Shit, Mia?” Paloma calls, I’m not even sure how many times before I shake myself free from this hold my memories have on me.

“Hey, sorry. What’s wrong?”

Paloma lifts one dark brow and purses her lips. “There’s a group of rock climbers who have decided to buy their own equipment and cancel their rentals.”

“Okay, great.” Automatically, my brain signals that this will mean more of a profit for Base Camp. But Paloma is still standing here with her hand on her jutted hip staring me down. “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know how to do that. Your dad never let me handle the reservations.”

“Okay, what about Ellis?”

She shakes her head. “Your mom said to ask you to take care of it.”

I release a long sigh. “Fine. But remind me to train you both. I’m only here for the summer.”

“You might as well get that tattooed on your forehead,” a growly voice sounds out behind me and a tingle spreads through me.

Pinching my eyes shut, I try to get my bearings before turning around. “Hey,” I exhale, trying hard to not look at him.

“Sorry, this is my fault. The rock-climbing group is mine.”

I finally do look at him. “Yours?”

“Yeah, I volunteer with this program in Denver for teen boys who are being raised by single moms.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “We had the reservations. But after doing the math, I figured if I pay for their equipment it will pay for itself after one and a half times renting, so I might as well.”

“That can’t be right.” I glance down at the tablet in my hand as a few boys approach. “This is for eight rentals.”

He shrugs. “Close enough.”

I tilt my head, and when he winks at me, goosebumps trickle across my arms.

One of the boys who looks to be about sixteen bumps his shoulder into Jones’s. “Aren’t ya gonna introduce us to your friend?”

Jones grins, shaking his head. “This is Mia Cappella. Her dad owns this place.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the boy says with a smile. He pushes onto his tiptoe and leans close to Jones to try whispering in his ear, “She’s hot.”

Hooking his arm around the boy’s neck, Jones chuckles. “Hell yeah, she’s hot. And much too old for you.”

“Maybe she likes younger guys,” the boy declares while he struggles to break free from Jones’s hold.

“Sorry, buddy, but I prefer older guys.” My eyes lock with Jones’s without intention. But we don’t hold contact long, my guess is, it’s too painful for the both of us.

“We’ll let you work your magic. Sorry for causing trouble,” Jones says as he adjusts the ballcap on his head. “C’mon, guys, let’s let the lady get this sorted out.”

He walks away with his arm around the young boy and my heart leaps from my chest. It’s sweet seeing this side of Jones. But it’s also gutting me at the same time. It was easier to hear that Jones was a fuck-up. That made the image of Jones as a father less appealing. Like maybe, somehow, I wouldn’t regret all that happened between us.

But I think there’s no way this situation gets easier. Because not even eight years and two thousand miles can ease the pain. All it does is delay it.

The bellabove the door rings when I push it open and step inside Martin’s Hardware announcing me in a way I wish it hadn’t. Cammie rushes from the back room holding two large boxes in her arms and peeking around them.

“Hey,” she greets, a little breathless.

“Let me help you.” I scramble to reach for a box before she drops both of them.

She blows out a breath and sets her on the front counter. “Thanks.”

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