Page 29 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

Emily (9:45 AM):I googled the stats on motorcycles last night.

Jack (9:48 AM):Needed some light happy reading before bed?

Emily (9:50 AM):They’re very dangerous. Not a little dangerous. Very.

Jack (9:52 AM):I know, isn’t it great?

Emily (9:55 AM):No more wheelies.

Jack (9:58 AM):But you liked the last one I did so much…

Emily (10:00 AM):NO MORE WHEELIES.

Jack (10:01 AM):Careful, it almost seems like you care about my well-being.

Emily (10:02 AM):…No more wheelies.

Jack (10:02 AM):All right. No more wheelies.

Chapter Nine

Jack

There’s been something odd in the air the last several days. When I walk through town, everyone waves. Normally people in town eye me with sad regret before turning away. Now they’re smiling and waving, though? And yesterday, at the market while I was stocking up on my sad peanut butter again, Harriet not only mentioned that softball tryouts would be happening soon and she hoped to see me there, but she also applied a coupon that I didn’t even know existed.

If that wasn’t strange enough, The Diner wasn’t mysteriously out of pancakes this morning. They’ve been subbing my order with stale bread since day one, but today, Jeanine brought me a huge stack of pancakes with a complimentary side of bacon along with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.

And I hate it.

It’s all wrong. It feels like the town has chosen my side over Emily’s—and in the past, I might have enjoyed that. Strived for it even. But right now, it’s oddly eating me up. I have no idea when I started caring what Emily wants. I just know that keeping the townin line to shun me is now my top priority. I refused the coupon. I sent the stack of pancakes back. Phil hand-delivered several boxes of nails to my house earlier, and I told him I didn’t want them.

I think this is what officially losing your mind feels like. My actions are the opposite of logical. It’s all mayhem.

Currently, I’m leaving the town parking lot on my way to the coffee shop where the teenage baristas don’t care if I live or die as long as they get a paycheck. And I’m wearing a hat with my head ducked as I move swiftly down the sidewalk—hoping to fly under the radar so townspeople don’t pop out of nowhere and try to gift me nice things.

And that’s probably why I slam right into a woman whose arms are full of various shopping bags. I mumble an apology while grabbing her around the waist to steady her, but she probably can’t even hear me over the soundtrack of crinkling paper bags. “Sorry! I didn’t see—”

“Jackson!” Oh, it’s Emily. And she does not look happy.

It’s history repeating all over again. I’m back in college, looking down at the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, and she looks like she wants to slap me. At least there’s no coffee involved this time. And I definitely won’t be hitting on her either.

“Emily, sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was—”

“Why are you not accepting everyone’s kindness?” She’s wearing white shorts, a tan button-up tank top blouse, and that same clip in the back of her hair, holding it up off her neck. Her bangs are styled today, though, swooping purposely to her temples to frame her face. Her face that looks mad as a hornet.

“I…what?”

She adjusts her stance to fold her arms saucily while wearing big paper shopping bags like bracelets. The pop of her red polish against her white and tan clothing draws my eye and then forcesme to connect the dots all the way up to the matching color on her lips. I’m having trouble focusing because of it.

Her cherry mouth moves. “I have it on good authority that Mabel brought you a tray of homemade cinnamon rolls yesterday morning and you refused them. Do you not like to eat delicious things?”

“I very much love to eat delicious things.”

“Are you gluten intolerant?”

“No.”

“Lactose intolerant?”

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