Page 97 of Crazy Thing

“Yes. Everyday.” I nod slightly.

“And are you trying to be a better woman?” she questions.

My head bobs again as I feel a pull inside my chest.

My aunt’s wise, compassionate eyes shine at me. “So keep moving in that direction, moonbeam, and trust that the rest will unfold as it’s meant to.”

I inhale a slow breath. “I can do that.” At least, I can try.

37

DARIUS

The pungent combo of paint thinner, saw dust and some kind of manure hits me hard when I step into the dark and dingy local hardware store. It makes my head light. But it’s nostalgic at the same time.

Even still, I don’t particularly want to be here right now. Not when I could be flirting and holding hands with Ziggy Beaumont at the farmer’s market.

“Hey-a Greg.” Archer salutes the senior army vet who’s posted behind the counter, flipping through today’s newspaper with blatant disinterest on his face.

“How’s it going, Greg?” I say to the man. I swear, he’s been seated behind that very counter since I was a child.

His response is the same as always—nothing but a slight tip of his chin.

Archer digs a crumpled envelope from his back pocket as he approaches the cash register. Wearing an anxious expression, he hands it to Greg.

The old man adjusts his wire-framed glasses as he unfolds the sheet of paper and carefully looks it over.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” my brother asks hopefully.

The hardware store owner expels a heavy breath then offers a reluctant nod. “Fine.”

Archer grins broadly. “You’re a good man, Greg. Thank you.”

Greg just sort of grunts. “Your shit’s in the back.” He waves us away like he doesn’t want to be bothered with us anymore.

I chuckle as I follow my brother to the pick-up area at the back of the shop. “What was that about?”

“Layla’s resumé,” Archer mutters to me. “She lost her job again and I offered to ask Greg if he was hiring.”

I nod slowly. “Oh, so you’re a job recruiter now? Nice gig.”

I can almost hear my brother roll his eyes. “Don’t read anything into it, jerkface. Layla’s my neighbor. I help her out from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He effortlessly scoops up a cement bag in each arm, gesturing for me to do the same.

In my freaking Berlutis. This is some bullshit.

I graboneheavy bag, holding it away from my body as I follow him over to where his truck is parked in the alley. I just want to get this torture over with and get back to Ziggy.

Because he’s officially put me in a bad mood, I decide to pester my older brother. “When are you gonna just tell that girl that you like her?”

“I told you—she’s just my neighbor.” Archer tosses the bags into the bed of his truck before grabbing the bag I hold out to him.

“Your neighbor who you think about when you’re rubbing one out at night?”

Archer punches me in the shoulder and growls. “Not you, too.”

“What do you mean, ‘not me, too’?” I ask, following him back to the pick-up area for more supplies.

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