Page 53 of I Can't Even

Rodney gave him a dejected nod. I watched the two of them walk away and felt decidedly grossed out. I grimaced at my boots. There was some saliva on them. Gag! Em was going to kill me.

Realizing there was absolutely no way to salvage the night, I leaned over the people in front of me to tap Hannah and Harry on the shoulders. I figured it was safe to call the time of death on this outing.

They both looked back at me, and I jerked my head in the direction of the door. Hannah’s eyes went wide while Harry looked around, wondering if he had missed something. Boy howdy, had he and I was so glad that I didn’t have to explain to his mother how her son got to see a shoe fetishist up close and personal because of me.

“So, did he see you?” Hannah asked as we reached the outskirts of the crowd.

“Oh, yeah,” I said.

“Was “the second one” involved?” Harry asked.

“In a manner of speaking.” I was pretty sure that good old Rodney had been sporting wood at the sight of my boots. Harry and Hannah gave me an identical inquisitive look and I said, “I’ll explain on the way home.”

When we reached the door of the coffee shop, I scanned outside to make sure that Rodney was gone. The coast was clear, but as I walked out, Liam walked in. We blocked each other’s paths, and I noticed he took a moment to let his gaze wander down my body from my wild curls to my toes.

“Nice boots.” Liam chuckled and walked around me into the coffee shop, leaving me feeling as sexy as Sunday dinner leftovers.

Hannah and Harry stopped behind me as I stepped into the night air and paused to draw a cleansing breath.

“Call me crazy,” Harry said. “But that doesn’t seem to have gone as planned.”

“Boots!” A high voice squeaked from my right.

“Ack!” I cried. “It’s Rodney! Run, kids, run!”

Thankfully, their survival skills kicked in and both Hannah and Harry dove for the car. I managed to shove the key into the ignition and jet out of the parking lot before Rodney could reach us. I had a feeling he would have happily jumped onto the front like a hood ornament if it meant he got one more lick of my boots. Bleck!

As we high-tailed it home, I explained to Harry and Hannah about Rodney’s infatuation with the boots. Harry laughed so hard he was sure he strained some muscles he’d been planning to use on his date. Hannah seemed a bit sick. I was with her there. There was no way I wanted to tell Em what had been done to her boots and I hoped to heck that we had some industrial leather cleaner back at the house.

“I have to declare Operation Boots on the Ground a complete bust,” Hannah said.

I parked in the driveway, and we all climbed out of the car.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “They sure worked on Rodney.”

“I can never unsee that,” I said. “I might need therapy, or shock treatment, or something. What a waste! These bad boys sure didn’t work on Liam.”

“Maybe you just need to be straight with the guy,” Harry said. “I saw how he looked at you before. If you tell him how you feel, I bet he’s all in.”

“Or he’ll inform me that he hates me and get a restraining order,” I said.

“Then he’s a moron and you’re better off without him,” my nephew said.

I hugged Harry tight and ruffled his hair. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Aunt Jules,” he said.

“This is just a minor setback.” Hannah hugged me too. “I’ll keep thinking. There has to be a way to crack this guy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, pumpkin,” I said.

I watched them walk to their car, feeling the slightest bit envious of their youth and optimism. At the moment, I felt neither, so I went into the house and decided to eat my feelings with a bowl of Tillamook horchata ice cream while I debated the funk I was in.

“Em?” I called my sister’s name. There was no answer. I yelled louder. “Em, I’m home and I need ice cream therapy. Join me?”

I stood listening. Nothing. Having lived alone for the past five years, I was surprised by a sudden blast of loneliness. I tried to shake it off. It wasn’t like me to feel that way; honestly, I preferred being alone most of the time and living with my sisters had been an adjustment.

Mr. Loren had been very clear that there was no wiggle room in the will and we were all reporting home every night to sleep in our own beds as dictated.

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