Page 53 of Weather the Storm

“Works for me.”

We detour to the café, and Simon orders our pretzel and a large Icee for us to share. While he fixes our Icee—half blue raspberry, half cherry—I secure us a little two-seater table. Simon plops down across from me right as the cashier walks our pretzel over.

I watch as Simon breaks off a piece and tosses it in his mouth. Smirking, he licks the sweet cinnamon butter from his fingers. “Sweet, like you.” He groans quietly, and I swear, I almost die.

After we finish off the pretzel, Simon grabs us a buggy while I snag one of the cup holders and a buggy wipe. With a clean handle and our Icee perched on the side of the cart, we work our way back to electronics, stopping in the dollar spot, the office supply section—for Simon—and the makeup section—for me, of course.

By the time we roll back to electronics, our buggy is half full, most of it impulse purchases. We scan the stock of prepaid phones and settle on a cheap little Samsung. It doesn’t haveallthe bells and whistles, but it has enough.

I start to head toward checkout, but Simon drops a hand to my shoulder. “Mind if we look at one more thing?”

“Of c-course not.”

“Great.” Pushing the buggy, he heads over to the home section, stopping dead center in the main aisle. He grips the cart handle so hard his knuckles turn white from the pressure…releases…grips again.

Gingerly, I lay my right hand on his arm. “Simon, are you o-okay?”

Instead of telling me he’s okay, he says, “Don’t freak out, okay?”Right, because when in the history of the universe have those words ever kept someone cool, calm, and collected?

Regardless, I steel my nerves. While I hope he’s not about to dump me, I know I’ll survive it if he does—after all, I’ve been to hell and back.

“You’ve been staying with me for a while now,” he starts.

Oh God. He’s about to ask me to move out.“I…I c-can start l-looking for—”

He presses his index finger to my lips, silencing my nervous babble. “Why don’t you let me finish, pretty girl?” Not trusting myself to speak, I nod. “As I was sayin’, you’ve been staying with me for a while, and we never really made any firm plans about our living arrangements, but I’d like to.

“Having you in my space has transformed it from a house to a home, but I don’t want you in the guest room anymore—hell, you already sleep in my bed most nights, but I want you in my bedeverynight. I want your toothbrush on my vanity. I want your makeup cluttering my counter. I want your smell-good shit in my shower, and I want your clothes in my closet.”

My eyes glaze over and I trip over my words. “Y-y-you d-do?” I feel dizzy. How is it that this man—this perfect, yummy, gorgeous, down-to-earth man who could have anyone—wantsme?

“Very much so. You know why I call you Goldilocks?” he asks, skimming his thumb across my cheekbone. I shake my head back and forth. “At first it was your hair, all sunshine and golden goodness, but now, it’s because you’rejust rightfor me.”

“O-okay, then. I l-love you, S-Simon.”

“Love you too. Now, since you’ve agreed to call my home yours, I want you to pick out a few things for it. That way I see you in every room.”

My heart melts. “R-really?”

“Really.”

Simon trails behind me as I wander up and down the aisles, adding a few throw pillows, a couple of picture frames, and a quilt for the bed into our buggy.

We make our way to check out and bicker good-naturedly about who’s going to pay, finally agreeing to split it fifty-fifty. Out in the parking lot, Simon unlatches the gate to the bed of his truck, and we load our bags into the mesh net suspended from each side. I take the buggy to the cart return and head back, expecting to find him in the truck, getting it cooled down, except he’s not. I mean, the truck is running, but Simon is standing outside the passenger side door, waiting to open it for me and help me in.Such a gentleman.

He drops a kiss to my forehead. “Wanna go home and break in that quilt?” he asks.So, not a total gentleman.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

SIMON

That asshole still texts her phone every day. I’m talking without fail, on the dot, every day for the last two weeks. Dude is unhinged, but luckily, my girl isn’t too worried about him.

Nah, she’s surrounded by too much friendship and love to let his crazy weigh her down, not to mention we’re only a few days out from the last day of school, which means our June trip to Lookout Mountain is on the horizon.

Every day, Magnolia gets a little bolder, a little braver. She openly jokes with the girls, and her stutter is falling by the wayside too. I mean, it still pops up from time to time—especially when talking to strangers—but for the most part, it’s smooth sailing.

Don’t let all that happiness fool you, though—we’re still cautious. I’ve gotten extra locks for all the doors at the house, an alarm system, and cameras. Magnolia and Seraphine still carpool to and from work, and the girls make sure she’s never at the salon alone. Drake and Cash do their part too, making sure to drive by and check on the salon at least once a day. Knowing Magnolia has all these people who love her and are looking out for her settles my soul—and hers too, I’d imagine.

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