Page 16 of The Jilted Lovers Club
“Did you grow up here?”
I shake my head. “No. I lived on a farm in Oregon for a few years before Lottie was born. Before that, I grew up in Louisiana. I’ve been in California for just about three years.”
Jordy makes a noise in her throat, saying huh without uttering a word. Again, silence fills the cab except for Lottie’s soft singing in the back seat and the music on the radio.
“So, you’re kind of an outsider here, huh?”
Bingo.
But I can’t help the laugh that stays in my chest. “You’re awfully curious. What about you?”
“What about me? I’m definitely an outsider.”
“No, silly. I mean, what’s your story?”
She shakes her head. “Not much to tell. I live in a cramped apartment in New York, and before that, I lived in Southern California.”
“Ah, a native. So this isn’t some strange place to you.”
She laughs, and I feel her relaxing next to me. “I mean, kind of. SoCal and NorCal are so different, they might as well be different states. But yeah, I grew up on the West Coast, so there’s that. But it was Santa Barbara, not a small town like Lahoma Springs. So this whole town loyalty thing is pretty foreign to me. Especially now that I live in New York. God, everyone there is out for themselves.” She huffs a laugh. “The irony is that I was almost a small-town girl.”
“How so?”
I feel the layer of hesitation immediately. The way she shifts in her seat. The pause in her breath. Then she waves her hand.
“It’s not important.”
I want to leave it alone. I really do. But the sudden shift in the cab eats at me. “If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t have said it.”
She looks at me, and I hold my breath under the weight of her gaze.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Then she turns back to the window.
Obviously, my job is just to be a good chauffeur and drive her into town. But it seems unfair that she gets to ask me all these questions and I can’t even make small talk with her. She’s so guarded, and while it should repel me, it only makes me lean in more. What’s eating her? The longer she stays silent, the more I need to know.
But I’ve done that before—pushed when I should have let go—and it cost me, more than I care to admit.
So I keep quiet, biting my tongue as we near the corner of Main Street, and drive the rest of the way into town without another spoken word.
The Till
Jordy
Ashton stops behind my car so I can do a quick inspection, just to make sure nothing happened to the loaner. He looks slightly amused when I tell him I want to check for damages, but I wouldn’t hold it past these people. He didn’t see the way they looked at me when I entered The Till, how they held their cameras up like paparazzi, or how they later kicked me out of every establishment. I’m surprised I didn’t see Wanted posterswith my photo on every street pole, though I suppose they don’t need that in this digital age. Word sure got out fast about my arrival, because everyone knows who I am.
Luckily, my car is fine. I throw my stilettos in the backseat then head back to the truck.
“I can take it from here,” I say. “Thanks for your help.” I start to close the door, but he stops me.
“You don’t even have a place to stay yet,” he points out. “Just wait there.”
I want to argue—I really do—but I watch as he does a U-Turn and then parks in front of The Till instead. The protesters are still there, but they stop when he gets out of the truck.
“Hey, Ash, how’s it going? Hanging in there?” One of the guys claps Ashton on the back as a woman puts her sign down to help get Lottie out of the car. For someone who said he was an outsider, he sure has a lot of friends. Does he not see how much this town likes him?
I pretend to scroll my phone when Ashton starts across the street, stroller in front of him. I look up as he approaches, noticing that the small crowd is watching him join me at my car.
