Page 15 of Caught in the Axe
He nodded once, thank God, so I moved on.
“But that’s not the worst. If I consume gluten, even trace amounts, my body mounts an immune response that causes malabsorption. That means I don’t absorb many of the vitamins I consume. So if I slip up and eat something I shouldn’t, I’ll feel awful for weeks afterward because my body can’t properly absorb nutrients.”
“Shit, I had no idea.”
“Yeah, people like to make fun of it, and I know thatgoing gluten free is considered trendy, but celiac is associated with a significantly increased likelihood of lymphoma and lots of other scary conditions.” I’d always been given shit for my eating habits. It seemed everyone and their dog liked to have an opinion on what women ate.
“So that’s why, when in doubt, I don’t eat something. And sometimes, when there’s food I can eat, I eat too much. So it’s a whole roller coaster with me.”
“I hadn’t realized. I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. In rural Maine, there aren’t a ton of options, but here and there, I’ve found places that are very careful and accommodating.”
“Do you miss gluten? Not to rub it in, but it’s fucking delicious.”
I laughed. “Not really. Sometimes I crave Froot Loops, but I survive.” I thought for a moment. “Ooh. But there is one thing I miss more than anything. Pizza. Really good thin-crust pizza. It’s almost impossible to find good gluten-free pizza. Mostly it tastes like a soggy cracker.”
“I’ve seen gluten-free pizza at lots of places in Boston. I’ll try some and report back.”
“Thanks.”
“Least I can do. I can’t expect any sane woman to live without pizza. But this explains your impressive assortment of seed crackers. Thanks, by the way. All I’ve got back at my rental is beef jerky and peanut M&M’s.”
I hummed and shot him a grin. “Delicious.”
“I also have a six-pack and a couple hundred emails waiting for me. I lead a very glamorous life.”
“Then you better finish telling me about the cost reports. I wouldn’t want to keep you,” I teased.
We’d talked as we packed grocery orders and while I drove, and the conversation had continued when we’d made it back to the office. Owen was easy to talk to, and his thoughtfulness and sarcasm only made him that much more attractive, dammit.
He’d spent the evening filling me in on the background of the business, what was left of it, what had already been sold off, and how he had spent most of the last year trying to offload what remained.
He’d gone into all the sordid details about how his father had been working with Canadian drug cartels to move narcotics into the United States via the logging roads their family had owned for generations.
Mitch had finally been arrested last year, and not just on drug charges, but murder, assault, and kidnapping charges as well. I hadn’t been living here at the time, but these revelations had rocked the community.
“Were you close with your dad? You know, before all this?”
“Fuck no,” he spat. “Sorry.” He ducked his head and pulled in a long breath. “I’ve kept my distance from my dad for a long time. Even before all the crime, he was a piece of shit. If anything, the recent stuff has just confirmed what I’ve always known.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He cleared his throat and focused on something across the parking lot. “Some of my brothers are devastated. Gus was close to Dad. And the news hit Jude hard too. Probably because he’s the nicest out of all of us. But I detached from my father and his particular brand of bullshit a long time ago.”
A silence settled over the car then. I was at a loss for what to say. My heart ached for him and his brothers. My own dad was hardly father of the year, but he loved me and wasn’t a criminal.
I studied Owen’s profile—his strong nose, square stubble-covered jaw, and his plump lower lip. My stomach dipped every time I let myself really think about him. And every time I had the chance to assess him like this. He was an honest, hardworking, genuine man. Nothing like his father. And I’d help him with whatever he needed.
I handed him the bag of baby carrots again, and his hand brushed mine as he accepted it. That simple touch made my breath catch and my pulse quicken.
And suddenly, Priscilla felt a lot less spacious.
He cleared his throat. “But enough about my shit. Are you sure you have time for this? It’s okay if you don’t. I don’t want you to feel obligated to help.”
Humming, I twisted my lips, searching for the best way to respond to him. I did feel obligated. But I was also interested in the work, and, although I’d never admit it, in getting to know him.
With his head lowered again, he scratched at his jawline. “You just seem busy.”
