Page 38 of Ripped & Shipped
“What’s got you acting so extra-Dukeish today?” I ask as we grab a table for two in the middle of the room.
The shop is busier this morning because it’s summer. Everyone’s out of school. Some businesses even open a little later through the summer just because they can. Hours of operation tend to be sketchy around here as it is. If the fish are biting, you might not find Ella Mae’s dad at the hardware store until ten that morning. But someone will warn you he’s out on the river if you come into town, so there is that. It’s no secret what anyone’s up to—ever.
Ella Mae. There my mind goes like a soldier gone AWOL, traveling back to thoughts of her. Well, to her dad, but still.
“My wife’s pregnant. That’s what’s got me walking on sunshine,” Duke answers, interrupting my disturbing thoughts. “Shannon’s having our baby. If that’s not something to make a man smile, I don’t know what is.”
I can’t help but grin. “Yeah, she is. I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad. I mean, do they just let anyone do this parenting gig, or what?”
Duke chuckles. “Apparently.”
My two best friends are married and settled—one with kids, the other expecting. One married to my baby sister, of all the things. I still feel like Rip Van Winkle most days. I left as a kid out of high school, went to college, entered the Army, and by the time I came back, people had married, started dating, or moved. Life went on without me.
Riley walks over with our coffees.
“Awww, thanks Rye-Rye. I could have stepped up and gotten those at the counter. You’re the best,” Duke says as Riley sets the two mugs in front of us.
She gives Duke the smile most people give him, full of admiration. Must be nice to have charm to spare. And, with Duke, it’s genuine. That’s the clincher.
“What’s up with you?” Duke asks, taking a sip of his coffee and looking at me over the rim of his mug.
“Me?”
“Yeah. You look more constipated than usual.”
I shake my head. “Nothing’s up.”
“So you say. You’ve got that one dent right here.” Duke taps a spot over his eyebrow. “It always comes out when you’re thinking too hard. So, what gives?”
I study my best friend. How he notices those kinds of details when he seems to be constantly distracted by every shiny thing is beyond me. But that’s Duke. He’ll surprise you every time with his depth and loyalty.
“I just had a weird night in Columbus. Nothing major.”
“Far as I’m concerned, every night in Columbus is weird for you, since you never tell me where exactly you’re going or what you’re up to. I’m good with it. One day, you’ll crack, and I’ll find out what you do every Wednesday. Maybe I’ll tail you sometime.”
“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stalk me.”
“You’ve got that right,” Duke says with a laugh.
The air literally shifts. I feel a change as if all the molecules ionized around me. I don’t even need to look. I know she’s here.
Duke glances up from his coffee and smiles. I keep my eyes on my mug. I’m seated so I can watch the door—an old habit. Place yourself where you can see all exits and entrances. Size up the environment before sitting down.
I drop my eyes before Ella Mae catches me looking at her. Something about the way she invaded my mind this morning sets me off. I feel the chink in my armor and it’s not acceptable.
Even with my gaze trained on my coffee cup, I can feel Ella Mae make her entrance. Out of the corner of my eye, I catalog what she’s wearing: a pink top that looks like someone did origami with the fabric. It has little straps over her shoulders, but folds across her waist and flows out into these angel sleeves. Pink. So pink.
And she’s wearing these shredded cut-off shorts that show off her impossibly long legs. And then she’s got some sort of strappy sandal with a heel on her feet. Sunglasses are perched on top of her head—the kind that look expensive. And her blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail that must be meant to look effortless, but I’m guessing took her a while to fix up.
She looks as high-maintenance as she is.
She’s got this tourist vibe, and not like she’s exploring this town, for sure. Her whole appearance is more suited to somewhere on the French Riviera, hanging off the arm of an up-and-coming movie star.
I look around the room at everyone else in T-shirts and jeans or shorts, with tennis shoes or farm boots as their footwear of choice. Ella Mae stands out, even before she opens her mouth.
“Yoo hoo, Madeline! Good morning, beautiful girl!”
Ella Mae looks straight at me. She wiggles her fingers in a wave, and then promptly turns away. I don’t smile. I barely acknowledge her. Here I was last night, wondering what came next when we were back in town. And now, I’m the one acting aloof.
