Page 86 of Fire Island
“Of course! I can’t wait to get home and see you try all these on.”
She beams that stunning smile of hers at me, and I can’t help but be consumed by her infectious happiness. It’s like Iris inherited all the happy genes and Cal got all the grump. It makes me wonder what their parents were like.
We make for the checkout counter, and the girl rings up my huge spend of twenty-three dollars for five items. Some, after a quick sort, I decided to leave behind.
Iris simply winks at me and heads toward the door. The girl hands me my bag of treasures, and I follow after Iris. Outside, she waits a little way down the sidewalk. I push through the glass door, checking my phone is still in my back pocket. My glasses slide down my nose. I really should wear contacts instead.
A rough shoulder bumps into mine.
Snapping my head up, I mumble an apology as a tall, dark blur hovers too close. Something flutters to the ground.
“Forget it,” he utters. Dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt, black motorcycle boots with a ratty old cap pulled down over...
I shake my head.
Messy brown hair.
No, it can’t be.
I press a hand over my heart, trying to stifle the fear that’s clawing its way up from the pit of despair that materialized with the black masculine form.
Images of Timothy flood my mind, turning my stomach on its head.
I slide my glasses up my nose and focus on the guy whose gaze has dropped but travels back up with a frown. His eyes level with my own, and I don’t recognize him.
At least, I don’t think I do. I frown, studying the planes of his face.
“You okay?” Iris says, coming to my side as her glare swings upward. “Watch it, buddy.”
Her stance softens as she hooks her arm through mine, and she pins him with a curious look. “You passing through?”
“Maybe.” He walks away, not bothering to look back.
Rude.
Grumpy ass.
He’d be around twentysomething. Now I sound like Cal. I drop my focus to the small slip of paper on the sidewalk. Something is handwritten on it, but it’s folded in half.
“Hey!” I call out after him, now seeing him much clearer.
He spins back, a frown creasing his face, blue eyes narrowing. “What?”
I bend and swipe the paper up. “You dropped this.”
He looks away, as if contemplating whether retrieving said paper is worth the four steps back. A beat passes before he strides to where I stand, slipping the paper from my fingers. Without a word, he walks back the way he was heading.
“You could say thank you!” Iris calls out after him.
He throws a hand over his shoulder and, without looking back, says, “You could look where you’re walking.”
“Urgh! Ass!” Iris seethes.
I chuckle. There’s something so familiar about this short exchange.
The café is buzzing when we return. Paige is swamped. Errol sits at the counter, his usual lunch order in front of him.
“How’s things?” Iris asks Paige as she shucks her bags behind the counter and dons her apron.
