Page 30 of Cherry Picked
I threw the knife with all my frustration, imagining it winging its way powerfully into the center of the wooden target at the end of the lane… and watched as it fell with a defeatedclinkabout two feet in front of me.
Crys bit back a laugh. “Try again, Throwdini.”
Instead of giving up and having no “broadened horizons” to show for my day, I asked the instructor very nicely for a new batch of knives so I could try again. And again. And again. I finally got a knife close enough to the target to wave a cheery hello before it, too, landed with a clang on the floor beside the other missed knives I’d thrown. I was striking out on all fronts today.
“That’s it for me,” I told Crys.
I wasn’t sure I’d worked off my aggression exactly, except by making myself too tired to be angry. But if I wasn’t already strong from carrying full serving trays at Panini Jack’s, my arm would have been screaming in agony, and I knew more throwing would make tomorrow’s workday painful.
Crys nodded absently and kept launching the sharp blades down the lane until it was time for us to gather them back up again and reset.
“I think Elizabeth Bennet would have enjoyed knife throwing,” I decided. “It’s kind of feisty.”
“Mmm.”
“I’m surprised morePride and Prejudicevariations don’t have her trying archery like the Gwyneth Paltrow version ofEmmahad in it. I could see her doing that, too, and it was popular back then.”
Crys effortlessly sank into throwing position and sent another knife toward the target. “I’ve used a crossbow before. It was epic.”
“I just find it funny that these aristocratic people would be dressed in gowns and topcoats at a garden party and pick up a bow and arrow between bites of finger sandwiches on the lawn, you know?”
While she began throwing again, this time small handheld axes, I continued talking about Regency-era lawn games, even telling her about my earlier conversation with Jack about baseball and rounders. She was so focused on the axe-throwing she barely grunted in response.
“Sorry. I’m probably boring you,” I finally said. My disappointment was hard to hide. I loved Crys, but… she was no Jack Wyatt.
“Nah. I just don’t share your passion about Jane Austen. It’s kind of like when my friend Sanjay shows me pictures of his cats. There are only so many times a person can ooh and ah over the same fat orange feline sleeping by the window, you know?”
I stared at her. “How could you not want to see pictures of a cat loafing in the sunshine?Especiallya ginger cat?”
Before she could respond, my phone buzzed with an incoming text. My heart leaped a little, hoping Jack had come to his senses and wanted to apologize for being an asshat earlier, but no.
Simon:Hey, Hawk! I wanted to tell you I read that article on the endangered bat populations you sent. Super fascinating. Maybe we could discuss it sometime?
I sighed. Simon and I had been texting back and forth a bit all week, and he’d been… nice. Really nice. I’d spammed him with articles, beginning the day after the town meeting, and he’d read them all and promised he’d “pass them up the chain” at Evola.
I wasn’t naive. I knew this was probably corporate-speak for “I deleted it after I read it,” but at least I felt like he was trying to understand my position… which was more than I could say for some people.
Hawk:You’re welcome. Did you have a chance to get me those Point Meduc and Morgan Falls environmental studies you promised?
Simon:I asked again. I need authorization to make them public, and my boss is on leave. But I haven’t forgotten. They should get it to me this week and I’ll pass it on. Sorry for the delay!
I was pretty sure this was corporate-speak, too, where “delayed until this week” meant “not gonna happen until hell freezes over,” but at least he hadn’t outright denied my request or fed me bullshit excuses.
Which, again, was better than certain people had done.
“What did your phone do that’s got you scowling at it, boo?” Crys came up and peered over my shoulder. “Ohhhh. Looks like Simon wants to make sure yourenvironmentiscompliant.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Are you gonnasurveyhisland?”
I felt my cheeks go hot. “I don’t even know what that means,” I said primly, turning the screen off. “Besides, it’s not like that. Simon’s just being friendly because of the project. I told you, I only pretended he was interested in me at the town meeting because it seemed to annoy Jack.”
“Because Jack’s jealous.”
I shook my head. “He’s really not. Jealous is how you feel when someone has something you can’t have. Jack could have me. I’ve made that abundantly clear. I practically gift wrapped myself earlier today and stuck a bow on my ass, and Jack was like, ‘Oooh, wow, no thank yew.’ And then he went on to tell me I couldn’t possibly use a hookup app without floundering my way into a date with the only person in Little Pippin Hollow on an FBI watchlist.”
“Hey.” Crys pointed one manicured finger at me. “Don’t joke. You’d be surprised at how many people in the Hollow are on a watchlist. Small town like this is a breeding ground.”
I rolled my eyes. “All we breed around here are prize-winning Holsteins and heirloom apples. You might need to lay off theAmerican Crime Story.”
“Nope. Mark my words, there’s something weird going on with Ronna at the gas station—like, taboo sex dungeon in her stockroom weird. And Chris, that guy I work with at the Tavern? He’s either a werewolf or a mafia hitman on the run.”
