Page 11 of Between Love and War
I rub my temples, already dreading the idea. It’s not that Ican’tbe nice—I just have a habit of rubbing people the wrong way. And Kate? She seems like the type to be naturally skeptical of guys like me. Hell, if I’m being honest, she seems like the type to be naturally skeptical of guys in general.
I exhale and glance at the clock. I should head out soon. Begrudgingly, I grab my bag, rolling my shoulders like I can shake off the heaviness settling there.
Speaking of Kate, I see her the moment I step out of my house. She’s carrying stacks of books in one arm—teacher books, I assume, with titles likeThe Power of SharingandManners Matter—while the other clutches a clear bag filled with pastries. And because that apparently isn’t enough, she’s also got a pair of sock puppets slung over her shoulder, their googly eyes bouncing with every step.
She’s wearing another one of those floral dresses that look uncomfortable, the fabric floating down to her ankles. White sneakers peek out beneath, already speckled with paint stains from whatever art project her kids made her suffer through yesterday. But this time, unlike the first day I met her, there’s no sweater draped over her shoulders. Just bare, slightly tan skin.
She’s already frowning as she struggles to close her front gate behind her. Then, with a deep breath, she turns toward her comically tiny car, which is barely big enough to fit one of my duffel bags, let alone me. It looks like something a circus clown would roll out of, which is fitting. It’s about as tiny as she is.
This is my time.
“Good morning, Katie,” I say.
She startles at the sound of my voice, nearly dropping the books in her arms. With a huff, she manages to steady them before turning to glare at me.
“It’s Kate,” she corrects sharply, shifting the books to one side so she can reach for her car keys.
I grin, unfazed. "Right. My bad. Kate."
She exhales like she doesn’t have the patience for this, which is fair. I imagine I’m not the first person to test it. “Is it short for Katherine? Katrina? Mary Kate?” I continue as I walk with her.
“It’s short for none of your business. What do you need?” she asks with a huff to keep a strand of hair off her face.
“Actually,” I say, “I think you’re the one who needs me.” I gesture to her mountain of stuff.
“No.” She answers too quickly, tightening her grip on the books.
I raise my hands in surrender. “Suit yourself.”
Kate reaches for the car door handle, but the angle makes it awkward with everything she’s carrying. She tries once, twice—then lets out a frustrated sigh.
I watch for a beat, then step forward, reaching past her to pull the door open. She stiffens, her breath catching just slightly.
“There,” I say, stepping back like I didn’t just invade her space. “Not that hard, right?”
She stares at me, and for a second, I think she’s going to say thank you. But then her lips press into a thin line, and instead, she mutters, “I could’ve done it myself.”
I smirk. “I’m sure you could’ve.”
Kate doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she places the books and pastries onto the back seat and slams the door shut with a little too much force.
“So,” I continue, watching as she moves around to the driver’s side, “any chance I can hitch a ride?”
She freezes, one hand gripping the door handle. Then she turns to me, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”
I shrug. “Heather, my agent, said it’d be good for my image if we got along.” I walk over to her side of the car.
Her expression is unreadable. “And you think riding with me will make us get along?”
“Well, it can’t make things worse,” I say. “You’re not my favorite person in the world, but somehow, your recommendation can help me speed up the process of going back to my home in the city.” I smile, though the thought of living there doesn’t excite me in the slightest.
“And why would I want to help with that?”
“Because I’m guessing you also do not want me around. The better the recommendation, the faster I’m out of here.”
She glares at me, then spends a second thinking about it. She gets into the driver seat, and tells me, “Whatever, just don’t talk.”
I grin. “No promises, Katie.”
