Page 7 of Beyond The Maples
"Absolutely," I nod, giving him a small smile.
Maybe I’m imagining it, but when I see Hollis flirtatiously put her arm around him, guiding him to a table in her section, he almost flinches. Pulling away from her touch ever so slightly. Like he didn’t want it to be her. ?
A familiar ache enters me at the thought. It’s wishful and entirely unwelcome. I learned a long time ago I can't read into everything Deacon does. The only reason we’ve sustained our friendship over our lifetime, is by keeping it platonic. And although I often feel we might be meant for more, I’ve never allowed myself to admit those feelings beyond daydreams. More importantly, Deacon’s never attempted anything more either. So I stuff it back down, lock it away, along with all my other unhelpful feelings.
My shift ends without too much chaos. Everyone trickles out and we clean and prep for the next day. I’m eager to get going so I have time to catch up with Deacon before I have to sneak out to the Games again tonight.?
The owner, Giles, waltzes in right before I’m about to leave. Here to make sure no one is running off with his money.
He’s an older man, late forties, white-streaked hair slicked back with grease. His clothes always look fresh, clean even. A simple thing, but something that ensures everyone knows his status around town.
All of this is made worse by his inability to understand how he makes everyone around him want to peel their skin off. He walks about observing, his smile slimy and eyes that linger too long on the young girls. His own special form of torment. His clean leather boots clip on the old wooden floors as he makes his way over to me. ?
"How’s business tonight, my dear?" he drawls.
His bony finger slides along the countertop like he’s checking for dust.
I almost cringe as he steps closer to me thanhe needs to.
"It was busy. I think you’ll be pleased with today's profit," I reply, making sure my response is neither friendly nor clipped. Needing him to feel in control without encouraging more interaction is always key.
He nods appreciatively. His pale thin finger coming up, grazing my upper arm lightly.
"And how’s that poor sister of yours?" he purrs, feigning sincerity with raised eyebrows.
I suppress a snarl at the hidden implication.
Giles is an opportunist, with a hungry appetite for young women in bad situations. On more than one occasion, he's tried to use my circumstance to lure me home with him, with grand promises ofmorefor me and my family.
"She's well. Thanks for asking," I say, squaring my shoulders.
There are seemingly endless acts I would do for my family. A multitude of things I would willingly sacrifice. But I'm determined not to sell that piece of my soul. Not yet.
And not to him.
I turn, hoping he'll get the hint, but he blocks my path. He leans into me, letting his rancid breath sweep over my face as he whispers in my ear.
"My offer still stands. If you change your mind... You're only going to look like this for a little while longer. You might as well put it to good use." He sneers.
My body screams at me to move away. A violent shiver rips through me. There is nothing I'd love more than to unleash my rage on this man... to allow myself a moment to crack open the well of feelings I keep locked up. But I can't, I need this job.
After a few moments of us standing frozen, locked in a silent battle of wills, he just up and walks away. Like I'm not even worth the dismissal.
As he saunters over to his next victim, I flee. Embarrassment scraping down my throat. I have the sudden and overwhelming urge to claw the scent of his breath off my skin.
After rushing home, I go straight to the bathroom, ignoring the chatter of my family in the background. I make eye contact with no one as I lock myself behind the flimsy door.
I head straight into the shower, which is cold, but that's the norm. I need to scrub off my day. I grab the little bar of soap, a luxury we don't always have. I scrub and scrub until the memory of Giles' lingering fingers on me fades and the pipes groan; the water running out.
Sighing, and feeling much better, I get out and grab my ratty towel in favour of heading to my room to get dressed in fresher clothing.
I walk out of the bathroom to the sound of laughter and turn my head to our dinette. Big brown eyes stare back at me from across the room. Deacon is sitting at the table with my siblings, cards in hand, with a mischievous smirk on his face.
"Looking good over there," he jokes, not even trying to hide the fact that he's lazily perusing my half-naked body. My face heats.
"I didn't know you were here, you heathen! Stop looking at me!" I shout, running to my bedroom. The room erupts in laughter as I dramatically slam the door.
Embarrassment is quickly swapped with a warmth that grows in my chest as I hear the three of them playing a card game, Willow's giggle floating through the house. I suspect my little sister has a crush on my best friend, but if I'm honest, there are few people who don't feel this way about Deacon. His sunny demeanor is infectious, especially around here.
