Page 7 of When Love Found Us
Delilah studies me for a moment, her gaze shrewd yet kind. “We could probably use an extra pair of hands during the morning rush. You sure you’re up for it?”
“I’m sure,” I reply, a flicker of excitement sparking in my chest. “When should I start?”
“How about tomorrow? Six sharp.”
I nod, smiling despite myself. “Sounds good.”
As I fidget with the sugar packet in front of me, I glance up and ask, “Where’s the nearest hotel? One that’s cheap.”
Her expression shifts slightly, a trace of concern slipping through. “Are you in danger?” she asks.
“No,” I answer, maybe too fast, but the lie tumbles out as effortlessly as it always does. “I just don’t like to stay in one place.” The words come so naturally now that no one ever questions them.
Delilah doesn’t press further, but I can sense her quiet skepticism. Maybe she thinks:This poor woman is just not taking life seriously and would rather be backpacking aimlessly through the country without any responsibilities.
And I let people believe so, because the other option might get too much attention. Attention I don’t need now, or ever.
ChapterThree
Atlas
I should’ve flownand had my SUV shipped instead of driving from Seattle in three grueling days. Should I have stopped in Buffalo instead of pushing straight from Minneapolis to Birchwood Springs? Probably. But what’s done is done. I’m here.
Though, to be perfectly honest, it’s early. Too fucking early for someone who’s been driving all night. My plans for today are having some coffee and breakfast and then heading to the old house for a nap. I might need to stay there temporarily while I find something more suitable. An apartment, a home. Sanford mentioned something about a studio or . . . I really can’t remember what he said about the place above the tattoo parlor.
Sure, I designed the interior, but he’s the one who bought the ‘small building,’ as he called it, and paid a stupid amount of money to have everything done in less than two months. Who does that? A bored musician with too much time and money on his hands, that’s who.
Maybe I’ll check if the upstairs can act like an apartment. In the meantime, I’ll have to deal with my brothers. Though, if Ledger so much as hints that I’m not welcome in our childhood home, I swear I’ll punch him so hard he won’t be waking up anytime soon.
The bell above the door chimes as I push into The Honey Drop, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixed with something sweet—cinnamon, maybe—wraps around me. A few locals are scattered throughout the café, murmuring in low voices over their steaming cups. I drag a hand over my face, exhaustion digging into my bones. I’m running on fumes, but at least I made it in one piece.
Behind the counter, Delilah is cleaning the espresso machine when she glances up and smirks. “Well, well. Look who’s here. Mr. I’m Never Coming Back Again.”
I grunt. “Miss me?”
“Like a hole in the head.” She grabs a mug without missing a beat. “What would you like? Whatever it is, I’m guessing it needs extra caffeine. You look like shit. Did you even sleep?”
“Just black coffee. A few extra shots of espresso.” I roll my shoulders, exhaustion settling in. “Nothing frothy today. And whatever you’ve got that’s solid—an egg sandwich, maybe?”
“You got it.” Delilah wipes her hands on a rag before tossing me a look. “So . . . a tattoo parlor, huh?”
I glare at her. No one should know about that yet. “How do you know? Did Nysa tell everyone?”
“Calm down. It’s not like she put up a billboard.” She shrugs, reaching for a mug. “We were having dinner last Monday, and she mentioned it.”
“To whom?” I press because while I love my best friend, since she came back to Birchwood, she seems to have forgotten the meaning of the wordsecret.I should give her a fucking dictionary for her birthday. I miss when things stayed between the two of us. Now, she tells Hopper everything because they’re a couple. And then there are her friends, and since when does she need more people in her circle?
“It was just Gale and me,” Delilah cuts in, rolling her eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
“But she told Hopper, didn’t she?”
She waves a hand. “Does it matter?”
I sigh, knowing there’s no point in arguing. “Whatever. I guess it’s back to the old gossip mill. Can I just get my caffeine?”
“We’re moodier than usual,” she teases, pouring the espresso shots into my coffee. “You Timberbridges are always grumpy for one thing or another. Unless . . . you’re getting laid. That’s when you’re all smiles and shit. How’s Keir, by the way?”
“I’ve been driving for almost twenty-four hours.” I ignore her question about my other brother, the one I hope I don’t have to ever see, and the fact that she lumped me in with the others.
