At the Stars(11)

“Whatcha reading?”

I squint and focus on the minuscule newsprint and the burning cup in my hand, because I don’t want this girl and I don’t even want to want this girl. I remind myself again how Cassie’s not even remotely the kind I go for, but my body’s far too aware of how her chest presses into my back with each breath we both take and her words smell like cinnamon.

I happen to love cinnamon.

Slowly, I put the coffee and the paper down. With the milk pitchers and whatnot on one side of us and the fact that turning around would put us front to front, I don’t like my options for moving. Finally I slide the coffee tray sideways, smiling as I turn to face her. “Ma’am, if you have a question about your car I suggest you call the shop.” God save me, I’m trying to do the right thing here.

The way she smirks in return, I figure she understands the brushoff but doesn’t feel like playing along. Instead, she grabs the paper behind me from off the condiment counter, and I groan on the inside. “Ma’am? Really?” She looks at the side of the paper I left laying up. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a guy who keeps up with the local spelling bees,” she says as her grin gets wider.

My sister won a state championship last year and there was a thing about it in the paper. I left home before she was born but my stepmom managed to send a birth announcement before I changed my name. I like to keep tabs in case there’s any news about her, because whatever my stepmom did, the kid’s still my sister.

I don’t tell Cassie any of that, because I don’t tell anyone about my family. “Just checking out the Farmers’ Market,” I lie as I point to the column next to the one about the girl who lost the whole bee over possessive versus plural. Poor fucking kid.

She raises that eyebrow even higher. “Big fan of cider and fresh cucumbers?”

“The biggest.” I lick my lips without meaning to and realize my field of vision has settled too far south of her nose, on the dip above her lips, the smooth curve of her I’m-on-to-you smile and then down to the long, graceful arc of her throat.

Dammit. If I remind myself I’m not supposed to like her enough times, maybe it’ll be true. I keep waiting for the moment when she’s gonna act all crazy like the girl who jumped in front of a truck, but every time I see her she’s... Well, I don’t know if “normal” is right. Nobody’s really normal, are they?

She flutters her eyelids and shakes her head. Not in a flirty way, almost like she’s about to roll her eyes at me but then thinks better of it. With a crinkle and a flash of white she holds up the paper that’s been in her hand the whole time. “I wondered if buying another used car might be cheaper. I’ve been looking around for options. I found this old two-seater. I’d have to get rid of some stuff since it has like, zero cargo space, but it might be worth it for the gas mileage.”

Jesus. I try to ignore the sour feeling in my gut, the disbelief that this girl would leave her possessions by the side of the road if she can’t afford to fix her car. I shake my head and crumple the paper, tossing it in the trashcan next to the condiment counter. “No way.”

She drops her mouth open, and I can’t help but smile at her comical expression. “I’ve worked on that car, it’s got issues,” I tell her with a tired breath. I’m feeling last night’s shift at the bar, and I’m anxious to get across the street and drink my damn coffee. But her worried look keeps me from walking away.

“Issues?”

“Issues. The owner rear-ended someone pretty hard. The frame isn’t stable and the AC is shitty. You’d bake in this summer heat, and if you hit something, you’ll break your legs. You need something safer.”

This time, she does roll her eyes. Rolls ’em hard. “I’m pretty sure safe isn’t in my price range, Jake.”

After what I did to save her that night, her saying that sets my teeth on edge. “What about taking the bus to wherever you need to go and saving up for something reliable when you get there?”

She bites her lip. “That won’t exactly work.”

It’s none of my business, but I ask anyway. “Why not? You could ship some of your stuff ahead if that’s your concern.”

“No, it’s...” She almost looks confused. “It’s a long story.” She’s tense now, her eyes shiny like she might turn on the waterworks.

Shit. Now I feel like a real jerk.

Jake Chris, making girls cry since 2007.

I pick up the holder of coffees. “All right. Look, the car’s no good. I didn’t save your life to have your front end crumple around you the first time someone taps your bumper. We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.”