Running Scared (Letters From Morgantown Book 1) Page 11

  “What?”

  “That’s exactly what she is,” she said, turning to me. “Paula is my partner in crime. We own the salon up on Baker Street. You should come down sometime.”

  She only stuck around to talk for a few more minutes, making sure to recommend her place one last time before she scurried away.

  Over the next half hour, it was more of the same—Chris and I could barely get a word in to one another without being approached by someone new from the community. I met Sal, the Morgantown butcher. Paula from the salon even zoomed by to say hi, and then there was that cold, passing moment of introductions with Merle, the town’s undertaker. Every woman in the diner made sure to come over, only a few of them taking any interest in meeting me. Like Danielle, each of them was focused on keeping Chris’s attention.

  Once everyone had made their way up to say hello, the diner quieted to a lull. There were few people left but Chris and me, and we were finally able to focus on our cold breakfasts. As I lifted my fork for a first bite, another introduction came from behind me.

  “Hi, Sydney?” Chris and I both swiveled in our barstools to meet the gaze of a young man standing feet away. “Andrew Medina, Morgantown Gazette.”

  “Nope, not happening, back off, man,” Chris said, popping up from his stool. He hadn’t even allowed the stranger an opportunity to shake my hand. “There are plenty of other women in this town; go hit on one of them.”

  “He’s probably slept with all of ’em by now,” Laney muttered, stopping by to refill our empty water glasses. She turned to Andrew. “Running out of ladies, Andy?”

  Andrew’s face flushed red—with embarrassment or anger, I couldn’t tell. Still, I felt bad for him. It had only taken Chris and Laney’s opinions to make for a bad first impression, and I couldn’t see how that was fair. I’d grown up in politics. I knew how powerful opinions were, and better yet, how often they were that—opinions, with little fact behind them.

  I studied Andrew Medina, giving him the fair chance he deserved. There was an air of confidence in his voice when he spoke. He was easily in his midtwenties, and the blonde-haired, blue-eyed picture of beauty. He stood tall, taller than Chris. And he had a kind face.

  I didn’t feel like it was fair to let anyone else make up my mind about this man for me. Be nice to everyone until they give you a reason not to, Dad preached, but trust your instincts. I lived by that.

  I slid off my stool and offered my hand to the stranger.

  “Hi, Andrew, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sydney East . . . ”

  “Sydney East?”

  “Emmons,” I said, forcing the word out. “Sorry, new town, a lot of new faces. It’s overwhelming.”

  “I understand.”

  “Maybe you should try understanding that she’s not interested in anything you have to say,” Chris said, now standing at my side. “Turn around. Go. Get out of here, because we don’t have the time or—”

  “Cool down, firecracker,” Andrew said, taking a step toward Chris, clearly motivated to intimidate him. It didn’t work.

  “Stay away from her,” Chris warned.

  “Or what?” Andrew’s words were a little slimier than they needed to be. He enjoyed taunting Chris, that much was clear. His sneer put me on edge. “This was an innocent introduction. I saw that everyone else was saying their hellos. I didn’t want to miss my opportunity to welcome the latest newbie to town.”

  “You’ve said hello,” Chris said, positioning himself between Andrew and me. “Now you can go.”

  Stepping around Chris to get one last look at me, Andrew nodded.

  “It was a pleasure, Miss Emmons.”

  “Yeah,” I said, without a smile, without a grin, without a clue. It’d taken the presence of one person to drastically change Chris’s behavior, and it was unsettling.

  Andrew let himself out of the diner, and I turned to Chris, who, for the first time since I’d shown up on his doorstep, looked as flustered as I felt.

  “What just happened?”

  “I hate that guy,” he said.

  “Yeah, I got that. What’s the story?”

  “Let it go,” he said. “He’s gone. We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “But I kinda want to,” I said. “He said two words and you flipped. There’s gotta be a story there.”

  “The story is that he’s a terrible person,” he said. “And Sydney . . . ” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and his nostrils flared as he worked to settle his nerves. Eyes open again, he focused on me—hard. “I’m asking that you please, please, for the love of God, Sydney, please . . . stay away from that man. He’s trouble.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I am.”

  “Okay, then I promise,” I said without pause. Andrew Medina hadn’t done anything to cause my mistrust, but my loyalty was with Chris, and if he thought this man posed a threat, then I didn’t need any more warning than that. I needed as many people looking out for me as possible, including myself. And my gut told me exactly what Chris was saying—Andrew Medina was trouble, and he wasn’t the kind of person to trust blindly. Be nice to everyone until they give you a reason not to, but trust your instincts. I had to trust what I felt and what Chris had asked of me. If a moment presented itself again, I’d be nice to Andrew, but I didn’t owe him anything more than courtesy. “I’ll keep my distance. You have my word.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But it’s going to cost you.”

  “Of course it is,” he said, trying not to smile, but he had a hard time fighting it. “What do you want?”

  “An explanation,” I said. “Maybe not today, or even tomorrow. But . . . I wanna know what he did to achieve mortal enemy status. You’re too nice to have a nemesis. I have to know what that guy did.”

  “Maybe. Someday. Sure.”

  “Okay,” I said, holding my hand forward. “Shake on it.”

  “Shake on it?”

  “Yup,” I said. “I gave you my word. Now I want yours.”

  “I don’t know, I’m pretty sure you just want an excuse to touch me,” he grinned, letting his frustration with Andrew Medina fade. “But that’s okay, I’ll oblige. Bring it in.”

  Taking my hand, his fingers brushed against mine, and once more I found my nerves zipping into high speed. I could see it; I could picture my hormones hop-skipping around inside of me. He was right. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel the waves of assurance rush over me, drown in that pool of calm he created with every look and touch.

  I craved the security I felt with him, and I was in far more trouble than I could’ve ever imagined. But I had to hold it in. Whatever it was that I felt for him, that was yet another secret I’d have to keep to myself. My life was enough of a mess without muddying it up anymore.

  I had to stop feeling this way, and if I couldn’t stop, I had to find a way to better conceal it, because he was on to me.

  God, I was in trouble.

  Chapter Twelve

  “It’s Post-it note hell.”

  After the first note on the door, we hadn’t expected to step into the B&B and find even more. But scattered all around the interior of the house, Danielle had left dozens of neon-colored Post-it notes stuck to walls, the floor, and the furniture. There were even a bunch sprinkled on the Christmas tree, as if placed exactly where the ornaments belonged.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “Gone to buy more Post-its,” he said, reading the note she’d left hanging on the door.

  “Does it say that?”

  “No. She had an evening shift at the boutique. She’ll be back tomorrow for the team meeting.”

  “Team meeting?”

  “To discuss the business. Who’s coming, who’s going. It’s precaution to make sure everything is operational and ready to go. The rooms, the kitchen, the—”

  “Christmas decorations?” I asked, pulling a neon piece of paper from the tree. “She could’ve finished the entire to-do list in the time it to
ok her to do this. Why the passive-aggressive notes?”

  “She’s sending a message,” he said. “She’s not happy. It’s punishment. While we’re removing the notes and making the changes around the house, we’ll have a constant reminder of our screw-ups.”

  “Ah, gotcha,” I said, plucking all of the paper out of the Christmas tree. “I still don’t understand why you let her get away with stuff like this.”

  “My grandma loved her,” he said. “I can’t explain it.”

  “I know,” I said. “Obligation.”

  He made his way around the dining room, pulling sticky notes off the wall, ones that reminded him of more and more things he needed to have squared away before opening on Friday.

  “You know she likes you, right?” I asked.

  “Danielle?”

  “Yes.”

  “She has an interesting way of showing it,” he said, waving a handful of Post-its in the air. “These aren’t exactly love notes, Syd.”

  “No, but I think it’s her way of reaching out to you,” I said. “She wants you to notice her and recognize that she has certain expectations. She wants you to live up to those ideals.”

  “For the sake of the business.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “You don’t seem so convinced.”

  “Because I see the way she looks at you,” I said, knowing that the same longing, distant, dreamy look she got in her eye around Chris was something I was guilty of, too. “Underneath all of that monstrous behavior, I think she’s drowning in affection. She’s dying for your approval. And I could be wrong, I know, but I think a lot of her erratic behavior is because she wants you to admire her and rely on her the same way your grandmother did. She wants you to want her around, not just accept that she’s here.”

  “I don’t buy that.” He shook his head.

  I turned away from him, opening the new boxes of lights we’d bought at the hardware store after leaving the diner. After breakfast, we’d meandered through town. The morning hours turned into lunchtime, and then the day turned into evening. Before we’d known it, we’d spent the whole day away, neglecting our responsibilities back at the house. We returned as it was getting dark, and there was still so much left for us to do—as the dozens of notes reminded us.

  I started stringing the lights around the base of the tree, trying not to fall back into conversation about Danielle. I couldn’t see Chris, but I could still feel him in the room behind me, probably wondering why I’d even brought up the subject in the first place. He disappeared into the kitchen for a while, and I kicked myself. I shouldn’t have said anything, because it wasn’t my place to. But I wondered if he saw it, and it seemed that he didn’t. He seemed to believe that Danielle’s interest at the B&B was all about the business, but I felt it had a lot to do with him, too.

  I tried to reason with myself that I’d only brought it up because the moment was convenient, but I knew better than to lie to myself. I was trying to gauge Chris’s feelings about her, and that was a dangerous realization I’d made. I actually cared whether or not he liked her in the same way she liked him.

  I didn’t turn around when he came back through the dining room. I kept my attention focused on the tree, and I finished stringing the lights.

  “Have you ever considered giving her a chance?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “No.” His answer was short, quick—almost a scoff instead of a word.

  “But you’ve known her for a while?”

  “Practically my whole life,” he said. “That happens when you grow up in a small town. We had a lot of mutual friends in school, and we were friendly, but I’d hardly call us friends, let alone anything more.”

  “You should give her a chance,” I said, urging him in a safer direction, as much as I hated myself for even suggesting the idea.

  Regardless of my feelings about her, there were some clear facts at hand. Danielle wasn’t a risk, not near as much as I was. She was pretty, and she liked Chris, and they both were concerned for the success and wellbeing of his grandmother’s business. They’d known each other for years. They had some kind of common, friendly history. There were no secrets. I’d bet anything there was never a lie told between them. She was a much safer bet than me. He deserved that. And if he’d give her a chance, I could almost guarantee that her frozen demeanor would thaw in a heartbeat. She’d finally have what she wanted. She’d have the ultimate prize.

  And me? I’d have one less problem to worry about. If Chris gave her a shot, his focus would be on Danielle, allowing me a golden opportunity to sidestep whatever it was that had me hung up on him. He would be preoccupied with her, and I could run. Dash. Escape these nagging feelings that—

  “Really, Syd? That’s your advice?” he asked, stepping into my line of sight. “You think I should give her a chance?”

  “It couldn’t hurt to explore your options.”

  “It could, though.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “For the simple fact that I’m not interested in her,” he said. “Never have been, never will be.”

  “No, I never said you were. I’m saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying,” he said. “Better yet, I know what you’re doing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You can do everything in your power to distract yourself from me, that’s fine,” he said, grinning, clearly aware of my motive. “And if pushing me off on Danielle was part of your plan to get rid of me, I’m sorry to inform you that you were doomed to fail from the start. It won’t happen. I have no interest in her. And we’ll leave it at that. If there’s something going on in your head that’s scaring you, then I’m happy to back off. Say the word. But understand my backing off will never have anything to do with Danielle. Understood?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “Understood.”

  I brushed my thumbs across the design on the ornament in my hand, keeping my head low so he wouldn’t see the way my lips twitched, tempted to move into a curve. He was so astute, and even though that played against me in the moment, I had to admire how quickly he’d shut me down. He wasn’t going to entertain the option of Danielle, and even though that didn’t work in my favor, I finally had my answer about where she stood with him. And the fact that he wasn’t interested in her comforted me.

  Chris leaned forward to hand me the mug of hot chocolate he’d brought back from the kitchen.

  “Can I help?” he asked, nodding to the tree.

  “Yeah.”

  He reached into the box to take a small, metal hook, examining it for a moment with a twisted grin, as if he were concocting a plan of his own.

  “What are you up to?” I asked.

  “Hand me one of those, will you?” he asked, nodding to the pile of trash at my side. I passed a Post-it up to him, and he took it, punching the end of the hook through the piece of paper. Hanging the neon note on a lower branch, he looked to me for approval.

  “Yeah?”

  “You can’t leave that there,” I said. “She’ll never stand for that.”

  “Now, come on, Syd. She left dozens of ’em stuck between the branches,” he said, feigning an innocent expression. “How were we to know that’s not exactly what she wanted?”

  “Chris,” I said, my tone warning him, but he didn’t seem fazed; his smile grew wider as he added another. “She’s gonna lose her mind.”

  “Then my job here’s complete,” he said, leaning down to sweep up the pile of notes next to me. Threading a hook through a blue square, he dangled it in front of my face. “Come on. Your turn.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Embrace your rebellious side,” he said.

  “I don’t have a rebellious side, and I won’t succumb to peer pressure,” I said, knocking his hand away. “Besides, I don’t want Danielle for an enemy. This is all you.”

  “Your loss,” he said, hanging the blue Post-it on the tree.

  “You’re taking the blame when she blows a fu
se.”

  “I can handle it,” he smiled, dropping another series of Post-its on the tree.

  It was a challenge, making anything salvageable out of the tree he’d chosen. Filling the gaps between the branches, covering the yellow-brown color of the needles . . . I’d never spent so long on a project, but it was worth every arduous minute. While I hung ornaments, tinsel, and lights, the dozens of neon Post-its added by Chris offered something a little more unique. He stepped up his game when he took to cutting them into snowflakes, giving them a little more pizzazz.

  He stayed at my side the whole time—making minor adjustments, tweaking branches to even things out. He’d even stepped away to turn on the radio, playing Christmas music as we worked for the next hour.

  “One last piece,” he said, lifting the topper out of the box. “You want to put the star on?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “Actually, I was thinking—”

  “No star?”

  “We should leave it for Theo,” I said. “I know that’s weird, and I can’t explain it, but when I pictured us doing this back at the lot, I imagined Theo finishing it. I think he should do it. Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” he said, nodding once. He placed the star back into the box, setting it aside. “He’ll be here in the morning; we’ll have him do it then.”

  He walked around the room, stopping at the back of the couch, looking at the masterpiece we’d created out of his little, flimsy, barely living tree.

  “What’d I tell you, Syd?”

  “You were right,” I said, joining him at the back of the couch. “A little love goes a long way.”

  I looked back to the tree, watching the way the lights sparkled along the branches, reflecting in the ornaments. The decorative glitter reminded me of all the wonderful things Christmas represented. Birth. Happiness. New beginnings.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked on, remembering how easily I’d wanted to toss that tree to the side. It was broken, worthless, helpless, and yet we’d given it a second chance. We gave it a purpose—hope.