Page 4 of Sweet Rivals
He wasn’t local. He was a vacationer. I could tell by his casual stance and air of nonchalance that didn’t occur naturally amongst people living in the real world with real problems. I should have turned the other way without a word.
Vacationers were bad news. Especially ones as good-looking as this man. Bright, flashing danger signs moved through my mind like the scrolling banner beneath a newscaster announcing impending doom. Vacationers thought they were the main characters in a small-town romance. I guess everyone is the main character of their own lives, it would be pretty sad if they weren’t—although half the time, I felt like that wasn’t true of me, but that was baggage to unpack another day.
The issue with thinking you were in some small-town romance was how you treated the side characters. I, a townie, was always expendable when the romance ran its course with a happily ever after that left me behind.
In high school, Cat and I went through a book club phase with our other friend, Lacey. Somehow, I surrounded myself with thoughtful artsy types who chose small town romances and women’s lit for our book club. I had loved those kinds of stories once upon a time, but that ship had sailed for me. I guess Cat’s life had worked out that way for real, so maybe I should have had some renewed hope, but in my experience, happily ever after was the stuff of fiction.
The best us regular folks could hope for was contentment forged from a well-worn life of hard work and compromise. Unfortunately for me, even that seemed out of reach. I had spent a lot of time with my naive hopefulness, letting vacationers convince me that a long-distance relationship would work, only to be ghosted after a week or two. So, I swore off vacationers which basically meant swearing off men all together since Cape Shore had no eligible bachelors.
Once I had regained consciousness from nearly jumping out of my skin, the stranger let go of my elbow, leaving a warm, tingling sensation in its wake. I wondered what that touch might feel like on other parts of my body, leaving me with no choice but to miss it.
“You miss it?” he asked.
I blinked. Had I said that out loud? I felt a blush creep up my pale cheeks. “Miss what?” I asked. Leave it to me to lose every brain cell I had when a handsome man stood nearby.
“The bakery?” he asked.
“Oh,” I said looking at the empty building next to me. Come on, Jenna, stop being a total idiot, I chided myself, but it was kind of hopeless as I looked into his eyes and started drowning all over again. “Um, yeah, I guess so.”
I didn’t want to start babbling and explaining what my sigh really meant. The less I shared about my personal life with this transient, the better.
“Was it good?” he asked.
“Sure, I guess so,” I said again.
Was he trying to make small talk? I had spent so much time in the damn kitchen that I didn’t really know how to talk to people outside of it, much less to insanely attractive men who struck up random conversations during my morning walk.
“Too bad it’s gone. You from around here?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Must be nice living in paradise all the time.”
“Mostly,” I said. Holy shit, I had to come up with more than one-word answers, or he would think I was an idiot. “You in town for the food fest?”
“Mostly,” he said, with a casual smirk, and I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me.
Everything about him screamed nonchalance. Once he had let go of my arm, he leaned a shoulder against the bakery window, hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts, one foot crossed over the other as if he had nowhere else to be. His gaze drilled into mine like I was the most important person in the whole world. I wished I had even a fraction of his casual confidence. As it was, I fidgeted with my coffee cup, opening and closing the little slider over the top.
“I like your shirt,” he said.
I looked down to remind myself that Leather Face wielding a chainsaw adorned my t-shirt, and I blushed again. Why was I always such a weirdo when normalcy counted for so much?
“Oh, thanks.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. After my latest heartbreak with Dan from Delaware, I swore off anything even mildly romantic, which left me with high fantasy and horror (thanks to my online not-crush)—not exactly socially acceptable fare. If I had to therapize myself, I’m sure I was trying to push people away in an effort to protect my secretly fragile heart, but I wasn’t trying to do a deep dive at the moment. I was trying to stick my head in the sand and pretend I was just fine. I had my pipe dream to keep me warm.
“I was driving through the Pine Barrens to get here, and it made me think of that movie a little bit,” he said.
I couldn’t have helped my broad, ear-to-ear grin if I wanted to. It was the exact thought I had whenever I ventured into the lower middle part of the state where endless lengths of dark forests stretched, giving the sensation of eyes following me, and each house I passed looked like a super villain hid inside.
“Make sure your car is serviced before your drive home,” I said. He nodded with a wink. “You know, you may not want to open with creepy murder references when you first meet girls alone on their walks.”
He laughed with a deep timber. “Does it scare you?”
“It probably should.”
“You don’t seem like the type to scare easily,” he said, motioning toward my shirt.