Page 6 of Truck Me
Garret meets my gaze, and all semblance of a smile is gone. What is with all the frowns he keeps giving me? “Rayne is not impolite. She can ask me anything she wants.”
“Because we’re friends.” Rayne gives a single curt nod.
“Friends?” I quirk a brow. “With a thirty-two-year-old man? Did I get your age correct?”
“Yes.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“Huh,” I say again, even more confused than I was a moment ago when Rayne mentioned that Garret knew my sister. “Pray tell, how does a grown man become friends with a ten-year-old girl?”
Rayne rolls her eyes. Something she does a lot when she thinks I’m being silly or dumb. Now that I think about it, she rolls her eyes at me far too much for my liking.
“Aunt Char! Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill? Grandma is right. You make things more difficult than they need to be.”
“How am I making things difficult? I’m just trying to understand how an unlikely pair like you two became friends.”
“Oh.” Rayne stands a little straighter. Her typical smile is back on her face. “I follow the trail through the woods that separates his property from ours. The trail leads right to his house. I visit him as often as I can. He doesn’t mind.”
Garret smiles at her and ruffles her hair. “That’s right. You can visit me anytime you want.” Then he looks back at me and he drops that smile like a hot potato. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get this washing machine fixed for you.”
I stare at him, completely baffled by his attitude toward me and his affection toward my niece. But my day is already shitty enough, so I decide to let it go. No need to poke the bear more than I’ve apparently already done.
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
I dig my journal out of my purse, ready to ignore him while he works. If he can be an ass, then I can be a bitch.
Chapter 2
Beauty queens, laundromats, and princess-labeled underwear.
Garret
She doesn’t belong here.
My life is already complicated enough. I don’t need Charlotte Weber back in my life.
Not that she was ever really in my life, but she grew up next door to me and Beaver is a small village. It’s impossible to not know everyone. Beaver is one of those places where everyone knows everybody, and secrets are an impossibility. Once one person finds out your secret, everybody knows. It’s why I keep to myself.
I dare a glance in her direction. She’s somewhat of a hot mess at the moment, but a very beautiful one at that.
Her long, dark hair is a little wild. Back in high school, she was always so perfectly put together, without a strand out of place. Seeing her like this with her curls out of control is hot. I like her better this way.
She’s wearing tight jeans with a bulky sweater. I can’t help but wonder what her ass looks like in them. I’d ask her to come here, turn around, and bend over, but she might hurt herself in those heels. Who in the hell wears fancy ass high-heeled shoes to a laundry mat in the dead of winter?
I guess former beauty queens do.
Charlotte is hands down one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. She’s a couple of years younger than me, so our circles didn’t cross often when we were young, but I still noticed her. All the guys did.
It’s impossible not to remember a former homecoming and Oktoberfest queen that eventually became Miss Ohio. I think that’s where her beauty pageant days ended, but I lost track of her life once she moved away.
“What are you doing here?” I grumble as I unpack my tools.
She shoves her pen in her notebook and shuts it. She’s been frantically scribbling ever since she picked it up. “Um, trying to wash and dry my clothes.”
Her response is filled with contempt. I glare at her. “I know that, smartass. Why aren’t you washing them at Lois’s and Jim’s house? Is something wrong with their machine?”
She slams her notebook down on the chair next to her with a furrowed brow. “As a matter of fact, yes.”