Page 58 of Never Forever

“Okay, that’s it, you two,” Annie said, stepping in between us. “Matt, no growling. Carrie, no harassing the man if he’s actually going to buy a book.”

I rolled my eyes with all the energy I had left.

“Here you go. Stockard Bartlett, she’s actually a local author,” Annie said, coming up with the next two books in the series and handing them to him. “Kind of.”

“Really?” Matt asked, looking star struck. Not by me. Never by me. Just some local author.

“Yeah, she’s from here. You’ve probably seen her in town a million times. She does a big retreat here before Christmas every year and she always makes a trip out to the island.”

They did? I didn’t know that. More proof that somehow my sister was a better Piedmont than I was.

Yeah. I’d had enough of this day.

“I’m leaving. Bye Annie! Oh, hey, I hope a feral cat shits in your shoe, Matt.” I cried, and swung my sweaty winter coat over my shoulder, making sure to hit him in the process, and walked out the door.

The transition from the air-conditioned bookstore to the million degrees outside disoriented me for a second and I put my hand against the window of the store, my head suddenly swimming.

The door opened behind me and I stiffened. I put that smile on my mouth and was doubly glad I did because it was Matt standing there with a look of concern on his face.

Real concern.

I tried not to be moved by it, but it was nice to have someone worry about me. Even it if was the devil.

“Seriously, Carrie,” he said. “You’re not okay.”

“Go fuck yourself, Matt.”

“Even your come backs are weak.”

I wanted to storm off in a huff, but my legs felt like noodles and my head was floating. Was that possible? Floating Heads. Was that a band?

“Whoa, whoa, Carrie.” It was Matt and he had his arm around my waist, holding me upright and hard against his body.

“Talking Heads,” I said. That was the band.

He looked down at me with his familiar green eyes. The flecks of gold were still there. Once I tried to count those flecks of gold while we’d hung out in his truck. Him with his stupid eyes wide open, me on his stupid lap, attempting to count what couldn’t be counted.

Do you remember that?

“You’re not all right,” he said. Like this was my fault. Like he was mad at me for being too hot.

“I’m fine. A little dehydrated is all,” I lied and tried to shove him away. His arm around my waist was heavy and distracting. He smelled like the sea. Salt and sunshine.

“If I let you go, you’ll fall down.”

“I will not.”

Matt stepped back, his arm vanishing from around my waist and my knees immediately crumpled. He grabbed me again.

“Okay, give me one more try,” I said.

He shook his head. “Don’t you have a trailer or something nearby?” he asked.

“I’m not showing you my trailer,” I snapped.

My trailer was my inner lair. My hotel room was empty, but my trailer had some things in it. Little things I did not want him to see. Bigger things I’d do anything to keep him from seeing.

“You’d rather pass out on the square then let me see your trailer?”