She ponders that for a moment. “Intercept him there, you mean.”
“Probably the fastest way to retrieve the quilts, right?”
Because whatever her reasons are for wanting to reach Paul, I can get her that one win. And getting wins is—well, it’s not just my job. It’s my calling.
I want Eden to get this fucking win.
AndthenI’ll figure out how I’m going to save my sister’s business and my family’s land.
After another hesitation, she says, “Right.”
We sit down on the curb outside the rental car office and search up flights.
A few minutes later, after coming to terms with how long it takes to get from the middle of Washington to the middle of the country, we have morning flights into Sioux Falls and a promise from Joe to drive us to a Spokane hotel near the airport for the night. Even if the flight’s not till tomorrow morning, and even if we have to fly hundreds of miles south to hit a point that’s due east of here, it’ll still get us to Sioux Falls more efficiently than driving, and then we just have to find Grace Vain…and Paul.
“Now what?” I ask her. “We have some time to kill.”
She gives a wry laugh. “I need to go shopping.”
16
Rhys
“Shopping?”
“I need some—underthings.”
“Ah.” Of course, I instantly picture the pale blue thong, the soft slip of its lace between my fingers, even though I tried not to savor—or even notice—the feel of it. It probably wouldn’t go over too well if I suggested that she rinse and re-wear it every day because I like picturing it on her. And off her. “Right. Me, too. And another shirt. Guessing I’m not going to find my usual brands here.”
“I believe you’re what we callshit out of luck,” she says, biting her lip to hold back a smile.
I force myself to look away from the way that soft flesh gives under her teeth.
She messes around on her phone. “Yup,” she says, grinning. “Nearest Nordstrom is in downtown Seattle.”
“Whoops.”
But I’m not upset. I gave Eden a reason to smile, and that’s its own win.
She tilts her head. “So generic box store it is.”
“Generic box store it is,” I agree.
The woman at the car rental desk, whose name turns out to be Gertie, confirms—with a shared eye roll in Eden’s direction—that no, there aren’t any boutique men’s clothing stores in town, and that yes, there’s a box store in walking distance—about three-quarters of a mile—on the other side of Galilee’s small downtown.
“You game?” I look down at Eden’s feet. She’s still wearing that pair of chunky-looking sandals she slipped on when she shed her wedding dress. “Those comfy for walking?”
“They’re not bad. I’ve done a few miles in them and not regretted my decisions. Arethose?” She inclines her chin toward my Paul Evans Oxfords.
“Good enough.” I’m more concerned with the fact that the shirt I’m wearing will become a life-form of its own shortly, but that’s the problem we’re about to solve. I wince at the thought of the cheap shirt that will shortly take the place of this one—which cost $285 and was custom fit—and once again curse my grandfather for being the switch that set this chain of events in motion.
If you wanted to humble us, you’ve succeeded,I tell him.You fucker.
“Hang on.” I go back to the car and pluck the cowboy hat out of the back seat.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping the sun off your face,” I say and plop it onto her head. Which turns out to be a huge mistake. She’s so fucking cute.
