Page 17 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“I told you to shave. You’re a scruffy mess!” I say.
“And you’re wearing two different shoes,” he replies.
“I—what?” I look down at my feet, where sure enough, there are two different flats: one silver and shiny, the other matte black.
How did that happen? I changed from the silver to the black this morning before we came down; did I forget to change the other shoe?
“Did you notice that this morning, and you’re only now saying something?” I say.
“I would have told you,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “I only noticed when you were serving Carmina.”
I clear my throat. “Well,” I say. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. You look like a homeless man.”
“If I don’t get this novel turned in on time, I’ll do more thanlooklike a homeless man,” he says darkly. “My publisher will drop me and then I’ll go broke and I won’t be able to make payments and I’ll have to sleep on your couch, Miss Heidi” —he finally looks up at me—“and is that what you want?”
“What I want,” I say stubbornly, “is for you to comb your hair, trim your beard, and stop glaring at everyone who comes within a six-foot radius.”
“No.”
My words come out through gritted teeth. “Since I acknowledge that I cannot legally make you shave or comb your hair”—he snorts again—“at least stop giving the other customers the stink eye. Especially Carmina.”
“I need to establish my dominance so that she’ll stop trying to steal my spot,” he mutters, going back to his laptop.
“Soren.”
He sighs. “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.” He glares in Carmina’s direction and then says, more loudly, “I’m going to dropkick that woman all the way to Yellowstone.”
“Shut up,” I say. “Also.” I take a step closer to him, lowering my voice. “I’m going to call the security company and have them send over the tapes for yesterday. So I can see what happened. But where exactly did you find me?”
When Soren looks up at me, his smart-aleck air is gone, replaced by the same serious version of him I got last night. He nods his head in the direction of the front entrance. “Face up a few feet from the door,” he says, his eyes troubled. “I cleaned the blood off the floor before I left this morning, but I didn’t check anywhere else yet. I figured it wouldn’t be tampering with evidence or anything since you didn’t want to call the police.”
“Okay, thank you.” I turn to go, but he reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Wait,” he says.
I look down at his hand wrapped around my wrist, and he lets go quickly.
“Sorry,” he says, running one hand over his head. “But I asked you yesterday, and I just realized you won’t remember. I wanted to have my writing group here next week.”
“I didn’t know you have a writing group,” I say, thinking. But try as I might, he’s correct; I can’t remember having this conversation yesterday.
“I don’t—yet,” he says. “I’m part of a few writer communities online, and those of us who are local decided we would try meeting up and see how it goes. This would be the first meeting.”
“What did I say yesterday?” I don’t think there should be any problem with it, but who knows what I said then.
Soren’s shrug is casual as he turns back to his computer screen. “You said it was fine as long as there weren’t too many of us.”
“That’s fine, then. I can’t think of any problems,” I admit. “Just don’t stay past close, and don’t be too loud.” Then I sniff. “And one last thing—don’t call me Miss Heidi. It’s Miss Lucy to you.”
His fingers cease their click-clacking as he turns his gaze on me, and I am absolutely not ready for the smile he shoots me. One part charming, one part gentle, warm amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. “No promises there either, MissLucy.”
And even though I’ve heard him call me that a million times…this is different. He caresses the word, turning my plain last name into something sensual. Then he gives his attention back to his computer screen, and I stomp away, taking deep breaths as though maybe that will stop my face from turning red.
That man is just—he’s just—
Well. He’s something, that’s for sure.
I retreat behind the bakery display case, telling myself I’m not running away.
