Eating with Anniston isn’t as awkward as I’d imagined. She keeps the conversation light and doesn’t ask any personal questions. Yet. I know that’s coming though. It always does.
She’s relaxed, sitting Indian-style, twirling a stray strand of hair. “So, how many miles do you normally run?”
I scoff. I haven’t run for the fun of it in several years and doubt I can run a mile before collapsing. “I used to run ten to fifteen miles. But I haven’t run in quite some time.”
Her mouth pulls to one side and she nods. “Well, I usually run seven to ten. Today, though, we’ll just run until you puke.”
I choke on a bite of muffin. Coughing, I grab for the juice and attempt to wash it down before it comes back up. Anniston doesn’t try to help me, just continues to stare and twirl that damn strand of hair.
I swallow most of the muffin and clear my throat a few times before I manage to speak again. “Beg your pardon?”
She shrugs and picks at a piece of bacon. I’m not sure she can hold anymore. She’s put away a vast amount of food for someone her size. “I’m just kidding, Cade. Your body can’t stand a run right now since you almost killed it yesterday, but maybe a walk would be nice?”
I’m silent, trying to get a handle on the recent turn of events.
“How bout it, Gorgeous?” She stands and takes her unused plate to the sink. Shoving a fist-sized bite in to keep from talking, I grunt out a half-ass nod, consenting to a walk later. Later, as in I’m staying longer.
Finished, I push away from the table, taking my plate to the counter where Anniston is busy putting away the leftovers. “Can I help clean up?”
Her face lights up at my offer. “Sure! You can help me put all this in the fridge. We can wash the dishes later.”
Without another word, I take the Tupperware from her and start packaging everything up.
When we’re finished, she tells me that I need some shoes. Mine apparently are not appropriate for walking. The sole is ripped, the thread barely keeping it together. Still, I argue but as you may have guessed, it gets me nowhere but in the passenger seat of her white SUV, heading to the nearest shoe store.
We pull up to an outdoor mall about thirty minutes north of her plantation. It isn’t huge, but it’s functional.
“I think we’ll get you a few clothes too while we’re here.”
Exasperated with her forced charity, I start to shake my head. She doesn’t even spare a glance my way.
“Come on, Gorgeous. We’re burning daylight.”
She shuts the car door in my face, brooking no more argument. Fuck. This girl is going to break me. With a deep breath, I get out of the car and take my place beside her. “Where to, boss?” I tease. Might as well find humor in the situation.
Her head slowly turns toward me. “Ooh. I like that.” She gives me a flirty wink and motions in front of her. “Let’s stop at the sports store first and get you some running gear. Then we’ll head over to the department store for everything else.”
I don’t know what “everything else” is, but I’m certain we will be arguing several more times before the morning concludes.
The sports store isn’t as crowded as I was afraid it would be. Still, my eyes bounce around everywhere. It’s hard for me to focus. It’s been a long time since I have been shopping. Everything seems different. Brighter. More expensive.
Anniston grabs a buggy and begins piling stuff in. She doesn’t ask me for my size or if I even like the colors she’s picking out. I guess she knows I would insist we not purchase a damn thing. I follow behind her silently, hoping no one gives me trouble for being in here. I feel very out of place. Even though my clothes are clean and I look relatively human, I still think they know I’m homeless.
Anniston, however, acts like she owns this store. She never looks at anyone for approval. She’s a woman on a mission.
When she stops, looks at the buggy and back to me, I pray she’s finished.
“I think this will do for now. I don’t want to get too much because you’ll just outgrow it in a few weeks.”
Outgrow it? What am I, twelve? I don’t dispute it because she doesn’t give me the opportunity, propelling us to the nearest checkout. “Will you go check the price of that paddleboard over there?” she asks while rifling through her purse.
My eyes narrow into slits. It’s another one of her ploys. I’ve caught on to her strategies.
“What? I’m in the market for one. Hurry, so we can go.” She shoos me like a little kid who needs to finish his homework.
The only reason I walk away is to make her happy. I am almost one hundred percent positive it’s a deterrent so I can’t see the total for all the shit she’s buying. For me. Oh, God. I am in over my head here.
I approach the board she supposedly wants, admiring the smooth lines and quality of the overall design. Damn, these things are nice. In another life, I would have owned one. I don’t look at the price like she asked. What’s the point? It’s all a ruse, anyway.
