What she needs to find peace from…I’ll never know.
Before I can ask more questions, Blair chooses that moment to come back to the table.
I don’t need an answer because it will only make me want to talk to her that much more, and I don’t need the small talk thatcomes from staying at their table. I leave them alone without another word. But I find myself glancing in their direction more and more, wondering what it is about her.
Why am I so triggered by her?
Sheboughta home here, is friends with my sister now, and works next door. The least I can do is actually be…nice.
I internally groan.
We don’t need to make this a whole ordeal. I can be nice, but we don’t have to be friends.
I’m not even making sense in my head.
Every time I see her, it alters my brain chemistry even more. It’s like my mind and body have this pull closer to her. One that I can’t control.
And I like being in control.
Perhaps it’s been too long since I’ve felt this way about a woman—the way I feel about Blair. I want to see all of her and discover what she’s concealing beneath her tough exterior. She makes me want to open up, which I never do. And most of all, I want to know what led her to Bluestone Lakes in the first place.
But can I learn to trust again?
The bell to the front door chimes again, forcing me to throw my head back in aggravation. I’m ready to rip that thing from the door frame right now.
Despite my better judgment, I look to the door, and in strolls Nan.
“I’m here to remove the pin,” she says, standing tall.
“Excuse me?” confusion etched in my tone.
“Karaoke night.”
I roll my eyes. “Would you give it up already?”
“Never,” she says, with a fist in the air and a deep gravel in her voice. “I’m old and persistent. Besides, what if I die tomorrow?”
“You can’t die tomorrow. You haven’t caught up on your soaps.”
“It’s unbecoming how you know the status of my soaps.”
“Andyou’reover dramatic. You should consider medication for your psychotic behavior,” I tell her.
“The only medication I take is for the headache you give me. Now, hear me out,” she says, hands in the air like she’s painting a picture. “Karaoke.”
“You said that. So far, you’re not selling me on it.”
“Because you didn’t let me finish, Grumpy Griffin.” Nan laughs at herself.
“Continue.” I wave a hand in front of me, signaling that she has the floor to speak.
I wipe the counter, not wanting to hear a minute more about an idea that could make this place packed. Because it just means I’d have to stay here longer than I want to be here.
“We make it a weekly thing,” Nan starts.
“Nope.”
“You can choose Thursdays or Fridays,” she persists. “They’re my only free nights.”
