I put Deucey in park and stepped onto the asphalt. To my annoyance, the red car pulled into a spot in the opposite row. Just my luck. I’d have to face my tormenter.
David, my oh-so-handsome neighbor, got out.
I was torn between the beauty of his face and the ugly of his attitude. Still, I waved when he looked my way.
“Tish!” He seemed overly pleased to see me. No doubt embarrassed to realize I’d been the slowster in the car ahead.
He walked toward Deucey. I clutched the open door like a shield between us.
“Did you see me waving?” he asked. “I tried getting your attention, but you were too wrapped up in the scenery.”
I remembered the sun’s glare on the windshield of his car. If he had been waving at me, I wouldn’t have seen it.
“When that didn’t work, I blew the horn.” He skirted the door and went to the trunk. “You’ve got a cord hanging out the boot, and I wasn’t sure it was rainproof.”
I closed my door and followed him. A black strip of fabric dangled out Deucey’s back end.
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t going to Flint today,” I said. “Would you have followed me all the way?”
“Whatever it took.”
I looked to see if there was a tease somewhere in those depths. But it seemed he was serious. I let down my guard. I couldn’t hold a grudge against a guy who’d go to such lengths to watch out for me.
I stuck in the key and opened the trunk. Inside were the remains of my nomadic life. I’d brought the necessities into the house the night before—personal care items, essential clothes, and sleep gear. But the rest would hole up in the car until needed.
A tapestry suitcase, containing the testimony of my existence, took up the back half of the cavernous trunk. Bills, old checkbooks, tax returns, and the clown I’d sewn for a junior high project were wedged in so tight, I’d broken the zipper trying to close it.
In front of me, tucked close to the bumper, was a backpack that just missed getting crushed the last time I’d slammed the trunk closed. Its adjustable strap hadn’t been so lucky.
I looked at the sky. Good thing nylon was waterproof. The cloudless morning was about to give birth to an overcast afternoon. A bank of storms piled high on the horizon. The sun had only a few short hours before it would be swallowed by the cranky newborn.
“You’re right.” I locked eyes with David. “We’re in for some rain.”
Tearing away from his gaze seemed impossible. I’d always appreciated blue eyes on a guy with a square chin and full lips. And standing tall in his knee-length woolen coat, he looked so important, so exceptional. I wished I could figure out how to dress to impress. But in my line of work, it was too much trouble to change out of my grungies every time I left the house.
I bent over the trunk, fumbling around trying to arrange things. With the strap tucked away, I went to close it.
“Allow me,” he said. He raised his arm to slam the lid. His fingers brushed mine, sending a jolt of electricity tingling up my arm. I couldn’t be sure if it was magnetic attraction or static cling.
“Would you like to share a buggy?” David asked. “I just have a few things to buy and I’d love the company. I won’t take much space, I promise.”
Share a shopping cart? I hardly knew the guy. But he was a neighbor, and I hated to be rude.
“I’d love to,” I said.
We wheeled down the produce aisle.
“So, where do you get your accent?” I slung a bag of Macintosh apples into the cart.
“I come by it naturally. I grew up a bit south of London.”
I smiled. “I love the way it sounds.”
“Most Americans do. It’s only fellow Brits that detect a hint of commoner.”
“Commoner?” My gaze swept across his face. “We don’t have any of those in America. We’re all royalty as far as we’re concerned.”
“That’s why I love it here.”
An enormous golden grapefruit caught my eye. I put it in a plastic baggie and set it in the cart. Next to it I dropped some grapes and my favorites—plums. I crossed over to the veggie aisle and loaded up on salad supplies.
“How long have you been in the U.S.?” I asked.
“Five years or so,” he said.
I reached for a bunch of celery to supplement my peanut butter craving. The red rubber band holding it together clung to the stalk beneath, and it stuck in place. I leaned forward to free it and got an eyeful of my hairdo in the mirror over the vegetable display. My brush-n-go styling had decided to hover like a halo around my face. I looked like I’d spent the morning plugged into a light socket.
Behind me, David scooped peanuts from a barrel into a paper bag. I leaned close to the mirror and tried to flatten my flyaways. Just then, the vegetable sprinkler system kicked on. I leaped back, but not before my face got sprayed. I wiped the drops off with my fingers and ran them through my hair. At least it would behave for the moment.
When I turned around, David was talking with a woman who looked like she’d spent the morning under her hair dryer. I’d never seen such a perfect flip-do. Even her lashes curled in the right direction, held in place by just the right amount of mascara. And while I couldn’t detect lipstick or blush on her cheeks, that was only because it was so cleverly applied. No woman could look that good without help.
I could feel those primordial female hackles rising. To the casual observer, it would seem I had no reason to stake a claim on David. But anyone with eyeballs could see we were sharing a shopping cart. Couldn’t she take a hint?
She smiled at David and gave a tacky giggle. David smiled back and said something that got an even bigger guffaw out of the petite blonde.
Come on. Couldn’t he see that blatant flirtation for what it was? Maybe I’d given him too much credit.
I was just about to splat him with an avocado when the beguiling creature turned to me. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline.
“Oh!” Her hand froze in place over her mouth.
I guess my frizz rendered her speechless.
I was sure that somewhere behind her enlarged pupils, a brain churned. I decided to keep quiet to see if any thoughts rose to the surface. Finally, she lowered her fingers.
“I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that you look so much like someone who used to live around here.”
I was impressed. She spoke in complete sentences.
I gave a big, overzealous smile to match her own fakey attitude. “You are the second person that’s told me that today. Guess I’ve got that all-American look.”
She scrunched up her face. “No. It’s not that. You just remind me of someone who left town at least a year ago. I should have known you weren’t her. She’d have to have guts to show her face around here again.”
Great. I was the unsuspecting twin of some small-town pariah. I hadn’t thought anyone else’s face could be as featureless as mine.
“David said you’re new in town.” She extended a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Tammy Johnson. I own the Beauty Boutique on Maple Street. Stop in some day. I’d love to get to know you.”
Right. I squeezed politely and dropped my arm. What she really meant was that she’d love to get her hands on the overgrown haystack on my head. My stubborn streak vowed that her clippers and callus-free palms would never touch a strand.
“I’ll be sure to stop in. I’m Tish Amble. Nice to meet you.”
She’d done a great job keeping eye contact during our conversation, but now she gave me a fast once-over before turning back to David.
My insides tightened. Not everyone could be as put together as her little prima donna self. She could cut those of us with a fashion handicap a little slack.
“I meant to ask you, David,” she said in a silky-smooth voice, “any word from your wife?”
Air drained out of my lungs in a surprised gush. My eyes poked out and my cheeks sucked in. I felt like an astronaut who’d just lost atmosphere.