“It means that people’s personalities and actions are always influenced by someone.” She opens the cash register and slips some bills into an envelope. “Perhaps he’s involved with this lass because he feels like it’s the kind of girl he’s supposed to date.”
As much as I hate to admit it, my boss may not be too far from the truth. Cole is the star quarterback…and as of now, Britney is the head cheerleader. They go together like peanut butter and jelly.
Or rather, peanut butter and some artificial gelatinous substance with no calories, because Britney.
“She’s right. I highly doubt Cole’s actually into her. He’s just keeping up appearances because of his social status.”
Mrs. Dickinson nods. “Like my mother used to say—if you lie down with dogs, you’ll rise with fleas.”
“Exactly.” I give Sawyer a smile. “But the big flea graduates this year, so she’ll be gone soon.”
Sawyer frowns. “So will you.”
“It’s not like I’m going away to college.” Heck, I couldn’t afford it even if I wanted to. “We’ll still see each other on weekends and talk on the phone.”
“Promise?”
I hold out my pinky. “Swear it.”
She wraps her pinky around mine and waggles her eyebrows. “Does this mean you’ll tell me what happened with Jace?”
I go back to cleaning the counters. “I told you. He was drunk, it was his birthday, we hooked up…and now he’s back to pretending I don’t exist.”
She purses her lips. “Did you ask him why he’s so mad at you?”
“I tried, but he didn’t want to talk about it.” I scrub the counters with more vigor. “I’m beginning to think I’ll never find out. And to be honest, I’m starting to care less and less. Screw Jace Covington, I’m over him and his games.”
I heard if you repeat the same thing over and over, sooner or later you’ll start to believe it.
Sawyer eyes me skeptically. “Guess that explains why you’re going out with Tommy tonight.”
Yes. “No. Tommy’s my…well, friend. Sort of. We’re still taking it slow.”
“So slow you went from hanging out every day to not seeing him for almost two whole weeks,” Sawyer points out.
“I’ve been studying,” I defend, despite knowing the truth.
The truth being I’ve been waiting for Jace to get his act together. But he’s not…so it’s time to move on.
Sawyer and Mrs. Dickinson exchange a glance.
I wag my finger at them. “Stop that. I’m not using Tommy to get back at Jace. I genuinely have feelings for him.”
They just don’t come close to the feelings I have for Jace.
Mrs. Dickinson clicks her tongue. “Put silk on a goat and it’s still a goat.”
“Tommy isn’t a goat.” Opening the glass cabinet, I cut the slice of banana bread Sawyer ordered. “Are you sure you’re not giving me grief because you want him?”
I regret the words the moment I see Sawyer’s hurt expression.
“No. I told you it didn’t—”
“I know.” I place the bread in a pastry bag. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m just…I guess part of me realizes it’s wrong to string Tommy along, but I’m not doing it to be a bitch. I’m doing it because I really want things to work out between us. I’m tired of being stuck on Jace’s messed up merry-go-round. For once, I’d like to see what it’s like to have someone treat me like gold and give back as much effort as I put in, you know?”
Sadness lines her features. “Yeah, I get it.” Rising on her tiptoes, she smacks a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll be at choir rehearsal tonight, but I’ll text you after I get out. I want to hear all about your romantic date.”
“It’s not that romantic,” I inform her. “We’re just grabbing some ice cream and going to the docks to talk.”
“Sounds pretty romantic to me,” she says with a sassy smile before walking away.
I hold up the bag. “Don’t forget your banana bread.”
I attempt to hand it to her, but Mrs. Dickinson snatches it away. “Banana bread is not her favorite.” She turns her fierce gaze on me. “Did we run out of éclairs?”
Oh, brother. “No, but that’s not what Sawyer asked for.”
She tsks. “Customers rarely ever get it right. You’re not supposed to give them what they think they want. You’re supposed to give them what they really want.”
Here we go again. And she wonders why sales start to dwindle every time she’s running the front counter.
Sawyer snatches the bag back from her. “What I really want is my banana bread.”
“You’re not a banana bread kind of girl,” my boss protests.