“Sorry for the tirade. No, Shelby isn’t a reporter. She freelances for publications in her field. Psychology or social work, along those lines. She’s studying the town, not the Bodines. And from what I gather, everyone really likes her except—”
“Me.” I sighed.
“Yes. It’s been a bit of a running gag since she explained her situation to Scarlett and Scarlett decided to play matchmaker.”
I leaned against the fridge and closed my eyes.
“Her heart’s in the right place,” he said preemptively.
“I’ve been incredibly rude to this woman for days now because someone thought it would be funny to keep me in the dark?”
“If it makes you feel any better, Shelby was in on it.”
“No. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“It wouldn’t make me feel better either, but now you have all the information.”
“My own brothers, my sister, this whole damn town.” I was the butt of the joke. The odd man out. And I hated how I sank into those long-dormant feelings of not belonging. The kid with no dad.
“Do you want me to let Scarlett know that you know, or would you prefer to administer your own Bootleg Justice?”
I took a shower and stayed under the water hoping it would wash away the anger and embarrassment I was feeling. I heard Mrs. Varney’s muffler-less sedan fire up and drive away. Undoubtedly to spread the word to the rest of town that I’d gotten into a screaming match with my roommate.
There’d be more laughs at my expense, I thought. Resigned myself to the fact that even after a year, I was still nothing more than an outsider to them. And why did that bother me?
Hadn’t I healed those wounds into tough scars?
I twisted the faucet off, frowning at the cheerful, sky blue tiles and sliding the flowered shower curtain aside. The room was “charming” and “fanciful,” and I was feeling pissed off enough to be annoyed by it.
The anger was familiar. An old friend from long ago. When a teenage kid started noticing what other guys his age had. Fathers who showed up for their games and took them fishing or bowling or sat through chess tournaments and poetry readings. Men who talked to their sons about girls and school. Taught them to drive and swing a golf club. To mow the lawn and make waffles.
I’d had my mother. A woman who had changed her entire life because of me, for me. But what choice did she have since he hadn’t been there for either of us?
Now I was in my father’s hometown, trying to forge connections, and I was still left out in the cold. It chafed enough that I was embarrassed by it.
I stepped out of the shower stall and swiped a towel over the mirror. I looked like him. That, too, annoyed me. For a brief, temperamental stage in high school, maybe I’d acted a bit like him.
But I was my own man now. I didn’t have to prove my worth to anyone, least of all the family I hadn’t known I had.
I probably owed Shelby an apology. I’d been rude at best. An asshole more realistically.
But she’d played a role, hadn’t been an innocent victim.
I wrapped the towel around my waist and headed into the hallway.
And ran right into her.
“Holy mother of pizza,” she shrieked as she stumbled backward. Her eyes widened behind her glasses. I caught her before she could take a header down the steps.
“Calm down before you throw yourself down the stairs.”
“Before I throw myself down the stairs?” she scoffed.
Apparently, she was still mad. Good. So was I.
She seemed to notice my lack of clothing and made a sound like a balloon deflating, her eyes going wide.
Her hair was still in that long tail. The color of chestnuts and copper pennies. She was wearing those glasses, the thick, tortoiseshell ones in blue. She had more than a dusting of freckles on her fair skin, I realized. And those eyes, even bigger than usual, looked just like the browns and greens of the forest.
She had a small scar on her chest, peeking out of the scoop neck of her tee and a fading bruise in the crook of her elbow. I felt like I was seeing her for the first time. I recalled seeing her at the Black Friday Boot Camp, thinking she was cute, bubbly, attractive.
Maybe now I was seeing her for the second time. And maybe that first impression wasn’t so off, after all.
“What are you looking at?” she grumbled, stepping out