Wow. These bitches take no prisoners. My curiosity is stronger than my shame, though, because I want to see exactly who’s talking shit about me so I don’t accidentally end up being nice to them later.
I push my cart around the end of the aisle in their direction, and sure enough, there they are. A brassy blonde who desperately needs a better colorist, a brunette, and a woman with salt-and-pepper hair in short curls. All three heads swing in my direction as the wheels of my cart squeak.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your gossip free-for-all, but do you know if there’s a non-GMO or organic section in this grocery store? This New York skank has some standards.”
Two faces pale, as expected when caught in the middle of an epic gossip session, but the brassy blonde straightens her shoulders.
“You’ll probably want to go back to New York for that. Here we just have normal-people food and none of that fancy crap.”
“I’m not leaving anytime soon, so I guess I’ll have to ask Logan to help me find what I need.”
All their eyes widen at the mention of his name.
“It sounds like he already found what you needed,” the blonde says in a snotty tone.
“My G-spot, my clit, and the back of my throat? Absolutely.” With a smile, I turn my cart around and push it in the opposite direction.
Churn that through the gossip mill, bitches. See if I care.
On the way to the checkout, I grab a bag of Doritos and a fifth of Fireball.
* * *
Contrary to what my parents and probably the rest of the people who know me think, I do work hard. I just never let anyone see that side of things. Why? Because they would laugh me off as being ridiculous if they knew about my current project.
Screw the haters, because I’m going to be a success on my own terms.
I work at the kitchen table until my phone is nearing the end of its battery life, so I have to stand and stretch and go dig out the charger to keep my Internet hotspot going. If I’m going to stay here long term, I need to look into getting Internet service.
Four hours of conference calls later, and I’m done working for the day. There’s always more I can do, but my eyes are bleary from staring at the computer screen all day, and my mind has hit the wall.
Before I got on the phone, I gave in and responded to Logan, but I’ve received zero response to mywhen and wheretext.
Maybe he changed his mind?
As much as I would like to think I do, I don’t know Logan that well. A couple of weeks of texting, even if we were at it nearly around the clock, doesn’t add up to knowing how a person is going to react to you showing up in his hometown and saying you’re going to stay a while.
Maybe we need a fresh start. Maybe it’s my turn to find him and offer the olive branch. I close my laptop and go upstairs to change and touch up my makeup before heading out to my rental car.
Thirty minutes later, I’m driving around Gold Haven like a freaking stalker. There’s not even an actual stoplight in this town, only a blinking light. When I pull up to it in front of Logan’s shop and see all his lights are off, my stomach sinks.
I’ve still gotten zero response to my text, and I have no idea where he lives, so that’s out of the question. It’s after eight, and I don’t know where else to look. I take a left at the blinking light, and that’s when I see his truck still parked around the side of his shop, but again, no sign of life inside.
It only takes one swivel of my head to the right to figure out exactly where he’s at—the salon across the street. Through the well-lit window, I see Logan in the stylist’s chair, cape wrapped around his neck. A woman holds her clippers above his head as he throws it back in laughter. She’s laughing too. Logan’s hand slips out from under the cape to wipe at what must be a tear in his eye, and the woman makes a similar movement.
The scene seems to play out in slow motion as I drive away, finally turning my head to stare at the road in front of me.
The reminder hits me hard.
This is Logan’s world. This town is filled with his people.
And I don’t fit in.
The realizations continue to batter me as I brake at the stop sign just ahead before turning back toward my temporary home.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong anywhere.