Scarlett
My stupid heart has been doing flips in my chest since I saw Austin turn around at the festival. There’s something hot about a guy who prefers a plain t-shirt and a torn pair of jeans over expensive threads that never last more than a few washings. In Boston, you wear your income on your body most of the time, so it’s rare to find rugged looking guys in the city. I kind of have a thing for that look, so I’m not complaining about that part of this town. Actually, I’ve gone a few days without a negative thought about Blytheville. It’s way easier to get around than Boston. Besides the heat factor and our small living space, Brendan seems to love it, so things might just be okay here for a while.
“Are you enjoying your new job?” Austin asks as we walk.
“Yeah, I do kind of like it. Everyone is super friendly. It’s nice, and a pleasant change of pace for me.”
“You seem different,” he tells me. “More relaxed, maybe.”
“Well, in my defense, you did meet me under shitty circumstances.”
“True.”
“Can I say something rude?” I ask. I’ve been working on asking before spitting out my inappropriate thoughts. It seems to bode better for me here than my filterless ways.
“Do people actually agree to this kind of question?” he asks with a snicker.
“Not usually. I typically just say what I’m thinking without asking permission.”
“You can say what you’re thinking with me. I won’t judge.” He looks over at me and huffs with a nod that says he thinks I’m being funny and not serious. “You crack me up.”
It hasn’t been often that people have told me I crack them up. In any case, I don’t think he’s laughing with me. “You don’t strike me as the nurse type of guy. If I saw you in your casual clothes and didn’t know where you worked, I’d think you might enjoy an outdoorsy kind of job.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily call that rude, but maybe stereotypical,” he says, deepening his voice at the trailing end of his statement. “However, since I grew up on a farm and still tend a farm after work hours, I think you hit the nail on the head.”
“How the hell do you have time for all that?” I ask him. I could hardly manage an eight-hour shift then go out and have a few drinks when I was at home. I can’t imagine going home to more work.
“I do what I love. Simple.”
“You love taking care of people.”
“I do,” he says.
“Hmm. That’s nice of you.”
“I try.”
We walk through the parking lot of the hospital and weave through the scattered cars until we reach the sliding emergency doors. “How old are you?” I ask him.
“Thirty.”
“You hit the hill, huh?”
“Hey now, watch it, missy. Just because you’re only twenty-nine doesn’t mean you’re far behind me.” I’d ask how he knew my age, but he’s had his hands on my files. I’m sure he knows way more about me than I know about him.
“What’s going on, Austin?” the receptionist asks. She’s a bit older than most of the staff I’ve seen here but seems as nice as everyone else.
“How long is the wait, Mary?” Austin asks her.
“What do you need?” Mary asks.
“This is Scarlett. She was treated here for a broken wrist last week, but she has some swelling under her cast and her fingers are discolored.”
“Radiology is open, and Dr. Lane is finishing up his shift right now. Do you want me to alert them?”
“Please,” he tells her.
“You can take her down to room eight. Go around the back, though.”
“Thank you,” he tells her.
We get settled in the room, and Austin rolls the sleeve of my country-style, red-and-black-plaid shirt up above my elbow. “Sit down on the bed,” he tells me with a look of concern pooling within his dreamy eyes.
I hop up and squiggle back so I’m comfortable. Austin pulls up a rolling stool and sits down in front of my dangling legs. He lifts my hand and runs his fingers down the length of my fingers. His touch sends shivers up my spine. “Can you feel my touch?”
I can feel everything. “Yeah,” I say, sounding more breathless than intended.
“Do your fingers feel cold?”
“No, just sensitive.”
“Your fingertips are cold to the touch,” he says.
“Is that bad?”
He squeezes my fingers gently, then closes his hands over them. “We gotta warm them up.” Oh, you are.
“I don’t have to get undressed again, do I?” I ask him.
“Not unless you want to,” he says with a quick wink.
“Real professional,” I fire back. I know he’s been trying to be as professional as possible around me, especially at the hospital, but I can play too.
He gasps softly and looks around, seeming worried as if he’d be in trouble if someone just heard that exchange. “I’m sorry. It was a joke,” he says, placing his hand on his chest. “Honest.”
“I’m fucking with you,” I tell him.
His lips form into the shape of an O. “Wow, here I am trying to care for you, and you’re screwin’ with me?” His voice is soft, probably so no one hears the way he’s speaking to me, which makes me laugh.
“I won’t get you fired.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“Today.”
“Girl, you are trouble, looking for trouble.”
I raise a brow and pinch my lips to the side for a short second. “Well, it looks like I might have found it.”
* * *
“Feelin’ better now?” Austin asks me. I’m scraping at a speck of the cast material that stuck to my arm, and he’s leaning against the doorway of the room with his feet crossed, arms folded over his chest.
“I do. Thank you for noticing that there was a problem. I wouldn’t have thought much of it.”
“You’re lucky you ran into me tonight,” he says. I think I can agree with that for more than just medical reasons.
“Am I?” I ask with a quirky grin.
“I ain’t answering that for you. Let’s get you back to the festival before it’s over.”
I look down at my watch, noting it’s nine. I’ve learned that everything in this town shuts down early most of the time, so I don’t know how late the festival runs. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s already over. “Does everything close down at ten around here or what?”
“No, the festival will go through midnight, but the shops close at ten.”
“I’m trying to get used to everything closing down early around here. Most places are open all night in Boston.”
“I heard that’s why you were kicked out of Massachusetts,” He snickers with just his breath, testing the waters to see if his joke is funny or too soon to comment on. Sounds like Brendan told him why I’m really in South Carolina.
“My clocks are all off by a few minutes. It’s not my fault,” I explain.
“Mmhmm. I’m calling your bluff, Miss Bruiser.”
“Why are you so worried about getting me back to the festival in time if it’s still open for a few more hours?” I ask him, curious to hear his intentions.
We start walking down the hall toward the front lobby as I wait for a response. It takes him a minute, though. Maybe he didn’t think I’d ask, or maybe he didn’t know what time it was, but I’m guessing he did.
“I was going to let you lead the way to see how well you were doing with getting around town,” he finally says.
“The whole town is basically one street. How hard is it to find where you’re going?”
“Then, I guess we’ll have more time at the festival,” he says.
“Who is this ‘we’ thing you’re talking about? I was at the festival with Brendan, not you and your lady friends.”
“They’re my co-workers, for your information.”
“They’re ladies and obviously, they’re your friends if you’re out with them. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
He looks over at me, narrowing his eyes as if he’s trying to figure me out, but I just smile. I’ve come to notice that a smile will almost always conceal the truth. I don’t know a thing about this man and before I spend any more time with him, I think there are a few things I need to figure out.
“You’re like two different people, you know that?” he says.
“How so?” I ask, just as we make it back outside.
“Never mind,” he says.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask him.
“My whole life.”
“Your family still live here too?”
“Nope.”
“Couldn’t take the perfection and cuteness around here?”
“Nope,” he says again.
“Where did they move to?” I continue. I’ve noticed that the average age in this town is fifty plus, so I’m not sure I understand why a good looking—and I assume, single—man like Austin would be living here. Surely, there are other hospitals in this state where he could work.
“Did you grow up in Boston?” he replies, completely ignoring my question.
“I grew up about ten miles outside of Boston. The city is much different than the suburbs, though.”
“Where are your parents?” he asks.
“In the town I grew up in,” I answer. “They don’t know I moved down here yet. We aren’t super close and I’m an only child.”
“What’s there to hide?” he asks. “You’re a grown woman.”
“I’d like to ask you the same question, but seeing as I’ve met you three-and-a-half times now, I probably haven’t earned a worthy answer from you.”
Silence grows between us and I know there’s something he wants to say but has no intention of saying it. Therefore, he’s gotten all he’s getting out of me at this point.
As the lights to the festival come into view, I know our time together is coming to end, but I realize he’s made me smile more in the last couple of hours than I have in the past week. This place is certainly not as horrible as I initially thought it was, but I have felt very homesick. “Well, I guess tonight made me stop thinking about home for a bit,” I admit.
“You miss Boston?”
“Just the city, my apartment, and the way of life I was used to. Nothing else, really.”
“Change is good for people,” he says.
“How would you know?” I ask.
“I’ve been told,” he replies. “But if you’re unhappy, why don’t you go back home?” He’s asking sincerely, not with a suggestion, or so I’m assuming.
“I promised Brendan I’d stick it out for a month. He said it takes one month for a change to offer the feeling of normalcy.”
“He’s a smart man,” Austin says. “I hope you stick around, though. It’s nice to have some fresh faces around here.”
“That’s the only reason you’d like me to stick around? I have a fresh face?” I ask.
“You’re one of those girls who talks her way out of speeding tickets, aren’t you?”
“No need. I walk everywhere. I didn’t need to drive in Boston either.” But yes, I am one of those girls. I have talked my way out of many kinds of tickets. “Why would you assume something like that?”
“You like to play people,” he says with insistence.
“I do not. I’m actually very honest and upfront. Some people find that to be a good quality,” I tell him.
“Maybe, but if you want to hear something, you won’t stop until you hear it, will you?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.” Yes, I do. I grin. It’s my mischievous grin, and he likes it. He stops walking, so I stop to face him. “What’s wrong?”
He’s got a funny look on his face and I’m not able to read him or even guess at the thoughts going through his mind. “What’s going through your head right now?” he asks me. Funny, how we’re thinking the same thing.
“Hmm,” I press my finger to my chin and look up to the dark sky. “I was wondering if it’s vanilla I’m smelling, or strawberry. Have you ever noticed that both kind of smell similar in a weird way?”
“I don’t think they smell anything alike,” he says.
“Well, I say, ‘you all,’ and you say, ‘y’all’, so I guess we can agree to disagree.”
“You’re somethin’ else,” he says with laughter.
“If you want to say something to me, Austin, say it. We’re running out of steps to take before we find everyone.”
“I ain’t sayin’ a thing. I’ve got nothin’ to say,” he continues, playing out his last turn in this game.
“Neither do I,” I reply. Okay, maybe I don’t like this game or having an opponent who’s competitive. It’s dumb. I can see he wants to take his flirty behavior up a notch, but something is holding him back and I’m not pushing him forward. I’ve been there, done that, and it’s not happening in a new town where everyone probably knows everyone else’s business. It can only lead to bad things.
I turn around and continue walking toward the festival’s opened gates. With a foot off the curb, my good arm is yanked backwards and it scares the ever living shit out of me. “What the hell?”
“Do you look before you cross a street?” he snaps.
A car flies by. “I didn’t think there were cars in this town,” I tell him. I’m making that up. I’ve seen them, but I didn’t see any headlights, so I didn’t think to look. It’s not like Boston, where you can’t cross the street without putting your life at risk.
“Funny. The rules still apply here. Look both ways before crossing, Scarlett.”
“Thank you,” I lament. I look both ways and cross over to the festival’s side. “Where do you think everyone is?”
“At any one of these fifty vendor booths,” he responds.
“Well, we better start looking,” I tell him. I could just call Benny, but I’m stalling for the sake of curiosity about Austin.
“Before we find them, you need taste one ice cream of my choice,” he says.
“Okay, then you have to taste one by my choice,” I reply quickly. I guess we’re starting a new game now.
“Deal,” he agrees.
He looks down the row we’re standing in front and a devilish smile perks at the corner of his lips. Obviously, he knows exactly what he’s searching for. “There it is.” He takes my hand and pulls me forward. My pulse races in every sensitive spot on my body because he doesn’t just take my hand, he intertwines his fingers with mine, and it dawns on me that I don’t recall the last time a man has held my hand, as silly and juvenile as it is. It seems clear that Austin is on a mission to accomplish something, and I’m still busy looking at our hands. The sight of the littlest bit of affection makes my chest hurt, and I don’t know why. Maybe I do know why, but I’d rather avoid that thought.
I consider pulling myself from the hold he has on me, but I don’t. I don’t think I want him to let go.
While I’m lost in thought about two hands melting together, we stop, and laughter belts out of him. “Here we are.”
I look up at the sign and hold back a gag. “Um, no. Absolutely not.”
“You’re a tough cookie. You can handle it.”
“I am not taking a bite of Grasshopper Mint ice cream. Are you out of your mind?”
“No. Here, I’ll even go first.” He’s kidding. He’s not eating that crap. “Two please.”
“One,” I correct him.
“You’re not going to let me sample it too?” he asks, his voice going all honeyed and sweet. Oh, please. “No, you can sample, but I’m not.”
“Two,” he says again with a stiff nod to the vendor.
For crying out loud. I am not eating that shit.
The vendor hands Austin two little cups with spoons, and Austin hands one of the cups to me, but I don’t take it. “Scarlett, it’s going to melt and I’d like to try mine.”
Since he wants to eat his, and he’s being so persistent, I take it, but I have no intention of putting my tongue on that spoon. He’s full of it. He’s not taking a bite.
I watch as he digs his spoon in and takes out probably most, if not all the contents, from the miniature cup. The look on his face doesn’t change at all as he shoves the spoon full of ice cream into his mouth. Oh my God. I’m going to be sick just watching him. “What is wrong with you?”
“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” he moans.