Norah
My sisters are the biggest busybodies on the face of the planet. Even though I’ve told them repeatedly since they found me and Colby having our staring contest at the coffee shop that the only thing going on between us is exorbitant amounts of animosity, they’re still asking me question after question about him. Why were you with him? What is he like? Have you ever seen him smile? Is it true he’s a robot? Okay, maybe they didn’t ask that last question, but I could feel it coming before I walked away from them, feigning interest in a crystal vase. I don’t want to have this conversation, especially not here. We’re in an antique store. Anyone could walk by and hear us.
They aren’t letting me get far, though. They’re trailing behind me, giggling and chatting about me dating the town grump. I think Layla just called him gorgeous, and I can literally feel my insides revolting at the notion. I mean, if you’re looking at him objectively, sure, he’s classically handsome. His sandy-blond hair begs me to run my fingers through it and mess it up, and don’t even get me started on those blue eyes. If they weren’t so scowly, he could absolutely hypnotize me with them.
But his personality reeks and completely overshadows all his good looks. If I were to rate all the men I know solely on their personalities, Colby Stuart would be the ugliest man of my acquaintance.
“I love his beard,” Layla says a few feet behind me.
“Hmm, I hear beards are like cesspools for germs, though,” Madeline replies, and they both burst into giggles. I’ve heard the same, but I highly doubt a man as put together as Colby Stuart would let anything on his body get gross. And Hannah did say he’s a bit of a germaphobe. No, I think kissing Colby, beard and all, would be safe. Wait, what? Why am I thinking of kissing him?
If I ever did kiss him, it would only be for psychological-warfare purposes. I’d make him fall madly in love with me, and then I’d retreat so fast he wouldn’t know what was happening. I’d never actually kiss him, though, because I think he’d be really good at it. With lips like his, it would be impossible to be bad at it. And it’d be just like him to be a miserable, hateful person and still be an expert-level kisser. But like I said, I’d never, ever, ever kiss him, so this is a moot point.
We leave the antique store and step into one of two total clothing stores in this town, not including the clothes at the supercenter. I forgot how spoiled I was, living in the DFW metroplex for all those years. I was positively drowning in clothing options. This boutique has some really cute stuff, so I won’t complain too much. And there is always online shopping to fill my closet and wipe out my bank account.
“Okay, so, enough avoiding. Tell us what’s really going on with that man,” Layla demands.
“I’ve told you. There’s nothing going on. We’ve hated each other for as long as I can remember. He’s a big, hulking jerk. I’d never consider dating someone like him. I want someone kind, who actually smiles every once in a while.”
“Uh huh,” Madeline says, but I can tell from the look on her face that she’s not buying it. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes as if she’s studying me. I feel like I’m being graded, and I have to prove myself.
“Have I told you about my senior prom before?” I ask. They both shake their heads no and wait for me to elaborate further. I can’t believe I’m even bringing this up. This was the moment that solidified my pure, unadulterated hatred for Colby. Before that moment, I considered him a rival, an infuriating guy, someone I loved to rile up. But prom was the absolute last straw for me.
“I just went with a guy friend, but I was still so excited. I never really went to dances, but it was senior prom, ya know? I found a dress that looked exactly like Belle’s. It was poofy, yellow, and had off-the-shoulder straps. I recreated her hairstyle to perfection. I was ecstatic–—living my dream, you know? My date and I walked in the room, and who was the first person to walk past? Colby-freaking-Stuart. Did he just walk by peacefully and let me enjoy my night? Of course not. He pointed at my date and said, ‘Oh, look, it’s Beauty…’ and then looked at me and said, ‘and the Beast.’ Then, he slapped his hand over his mouth, laughing like it was an accident. Like he had meant to say that in reverse. Everyone standing around us heard him. I was absolutely mortified. And people called me Beast all night long.”
“No, he didn’t!” Layla exclaims.
“Yes, he did. And that’s not all. Later, I was on the dance floor, having the time of my life, and that jerk-face stepped on the back of my dress—my dream dress—and ripped it…bad! The only thing covering my butt was ten layers of yellow tulle. My friend and I had to raid the home ec classroom for a needle and thread.”
“Maybe it was an accident,” Madeline suggests, making me see red. How could she take his side on this? She’s my sister. She’s supposed to be on my side all the time, no questions asked.
“He did it on purpose,” I say, leveling her with a glare and daring her to argue. Sure, his eyes did widen in shock right after it happened. Thirteen years later, I can still remember that exact face because, for one second, Colby Stuart looked vulnerable. But then, that face shifted into carefully crafted arrogance and disdain. That face told me everything I needed to know. “You should have seen the evil look he gave me afterward.”
“Okay, yeah, it was really mean, but it was thirteen years ago. Don’t you think you could let it go?” Madeline says. She shrugs her shoulders like it’s no big deal. Yeah, it was over a decade ago, but some of those high school scars run deep. And besides, he never apologized to me. How am I supposed to forgive if he’s not even sorry?
“The point is, it has been thirteen years, and he hasn’t changed. He’s still the same rude boy he was back then.” I turn toward a rack of clothes and start shuffling the shirts around without even looking at them. I don’t know why I even agreed to go shopping with them today. I have no money to blow on fun things like clothes. I can’t even afford to live on my own at the moment. All my extra money is going to pay off my exorbitant medical bills.
“Okay, okay. We’ll drop it,” Madeline says. She pats me on the shoulder, and it just feels condescending. I shrug her hand off and walk toward the clearance section. I could really use some retail therapy after my Colby run-in and the Colby conversations, and that’s the only place I’ll find anything I can afford.
I’m questioning my life decisions as I’m driving down the highway in the middle of a monsoon. I hate driving under the best circumstances, but driving in the rain is terrifying. This isn’t just rain. I can barely see out my windshield, and my wipers cannot keep up with the downpour. I turn my radio off, hoping that will help me to focus a little better, but my hands are shaking so much I can barely hold onto the steering wheel. I’m coming up to a residential street and decide it would be best to turn onto the road and pull over until the storm passes a little.
I was really looking forward to getting home and changing out of my cold, damp clothes, so hopefully the storm won’t last much longer. I turn on my hazards so I won’t get plowed into by other cars and blast my heater as high as it will go.
I’m scrolling through text messages asking how my appointment went today from my sisters and parents when someone knocks on the window right next to me. I jump off my seat, bang my leg on my steering wheel, and my phone goes flying to the other side of the car. The rain is hitting the window so hard I can’t even tell who it is. All I can tell is that it’s, for sure, a tall man, and he’s holding a black umbrella. I roll my window down, and my face is immediately pelted with freezing-cold rain. Great. I was finally getting somewhat dry. I scrub a hand down my face to clear some of the water, and I’m sure I’ve just smeared mascara down my cheeks. I already look like a drowned rat, so the mascara just adds to that aesthetic.
I didn’t think this situation could get any worse, but then I look up and see Colby standing beside my car. He moves to stand in front of my window and block the rain from hitting me further, and I’m momentarily stunned. He’s never done anything remotely nice for me before. One would think that he would delight in the rain drowning me. Is this actually Colby Stuart? Or does he have a twin I wasn’t aware of?
“What are you doing out here?” he asks in a gruff voice. I look around at my surroundings. I feel like it should be perfectly obvious what I’m doing.
“I’m on a stakeout,” I deadpan. “What do you think? I was trying to wait out the storm in peace until you came along and ruined it,” I say. He rolls his eyes and runs his tongue along his teeth, making my breath catch in my throat. Gosh, he has got to stop doing stuff like that. He looks too good, and that makes things all confusing in my head. He has an ugly soul, I remind myself.
“Well, I was going to see if you needed help or something.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask. Is he following me? I look around again, but I don’t see his obnoxiously large truck that I assume is meant to overcompensate for some deficiency he has. Oh wait, I do see it now—in the driveway of the house I’m parked in front of. “This is your house, isn’t it?” I ask, dread filling my voice. Why, of all places, did I have to choose to stop right in front of his house? What a cruel world this is. I just wanted a safe, quiet-ish place to wait out the storm.
“Yep. Well, you shouldn’t sit out here with all the thunder and lightning. You can come inside until you feel comfortable driving home if you want to,” he says. He shrugs his shoulders and looks off toward his house. I cannot believe my ears. I must have hit my head or something. I’ve somehow slipped into an alternate reality where Colby and I are not sworn enemies. He would not be this nice to me otherwise.
“Umm, what?” I ask.