Parker gives me a sweet, sad smile. “Your sisters told me about your parents. I’m so sorry.” She watches me for a second with those round blue eyes. “It sounds like your gran gave you a great childhood though.”
“Yeah, and I gave her the last of those gray hairs in return,” I laugh.
Parker snorts. “Yeah, I’ve heard about that too. Did you really get stuck on top of the water tower?”
“Okay, to be fair, I was fourteen. I did it on a dare and I don’t love heights. And when I got up there, the top rung of the ladder was rusted and broke right out from under my foot.”
“Holy crap! You could have died,” Parker says, smacking me on the arm and frowning.
I shake my head, laughing. “I know. It was awful. I was stuck for hours until the fire department got someone up there to help me down. Gran was livid.”
Parker laughs. “Yeah, I can imagine. I’m surprised she didn’t lock you up and throw away the key.”
The sky is burning orange and pink over the water, casting a warm glow over Parker’s face and lighting her hair a bright coppery color as she grins at me. I smile back as she turns her gaze back out to the waves. I want to touch her. I want to feel every inch of her skin under my hands. I want to trace her freckles with my lips.
“So, why Sonoma?” I ask her. She hesitates, keeping her eyes straight ahead as she answers.
“I just… found the shop for rent online. It was my chance to get out of Middle River and away from my parents.”
“I take it you’re not close,” I say.
Parker scoffs. “No. We have a difference of opinion on just about everything.”
“Like what?”
“Like my father is a bible thumper and my mother is a librarian who despises romance novels. She caught me with one when I was fifteen and burned it. Literally. She threw it in the fireplace. Then they locked me in my room for a week. They insisted on homeschooling me, even though neither of them liked me very much. They just didn’t want me interacting with “those sinful public-school kids.”
She says the last part in a grumpy man's voice, shaking her head at the memory, and my stomach turns at the thought of living with someone like that. Then again, I’m probably lucky I don’t remember much about my own dad.
“I just couldn’t live like that anymore,” she says.
“I don’t blame you,” I say, watching her face and the sad little frown on her lips.
“I wanted a fresh start, you know. I wanted to be someone new. Someone spontaneous and brave.”
“Is that what this is? Why you got on the bike?” I ask her, watching her eyes as she follows the sandpipers running from the surf. “Is that part of the brave new you? Because if it is, I like it.” I bump her shoulder with mine, trying to lighten the mood.
“Why are you being so nice to me today?” Parker asks, catching me off guard. She keeps her face turned out toward the water, refusing to look at me.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Are you being obtuse on purpose?” she asks, wrinkling her brow.
I can’t help laughing at that. “No. I just… I like you. I like being near you.”
“Oh, clearly,” she scoffs. “You tell your sisters I’m not your type, you come to my bookshop just to make fun of me, you call me names, and the bar…”
“Hold up, I never said I’m a nice guy but didn’t go to your shop to make fun of you and I don’t call you names,” I say defensively. It’s true that I’ve been a bit of an ass, but I’m not a complete dick.
She glares up at me and points at her own face. “Freckles?”
I’m shocked and my mouth hangs open as I realize what she’s saying. She thought I was making fun of her? Really? I lean closer, my nose just a couple of inches from hers, and look her in the eyes as I quietly tell her, “That’s a nickname. I like your freckles. I went to your bookstore because I wanted to see you.”
Parker’s eyes are enormous as they search mine. “I heard you tell Lilah I’m not your type,” she says, her voice achingly soft. I wish she’d never hear that.
“I lied,” I say.
Parker frowns slightly, her lips pouty and her eyebrows scrunched up. “Why?”
“Why? Because I wanted Lilah off my ass. I didn’t even know you were there.”
Parker glances down at her feet, buried in the sand. I hate that I hurt her. I hate the way I acted at the bar last night, and I hate more than anything that she thought I was mocking her. She deserves so much better than that. If self-loathing was an Olympic sport, I’d be on the pedestal with a goddamn gold medal right now.