“Nah, he’s just hittin’ the bag.” I lift a brow, waiting for more information, but she doesn’t offer any. “Whatcha got planned for today?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take the bike into town and check things out.”
“Jace’ll be headin’ in in a little while. Why don’t ya see if he’ll give ya a ride?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “That’s alright. I’m better off learning the lay of the land myself. Can’t rely on you guys for everything.” Besides the fact that my urgency to take a burning bike ride has little to do with seeing the sights of town and more to do with wanting to get away from Jace. But I’m not about to say that to Cindy.
“Welp. Ima go in and get in the shower before Jace steals the bathroom right out from under me,” Cindy says, rising to her feet.
I offer a grin as she moseys past me and slips inside the house. A warm breeze blows through the porch. I close my eyes, letting the feeling take me to another place, if only for a second.
Swallowing the last of my coffee, I set the mug on the table and wander to the side of the house to find my bike. Thethwap-thwapgets louder as I approach the garage. I catch a glimpse inside the wide-open bay door and do a double take.
A bed takes up most of the space with a dresser and a small fridge against the wall. On the opposite side, Jace stands with his back to the world, hitting a teardrop punching bag.
My chin falls. I stupidly assumed he’d taken another room in the house. It never occurred to me that there wasn’t enough space. No wonder he resents my presence. I’d be upset too if I were made to sleep in the garage like a dog.
Frozen in awe, I watch his glistening back flex. The bag swings to the beat, his fists taking it two punches at a time. My breath becomes a shallow pant. I can’t tear my eyes away from thehypnotic show happening right in front of me. His power and agility, the strength of his stance and control over the bag.
The sudden silence is deafening. When he drops his arms and takes a single step to the side, my heart lurches into my throat. The heavy rise and fall of his chest is almost more mesmerizing than his back. “Do you need something?”
“No. Just passing through,” I mutter, lowering my head as I turn away. The sound of his workout resumes as I turn the corner. Heat burns my cheeks. He caught me staring like a fool, probably drooling on my shirt. What the hell is wrong with me? Jace is the literal worst. Yet something about him draws me in like a magnet. The harder I fight it, the more I feel the pull.
My bike tires crunch on the gravel. I pump my legs, using the shot of adrenaline to pedal away as fast as I can. Thoughts of my mother keep me company as I coast into town. I wonder how she would have spent the day. Cooling off in the creek? Sneaking cigarettes behind the general store? Thinking about her wild days makes me smile. I imagine her skin tanned and young, the sun bringing out the freckles on her nose and highlighting the red streaks in her chestnut hair. We look so similar that I sometimes see her staring back at me in the mirror. Who could have guessed that I’d find myself back where she started all those years ago?
My legs burn as I ride through town. I zoom past Mad Dog’s and The Great Notch Inn. I survey Hell's Bend from the seat of my ten-speed, trying to put my mother anywhere on these streets, but I can’t. It’s impossible to think of her as anything but the controlled entrepreneur she was.
I slow to a stop as the strip mall comes into view. Shoppers weave in and out as I watch, wheezing on roasting air like a turkey in a convection oven. A gaggle of girls tumble out of Boots n’ Bangles—they can’t be more than fifteen or so—giggling as their purchases sway from their fingertips. I want to run up andtell them there’s a great big world outside of Hell's Bend, Texas. Places with buttery fabrics and gorgeous textiles; leather and silk and cashmere, sewn together with handmade pride. Boots n’ Bangles is not the place to be.
Yet my gaze hovers on theHelp Wantedsign in the window. I walk my bike over to the door and park it out front. A blast of cool air welcomes me as I enter.
“Can I help you?” The same woman as before stands near the desk, her dark hair curled up around a bandana headband.
I smooth down the front of my oversized tank and stuff it into the front of my cutoffs—an outfit I literally bought in here two days ago. “Hi. Yeah … um … I’m here about the job.”
With a polite smile, she reaches behind the desk and pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen. “Here you go.”
I look down at the sheet of paper markedApplication for Employment. I guess I’m supposed to fill this out? I lift the pen and start jotting my information on the lines.Prior employment…I chew my cheek and contemplate what to do. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never worked a day in my life, but I know clothing. And what I don’t know about business, I can learn. I’m smart and ready if only someone is willing to take the chance on me.
A vision of my mother floats into my memory: she’s tucking the tag into the sleeve of a designer suit she intended to wear and return because we couldn’t afford it yet.Fake it till ya make it, Ellie my love.I couldn’t have been more than four, but that silly little recollection sticks in my brain as if it’s some monumental piece of advice. Maybe it is.
I scrawl in the first store I can think of and make up some dates of employment. Worst-case scenario, she calls for a reference, and I don’t get the job. Best case? She takes me at my word and hires me.
When I’m finished, I slide the application across the desk. Her dark eyes slowly move from left to right and back again in a typewriter motion as she looks over what I’ve written. “You worked for Gucci?”
My mouth goes dry. “Yes, ma’am.”
“In Manhattan.” Her gaze flicks up to meet mine. “Why would you want to work here?”
“I’m originally from the East Coast. I just moved here a couple of days ago, and I really need a job.”
Sweat forms on my palms as she scans the application a second time. “You know, we ain’t like those fancy stores in New York.”
“But I’m told this is the best store in town.”
Pride beams in her smile. “You’ve been told correct,” she says, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “Well, tell me something. What does Ellie Cartwright bring to the table?”
Lifting my chin, I stare right into her eyes before giving my honest answer. “A hard-working attitude and an insatiable hunger for fashion.”