Читать книгу Chasing Shade - Sommer Marsden - Страница 9

He kept catching glimpses of her and her blushing red cheeks. It was very fetching, Archie thought, how flustered she was. It had been quite a while since he’d been with a woman, and Archie forgot how incredibly hot it was when one recognised your advances, welcomed them and reacted so viscerally to them.

It was a shame he wouldn’t act on it. Couldn’t act on it. And yet, as stupid as it was, he couldn’t help flirting with her. Wooing her.

‘Right here?’

‘Yep,’ she said. He watched her long thin fingers rubbing nervous circles on her nylons.

Did she have any idea what a sight like that would do to a man? Was doing to him? Considering she just kept on doing it, he guessed not.

‘I can drop you off? Then find the office, I guess.’

‘I’ll come with you. Introduce you. If you don’t mind, though, I’d love to change. Nothing says end of shift like taking off my clown costume.’

He grinned at her. He’d very much like to see her out of her ‘clown costume’, but he knew what she meant. ‘Sure. Direct me and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.’

‘Just follow this road down and I’ll tell you when to turn. Mine’s the pink one.’

‘The pink one?’

‘Yep. The Pink Lady is what everyone calls it.’

‘Why am I not surprised? Did it come pink?’

‘It did. My uncle gave it to me after…’ She petered off and Archie caught it. Caught the shift in her words and her mood. It felt best to let it go. Just let it go. So he did.

‘I think I see it,’ he said, changing the subject.

‘You can’t miss it.’

She was right. It was a small Airstream painted a vibrant pink. Pale-blue window boxes were attached below the windows. She had a small flower bed – now dormant for winter – by her porch. It was one of the most charming little places Archie had ever seen. He wasn’t surprised a bit that she lived here. She was, so far, one of the most charming people he’d ever seen.

There was something almost painfully real and honest and kind about Betsey Smith.

He didn’t know what to do. He seemed to make her skittish. Betsey threw open the door and stepped out. When she leaned in to grab her bag and the diner takeout containers, Archie forced himself to stare at the dashboard. It really needed to be waxed and –

‘Are you coming?’

‘What?’

‘Are you coming in?’

‘Oh. I…should I?’

She cocked her head and smiled at him. Archie didn’t think he’d ever seen a sexier expression on a woman. Amusement mixed with surprise mixed with exasperation.

‘Well, you can’t sit out here in the cold. I’ll only be a moment. Then we can walk over to Mr Booth’s. He’s just a few trailers down.’

Archie followed her, taking in the neatness of her porch and her small yard. He saw a bike chained to the porch post and guessed when she didn’t want to walk she biked around.

‘No car, hunh?’

‘Can’t afford one. It’s a home or a car. Plus, whenever I really need one, Mr Booth loans me his. Or sometimes Tony from work. Or I get a ride. I make do.’

She seemed to make do in all areas. Definitely a when-a-life-hands-you-lemons woman. Which he liked. He wished more people were like that.

‘I’m the opposite,’ he said. He ducked through her front door feeling like he was entering a Hobbit hole. ‘Truck but no place to live. I guess that might be changing soon thanks to y–’ The words died on his lips when she flipped the light switch. The interior of her trailer lit up and his breath caught.

Her home was just as magical as she was.

She mistook his look for one of disappointment.

‘I know it’s not much,’ she said. She pulled her jacket off and hung it on one of a few pegs by the front door.

‘You’re joking, right?’ he asked. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. Her trailer was small. Her main room, in which they stood, had a built-in sofa and cabinetry, some of which she’d turned into open-faced bookshelves. She had small white fairy lights running along the ceiling. The wood of her built-ins was dark, maybe oak, and her sofa was covered in a colourful throw and a gaggle of fluffy, brightly hued pillows.

She was watching him, he realised.

‘It’s awesome,’ he finished weakly. He was rewarded with a smile. ‘May I?’

‘Sure!’ Betsey put the food in the small fridge and flicked on the kitchen lights. ‘I’ll be in the bedroom changing.’

Her kitchen was smaller than the main room and there was no demarcation between the two but what Betsey had managed. Which was a very small two-person bistro set. Chrome and red vinyl. Three sets of decorative salt and pepper shakers lined the backsplash behind the tiny sink. Wiener dogs, owls and pigs. For some reason they made him happy. They fitted so well with Betsey’s personality.

She had stacks of mismatched dishes, again in bright patterns and colours. Her teacups were the same, nary a matching set. All her dishware was stacked neatly in open-faced kitchen cabinets. Her curtains over the sink were sewn-together bandanas.

‘Where do you get all this stuff?’ he called. She was closer than he realised because when she answered from behind the closed bedroom door it sounded like she was in the room with him.

‘I haunt thrift stores. Flea markets. We have some good ones around here. Two big ones yearly – Spring and Fall. A lot of the rich lake folks like to attend but I go for the traveling pros. People who go around hitting all the markets selling their wares. They have the best stuff…and they know how to haggle!’ She laughed after she said it.

He found himself grinning like an idiot. The whole place and its owner made him smile. He was having a hard time remembering when he’d smiled this much. If ever.

She popped her head out of the bedroom. ‘Make yourself at home. Want a coffee? Tea?’

Me? his mind added. Thank God she couldn’t read his thoughts.

‘I’m good.’

She stepped out in faded Levi’s and tall laced boots that she’d clearly had for quite a while. They had that broken-in, well-loved, faded-leather look of beloved possessions. Her sweater was mustard-yellow with khaki patches on the elbows and shoulders. It should have been hideous on her. Oversized, clunky and boring colours. It wasn’t. It was spectacular. It hugged the right curves, hid others so he was tempted to use his hands to find them. The colours highlighted her eyes and her hair and her kewpie-doll mouth that he found himself suddenly fixated with.

It was a very kissable mouth.

She threw the bedroom door open and said, ‘Go on in and finish your tour if you like. I’m going to make myself an Earl Grey.’

‘Well, if you’re going to…’ He chuckled.

‘I was going to make you a cup whether you asked for it or not,’ she said. ‘I think Mr Booth – Charlie to his friends, by the way – can wait a few minutes to meet his new handyman.’

Her bedroom was very small but again, beyond charming. A queen-sized bed dominated, with just enough room around it to walk. Everything was built-in here as well. Drawers beneath the bed and shelves lining all but one wall. Her clothes were tucked here and there as were books – lots of books – and knicknacks. A laptop and a reading tablet occupied the shelf at the head of the bed. Baskets lined some of the highest shelves and he could tell she used them to store and disguise items. The only thing missing from the trailer was pictures. No pictures of family or friends. Which seemed odd for a girl like Betsey.

‘You get lost?’

‘No. Just marvelling at all your built-in work! It’s how this tiny place can be a real home, isn’t it? Did it come this way?’

‘My uncle…he did it for me. I had some…problems once upon a time. He did this for me. It was a gift. For a new life, if you will.’

Something inside him told Archie not to push her or ask questions. His intuition said loudly that he should just sort of let it go. At least for now. So he did. He spotted the only picture in the whole place. Betsey, in her hideous diner uniform, standing with a whole gaggle of people – customers, he assumed – at the diner counter. He recognised Mrs Kline. In it, she was smiling and happy and mugging for the camera.

‘They’re like family,’ she said quietly from the doorway.

He jumped as if guilty of something. ‘Well, it’s a great picture. You look very happy.’

‘It was my first Christmas working there,’ she said, pointing. ‘See the tree?’ She laughed as she pointed to the small aluminium tree on the far counter. It was decorated and lit up and quite festive.

‘I do see. It’s great.’

‘Come on. Tea’s ready,’ she said.

He followed her out. She was more distracting in the jeans than in the tight uniform.

‘So,’ she said, asking the dreaded question. ‘What’s your story? Why are you out here homeless and jobless and wandering?’

Archie took the offered mug and sighed. ‘Might as well get this over with,’ he said, settling on the sofa. She was in a small bentwood rocker under the window. The trailer was so small that if she’d stretched her legs out she could have put her feet in his lap. ‘I was married at one brief and horrible point…’