Page 12 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)

FOX

“How is she doing?” Barbara—that’s her name, according to the discreet note Franky slides under my nose—hands me just enough money to pay for her pastry.

No tip. No payment for the book she’s been reading between the stacks.

Not even a kind smile. Just a sneer and enough derision in her stare to make my hands twitch.

“I heard Alana and Tommy are at the hospital.”

“She’s doing as well as we can expect.” Be nice, Fox. Be polite. I ring up her purchase and make a note for Alana to deal with when she gets back.

Barbara’s a cheap ass wench who steals entertainment, but thinks it’s not stealing, because she hasn’t left the store yet.

“Tommy sent a text a little while ago saying everything is fine.”

“And how about you, Franklin?” The old bitty shuffles along, dragging her purse across the desk and hunching until they’re on the same level. “How are you feeling about all this? A new sister will take all of your mom’s attention, don’t you think?”

Unimpressed, he stares right into her eyes, flat lips, expressionless face, and like the pro he is, unflinchingly cold until she gives up, snatches up her purse, and turns away.

The moment she’s gone, his lips curl into a cute little smirk.

“Sometimes you do that because you’re uncomfortable,” I mumble under my breath. “Other times, you do it to make them uncomfortable.”

“She doesn’t need to know about my feelings.

” He makes a note on his computer about the sale, since, clearly he’s into data and loves to track pastry trends amongst small-town folk.

Then he taps enter and meets my eyes. “She could have said something positive, like how the baby will be an exciting addition to the family. Or how nice it’ll be when I become a big brother.

Or she could have even said how the baby will be fat and cute.

Instead, she chose negativity.” He shrugs.

“She doesn’t care about my feelings. She only wanted to make me sad. ”

“Which is as good a reason as any to ignore her.” I bring my eyes back around and find our next customer stepping forward. One book, a cup of coffee—though those are free—and a bear claw stocked by none other than a pouting Christian Watkins. “Find everything you need?”

“Yep. You got one of those New York accents, huh?” A little old lady—miraculously, littler, older, and meaner than Barbara—digs through her tiny coin purse and lays silver on the desk between us. “You staying for long, Ms. Tatum?”

“Only six weeks,” Franky answers, misinterpreting her question for kindness, when I hear, clear as day, the we don’t like you dripping from her tongue. “She lives really far away, but she came to Plainview to help me and Tommy and my mom with the baby.”

“Will you move out here?” Another silver coin. Then another. “Real estate may be cheaper in Plainview, but I don’t imagine it’s the kind that appeals to someone from New York.”

No shit! I’d pay ten times the asking price and still consider New York superior to this place.

However, I’m under strict instructions to be nice to the customers, so I paste on a saccharine smile and fake, fake, fake it.

“I’m enjoying my visit for as long as I’m here.

And I’m very lucky to have a wonderful job to return to when it’s time, an amazing boss, and an apartment that overlooks Washington Square.

I love living there and getting to visit here. ”

“New York is nothing but overpriced real estate,” she tuts . “Have no clue how you afford it.”

Be nice, be nice, be nice! “I’m paid well.”

“She’s the chief happiness officer,” Franky declares. “Did you know that’s even a thing?”

“A…” The old lady stops counting coins and drags her wrinkle-rounded eyes up. “Happiness officer?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I get to dip my toes into the marketing world, too, which is what I went to college for. I enjoy the best of both worlds, guided by a wildly successful man who loves to teach. I’m very fortunate. ”

“I-I’m not sure what a happiness officer does,” Betty—that’s probably her name—stammers. “Oddly, all I can conjure is an image of a children’s entertainer. You know, like, balloon animals and whatnot.”

Across the shop and stacking books, Chris snorts.

“It’s okay if you don’t understand it. It’s obvious Plainview isn’t looking for someone with my particular resume, so I figure I needn’t bore you with the details.

Can I help you count that?” I don’t wait for her permission.

I grab her coins and slide them into groupings as quickly as my fingers can move.

Two dollars. Three. Four. I drop the coins into the register. “Do you need a receipt?”

“No, thank you.” Snippy and sour-faced, she grabs her things and shakes her head. Then, just like Barbara, she spins away.

“I’m not very good at making friends in Plainview, Franklin.” I close the till drawer and side-eye the little boy who has never made me feel less-than because of my job or living status. But then again, he wasn’t raised in this godforsaken hellhole, nor was he raised by an asshole.

So there’s that.

“It’s hard being new in a town like this,” he agrees. “My mom’s only friends were Tommy and Chris, and even they were mean when we first got here.”

“Newcomers are like a virus they insist on studying and poking at. Alana’s the nicest human being I know, and she’s a helluva lot nicer than me. I think that means I’m shit out of luck.”

“You’re not supposed to say shit in front of me.

” Smirking, he closes his spreadsheet and brings his eyes up.

But not to me. He looks at Chris instead and watches the older Watkins slowly swagger this way.

He’s in no rush. No fuss. He sets his hands on his hips and likes to pretend his focus doesn’t stray to my phone for the thousandth time in the span of a single second.

“Tommy call?”

“Not since the last one.” Be kind, Fox. You’re not allowed to hurt his feelings.

Jesus, it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to scream in his face that the world isn’t kind.

It’s not gentle for those who need it. It sure as shit isn’t about fluffing pillows and patting heads to save an aching soul from pain.

I know that better than anyone. “She’s still cruising at two centimeters,” I explain past tight teeth.

“She and Tommy are walking laps of the hospital. Like I said, I’ll let you know if I hear something.

Besides, you have your own phone. You might get the news before I do, seeing as how you’re—” delicate “—his twin.”

He harrumphs, exhaling a bull-ish breath, and tilts his head toward Franky. “Did you need something? ”

“Fox’s suitcases are in the car outside.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Could you bring them up to the apartment for her?”

My stomach jumps. The thought of asking that guy for anything feels as foolish as stepping in front of a speeding car. “That’s okay, Franky. I can take care of my own things.”

“It’s fine.” Chris stalks toward the desk and snatches up my keys. “I’ll do it.”

“Wait—” I dive forward to grab them back, but Chris is faster, turning on his heels and striding toward the door. Frustrated, I swing my gaze around to Franky. “Dude! I didn’t ask for help.”

“No. I asked for it.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Chris’ll do it because he likes to be busy when he’s worried. Besides, your suitcase weighs a ton, and there are stairs. Sounds logical to me.”

“It’s not logical because I didn’t ask for help! Now he’s gonna act like I owe him a million thank yous and my first-born son. Jesus.” I cast a fast glance around the shop to make sure no one needs me, then I grab my cell and stride around the desk. “Stay here and watch the place for me, okay?”

“You’re going to argue with him?”

“I’m going to take care of my own luggage. Stay here.”

He pulls out a book and flips it open to a page marked by a pen, and resting on his elbows, he goes to work solving a crime.

Good.

I turn on my heels and charge through the shop door, and since this town is smaller than a baby bird’s backside, and traffic is a yearly highlight—not a minute-by-minute inconvenience—I don’t even have to look beyond the closest parking slip to find my car.

“You don’t have to do that.” I stomp closer and wedge myself between the frame of my rental and his hand, so when he reaches for my case, I slap my palm to its shell exterior and harden my gaze. “I’ve got it.”

“Let it go.” He yanks on the handle, though he doesn’t use all of his strength. If he did, I suspect he could knock me clear into the street without even trying. “I’m doing it.”

“And I said I’ve got it.”

Irritated, he grabs my wrist and jerks me out of the way, sending me spinning without a word, which could be considered ballerina and cutesy, if not for the way my temper flares.

“Listen here, jackass!” I rush back in and hip-bump him aside.

Or, well, I hip-bump him nowhere. But I try.

“Don’t touch my things. Don’t look at me like I’m shit stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

And stop acting like I’ve done something to deserve your shitty treatment.

Existing doesn’t count, since I never even asked to be here. ”

“Whatever you think I think of you, that’s on you.

” He presses one hand to my chest, his fingers splayed wide and his long reach forcing me back.

With the other, he tugs my smaller case free of the car and sets it on the ground.

“In most circles, a man helping a woman with her luggage is cause for thanks. Nothing more, nothing less. Throwing a snit about it is honestly kinda weird.”

“Uh-huh.” I punch upwards and buckle his elbow.

“In most circles, a woman visiting with her best friend, babysitting her kid, and helping her run her shop, is met with thanks and how-do-you-dos. Nothing more, nothing less. Hating my guts for something I literally haven’t done is honestly kinda weird. ”