Page 16 of Something Like Sugar (Pine Forest Something #2)

DUSTIN

I t’s been three days since Shana has spoken a single word to me. Or the watcher.

And that should be exactly what I want. She’s far away from me. I’m far away from her.

But she hasn’t come in for her root-beer float, and I never anticipated how my chest would ache seeing her usual booth void.

Three days.

I’ve tried my hardest in those seventy-two hours not to watch her. Sure, I’ve gone to my tree, but the window’s been closed. I followed her behind the train tracks on her walk home, but only because it was dark and she chooses the sketchiest paths to take.

She tempts me to follow.

Ironically, these last few days every rustling of a branch or the faintest snapping of a twig has me convinced someone is watching me.

My fingers stumble along my phone on their own it seems, checking notifications I know won’t be there.

This isn’t what I want. I don’t want her to be far from me, and I certainly don’t enjoy the idea of an eternity far from her.

A future where I’m the old man, leaning on my rickety stool, telling the youth to take their shot at love while they still can, re-reading every text I’ve ever sent her like it’s that damn paper Abel holds against his heart.

“Hey, Emily.”

My twenty-two-year-old server skips toward me.

“What do you think it means if, say—for example of course—”

She snorts. “Okay, for example .” She puts the word in air quotes, rolling her eyes as she leans against the counter, toying with her necklace.

“Never mind.”

Emily lurches forward before I can go back to my office and pretend to reconcile register drawers.

“Nope, you don’t get to never mind me. It’s slow as shit tonight, and you’ve been sulking in your office since yesterday listening to awful nineties rock.”

“Oh, come on, it’s Nickelback . It’s a classic.”

Her nose scrunches, and it reminds me of Shana.

“Fine.” I lean against the counter, lowering my voice so no one can hear me. “What if you went on a date and then your ex…well, not really your ex, because you never dated, but it feels like an ex, you know?”

Emily is staring like I’m a lunatic but fuck it. I think I am.

“Look, I’m crazy for this girl. Some asshole crossed the line with her the other night, and I…”

“You what?” Emily presses.

I take a deep breath. I have nobody to talk this over with. I can’t tell Hunter because he will tell Devyn, and I love my sister, but she’s more fragile than most people know. She and Hunter have too much going on right now to risk scaring her off.

Not like I can go to my father.

Emily’s all I’ve got right now.

“We all do crazy things when we’re in love,” she says. “I mean, I wouldn’t know, but I’m sure at some point everyone fights for their special someone.”

“I didn’t just fight him, Em. I fucked him up. He said degrading stuff about her dancing, snapped his fingers at her…it reminded me of… shit, I just lost it. I think his hand will heal one day.” I rub my head; still not sure I believe that. “Not like he was a surgeon or anything, but I just—”

I look up to Emily’s wide-eyed, jaw-dropped expression.

I’m just now letting it sink in, too.

I am crazy for Shana Holiday.

But I’m also just crazy.

Broken.

Easily and willingly ready to tear apart injustice when I see it before me. And I’m not a lick sorry for it.

“Um…” Emily pushes off the counter as she chews on the corner of her lip. She frowns, pointing a finger at me. “How did you know she was on this date exactly? Or that he was being shitty? Are you spying ?”

No, I wish I could say.

“Yes.”

“How long?” Her eyebrows narrow in judgement, but I’m beyond exhausted hiding.

I look out the window, yards away, and read the lettering across her studio, Holiday Dance. I trace it in my mind, like my tongue on her lips.

“Somewhere between flashlight tag and water balloon fights.”

Hushed eye-contact across crowded classrooms.

Giggles over kitchen tables.

Not a lick of makeup on her face, and an oversized hoodie with frayed holes for sparkly blue thumbs.

“She stole my heart a long time ago.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. You love her!” She jumps to her feet and paces the floor. “Okay, so now you’re worried she’s mad?”

“Right.” I kick my toe at the already scuffed tile.

Emily whips her phone out. “You’re wrong. She loves you back.”

“You can’t possibly know that!”

“It’s Shana, isn’t it?”

“Does everyone know? Is it that obvious?”

“No.” Emily laughs. “But I do see you every day of my life. You’re my boss.

It’s my job to notice when you’re broody, moody and extra snooty, and don’t think Abby and I haven’t noticed the bigger tip shares you give us on days Shana sits in that little corner spot and shimmies for you. ” She winks like we share a secret.

“She does not shimmy for me. I’d know if she was shimmying.”

Emily bursts out laughing and walks to the back, plopping herself in my office chair and holding out her hand for me to sit opposite. She doesn’t bother to check if I follow.

I do, reluctantly.

“Step into my office, friend.” She spins around in my chair triumphantly, petting an imaginary cat.

Fuckin’ Gen Z employees.

“Can we get this evil plan of yours over, so I can get back to my bad nineties rock?”

“Hey, you’re the stalker. I’m just helping you clean up your mess.” She snaps her fingers and points to the chair. “Tips are welcome, sass is not.”

I throw my head back in defeat as she taps and swipes, sliding her phone across my desk.

“That’s her, right? DancerBaby69?”

My body fights my will, thinking about Shana, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes away from the phone screen. I don’t want to see the blue match number displayed in the top right corner.

To know how many men have slid their greasy fingers over her body on their screens, fantasizing about the real thing between their legs.

I slam my fist on the table and don’t even register I’ve done it until Emily jumps, a yelp exiting her lips.

“I’m sorry.” I jerk away and run my fingers through my hair. “Yes, it’s Shana. Yes, it’s always been Shana. And no, I don’t want to know how many fuckers on that app are better for her than me, because I can tell you they all are.”

“Is that really what you think about yourself?” Emily rounds the corner of the desk and sits at the edge of it.

It’s platonic. Supportive camaraderie that I’m not used to receiving.

When you let feelings in, they take over until everything goes wrong.

People get hurt when I feel things for them.

But Emily has worked with me four years now.

She knows me better than most, Sugar Stable being where I spend more time than my own home.

I nod.

That’s all I can handle.

And she sighs, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“You know, most of the people in this town, especially my generation, have grown up knowing of you as a hero. An upstanding citizen who makes cool shit for the local shops, upgrades park amenities, employs half the youth each summer…” She looks me in the eyes, and she doesn’t mention the other stuff.

The girls, Tiffany specifically, her older sister.

But she says it all the same, the silent thanks I get from those who wish men like Thomas Remington didn’t exist.

Who wonder why those same men are allowed to walk the streets after their sins are squeezed away by years on ankle bracelets, as if that prevents them from committing future atrocities.

That’s why there’s people like me to fuck them up for what they’re worth.

She pats my back, and I sigh into her embrace. I know she’s right. I am those things. I do those things, but still, I feel unworthy inside.

“You should talk to her. If it were me—”

The door swings open.

“I have to talk to you.”

Emily slides off my desk, and Shana’s eyes dart to mine before she looks her up and down with a gaze so sharp I fear it might cut.

Hurt and anger radiate across the room.

“Never mind.”

That’s all she says before she storms off, keeping whatever she wanted to tell me inside, locking it up bedside my stolen heart.

The old me would have told myself that’s fine. That whatever is meant to be, will be.

But that’s bullshit, and we all know it. Whatever is meant to be is not what the fuck I want it to be. And very rarely does it become what I want without trying.

I want to try.

“Shana, wait! Shay!” I yell, scrambling after, but the door to the Sugar Stable slams shut behind her.