Love on the Lake (Lakeside 2)

He gives her a disapproving look. “That’s not my scene anymore, and she’s Van’s sister.”

I feel like there’s an inside story to this that I’m missing.

“Van’s sister? Oh, hey! I’m Tawny, I’m tight with Dillion.”

“Teagan.” I extend a hand and smile brightly.

I could use friends in town, and Tawny seems . . . approachable if nothing else. And very local with her fresh, makeup-free face, casual wear, and Blundstone boots. I’m beginning to see my version of casual and everyone else’s may not be the same.

“Oh! We have met. I think maybe over the winter holidays? Van had a New Year’s party, and you were there?”

“Oh yes! I don’t know if I remember much of that party, though, since there were a lot of martinis.”

“Tell me about it. I was drinking vodka cran, light on cran, so that night is pretty much a blur. Dillion and I have been friends forever. Went to high school together. Are you staying with them?”

“I am.”

“We girls go to the bar on Wednesday nights for twenty-dollar bottles of wine. It’s a step up from drinking vinegar, but it’s fun; you should come out if you’re around.”

“That would be great. If I’m ever around on a Wednesday.”

“Awesome.” She pulls me in for a quick hug. She turns to Aaron. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Hopefully in my dreams.”

She looks to me and rolls her eyes. “Man is a relentless flirt. Thank the Lord I’m smart enough not to drink his Kool-Aid.” And she’s off, shouting hello at someone else two aisles down.

I don’t have a chance to say anything else to Aaron because Chloe comes back with his pails of primer on a rolling cart. “I’d ask if you need the cart, but I know you better than that.”

“Just means I can get away with one less set of bicep curls.” He swipes his credit card, pays for the paint, and grabs one handle in each of his huge, baseball-mitt hands. When he lifts them, the muscles in his arms bulge and the veins pop. They remind me of snaking tree roots with how thick they are.

“Good luck with the paint job.” He barely glances in my direction before he’s heading toward the front of the store, leaving me staring at his annoyingly perfect butt wrapped in worn denim.

Chloe helps me with the paint; she’s far more knowledgeable than I’d expect a high schooler to be, but I find out she’s been painting houses as a summer job for the past two years, and she works at Harry’s in the morning and takes classes in the afternoon so she can save money for college.

Once my paint and wallpaper supplies are taken care of—she must ask ten times if I’m sure I want the yellow—I head over to lighting and pick out the fixtures. I’ll need furniture and kitchen supplies eventually, but this is a solid start.

As I’m waiting my turn in line to check out, I notice the HELP WANTED sign posted near the customer service desk. The guy working the cash register looks to be in his seventies, or maybe a bit older based on the way his eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles.

“Do you know what position they’re hiring for?” I ask as I hand over my credit card.

I’ve been living rent-free all my life, so I should have lots of money saved up, but the reality is I used to spend my paychecks as soon as they hit my account. It wasn’t until we had to move that I recognized the lifestyle I’d been living wasn’t one I could afford—I was on my way to digging the same hole my father dug for himself.

I took a course on money management, and over the past six months I’ve been able to squirrel away a decent chunk of change, but I’m going to need a job if I don’t want it all to disappear.

The man, whose name tag reads Chuck, pushes his glasses up his nose. “Oh, yes ma’am, I surely do. I’m retiring, and they need someone to take my shift. I betcha they’d love to have a pretty face like yours helping out round here.”

I smile and thank him, pushing down the insecurities that I’m used to—that people expect me to be just a pretty face. An empty vessel that’s nice to look at but can’t contribute much to society apart from being pleasing to the eye. And I don’t feel like I’ve done a great job of proving those people wrong so far.

Once I’ve paid, I take my purchases out to my car, load it all into the trunk, and return the cart. I stand outside the store entrance, debating whether or not I should apply for the position. I’m friendly and can work a cash register. It’s worth a shot.