Old carpet covers the floors, and the walls have wood paneling. It’s looked this way over the past few decades. Sam, the owner, is getting older and moving a lot slower. He’s here every morning at five to open the doors, and then his granddaughter closes at nine p.m. I wonder what his plans are with the place when he decides to retire. I’d love to eventually be in a position to buy it, but that might be a pipe dream.
A few meat heads are lifting weights in front of the mirror. I hold back my laughter and walk to the area for kickboxing. Grabbing a set of gloves, I put them on, then pound my fists together.
I feel alive the moment I put them on, then take my frustrations out on the bags in fifteen-minute sprints. I punch and swing as hard as I fucking can, then I switch positions to stay light on my feet. It’s a relief to just let it out of my system and burn off the extra energy after working. Every once in a while, I throw in a few kicks, ducking and imagining Victoria’s sneer on the other side. It doesn’t take long before I’m exhausted, but I don’t stop until I’ve worked out for a full hour. Even though I’m completely worn down, I feel more calm with a sense of clarity.
As I head home, the sun hangs lazily in the sky over the old buildings in the town square. The warm breeze brushes against my sweaty skin, cooling me down even quicker. When I walk inside the house, Sassy sprints toward me, wagging her tail, so I quickly take her outside. We’ve been taking regular walks, and she can’t seem to get enough of me now. I bend down and pet her before grabbing some clothes and jumping in the shower. The stream falls over my body, and I think about my life. It feels like I’m living in an alternate universe. When my skin prunes, I get out and put on some joggers and a T-shirt, then place a frozen lasagna in the oven. It’ll take an hour, but Everleigh will be home by then, so it works out perfectly.
After grabbing a beer, I sit on the couch with Sassy, turn on the TV, and flip through the channels. Some survival show where the contestants run around naked catches my attention, and I’m oddly intrigued. Eventually, the timer goes off, and minutes later, Everleigh walks through the door, grinning as she smells the food. We load up our plates and settle in to eat in the living room.
“This is so good,” she says around a mouthful. “I only had time to eat a shitty protein bar for lunch, so I was starving. After I posted those pictures of Katie and Gemma, I sold out of those outfits in nearly three hours and had to order more before I left.” The bracelets on her wrist jingle as she brushes her hair out of her eyes, and though she’s smiling, she looks exhausted.
“That’s great. Just wait until you post the others. Bet you sell out every time.”
“I hope so! This summer is gonna be insane. Sure you don’t need a second job on the weekends?” She waggles her brows. “Put your height to good use and help me out around the shop?”
I nearly choke on my food and snort. “Yeah, right. From prison to chic.”
Her eyes widen as if I just gave her the best idea ever.
“No,” I say firmly before she can say another word about it.
“Come on, Tyler. You’d be the perfect eye candy.” She leans over and rolls up my sleeve, then squeezes my sore biceps. “I could dress you up like I did when we were kids, and you’d be a nice attraction piece for all the single ladies.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re too much. You can’t use your psychology techniques on me to get what you want like you do your friends.”
“Fine.” With a scoff, she goes back to her food.
“While I appreciate you wanting to hire me, I think man candy is the last thing you need in your boutique. I tend to make ladies uncomfortable,” I remind her.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Speaking of that…”
“Don’t wanna talk about it.”
She doesn’t continue with whatever relationship advice she was going to give me, so I focus on the TV as we finish eating. Once she’s cleaned her plate, I carry them into the kitchen, and after I rinse them, I put them in the dishwasher. When I’m done, I realize I left my phone in my gym shorts and go to grab it. I see three missed calls from a Las Vegas area code, which is alarming, and then I notice there’s a voicemail too.
I check it as my heart hammers in my chest. Whatever it is can’t be good.