Nobody Knows (SWAT Generation 2.0 11)

“Do you know how freakin’ inconvenient it is to have to meet the adjuster for them to look at my car? Pull over after that fuckwad hits me? Drop my car off at the body shop? Wait weeks for it to get finished? Drive a car that’s not mine?” I wondered. “Because it’s a pain in the ass. And now my car won’t have an awesome Carfax report. It’ll show that it’s been in an accident.”

“This one won’t, remember?” he said. “I talked to them today. They’re cutting you a check.”

She sighed.

“I know,” she admitted. “But it’s still frustrating. That car was almost paid for, and now I’m having to deal with this bullshit. It’s getting really fucking old.”

I could imagine.

“They’re not open yet,” Grans said as I pulled into the furniture store’s parking lot.

“It’s almost ten,” she said. “Which is when they open.”

“I’m looking for a new couch or loveseat anyway. I think I’ll buy one today. I’ve never had a Lay-Z-Boy.”

I hadn’t either.

I’d only come here because I heard that they had the most comfortable recliners.

And if I was going to spend money on one, I was going to spend money on a fucking nice one.

The light blinked on in the front window, and all of us started to bail out.

However, just as I’d gotten my door pushed open, Malachi opened it up completely and then did the same to his grandmother’s door.

“Wait and let me help her out,” Malachi said as he disappeared behind his grandmother’s open door.

I ignored him telling me to wait and jumped out without his help, only warranting me a small scowl at my insolence.

I winked at him conspiringly and headed inside.

But just before I could grab the door handle, he got there before me and then offered me another insulted scowl.

“He was raised to get doors for ladies,” Grans said.

“I realize that,” I told her. “But he doesn’t have to get the door for me at the expense of nearly tripping over himself to get there first.”

“I didn’t nearly trip over myself,” he grumbled.

I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darker store and took a look around, looking for the man that’d helped me last week when I was in.

When I spotted him, it was to find him lounging on a couch near the front of the store.

“Oston!”

He looked up when I called his name, a grin forming on his face.

Oston was the sweetest old man that I’d ever met in my life. Last time that I’d come in, he’d had a sit-down conversation with me—a conversation that moved since we were trying out chairs—about his life. How he’d lost the love of his life and had never remarried. And after being retired for four years, he’d been bored and had decided to start a new furniture company to keep him ‘young at heart.’ Now, every once in a while, he sold a couch or two—his words not mine—and the rest of the time he lounged around on this sofa or that, while he met with people all day long that came to visit his store.

At the ripe age of eighty-five, he acted like he wasn’t a day older than fifty.

“My dear, Sierra,” he said as he stood up to greet first Malachi, Grans, and then me. “Did you come to get your new chair?”

“I did,” I confirmed. “But we’re going to look at a chair or a couch for my grans.”

Grans waved her hand, looking unimpressed with Oston.

Oston, however, focused solely on her.

“Madam.” He nodded his head. “How may I serve you today?”

Grans turned to him and smiled.

“Oh, you’re cheeky. I like it.” She turned back to the store. “Show me the most comfortable couch that you have.”

Oston took Grans away, and I turned to look at Malachi who was staring at the two with an odd expression on his face.

“What?” I asked curiously.

He gestured to the two with a nod of his head. “Them. I’ve never seen my grandmother talk so little the first time that she met someone.”

My brows rose. “She is a talkative broad, isn’t she? Do you want to walk with them, or do you want to walk around on our own?”

His answer was to walk around on his own, leaving me to follow.

I did, keeping close to him as he wound his way through the overstocked store.

He stopped in front of a massive sleeper sofa.

“Do people actually use sleeper sofas anymore?” he asked curiously as he bent down and touched the fabric.

I did, too, finding the material buttery soft.

“Can I help you?” a woman purred.

The woman that I’d had the displeasure of meeting last time made herself known.

I looked at the six-foot blonde bombshell and instantly felt inferior standing next to her.

“No,” Malachi said, completely disregarding her.

Not anything more or less. Just no.

The woman didn’t know what to think.