Credence

Unfortunately, not many are patient enough to give me a chance. These guys are going to see me as rude, just like the girls at school do. Why would I purposely put myself in a situation to be forced to get to know new people?

I clench my jaw and swallow, seeing him out of the corner of my eye. He’s staring at me. How long has he been watching me?

I instantly force my face to relax and my breathing to slow, but before I can bury my face in my phone to cover up my near panic attack, he’s swerving the truck to the left and coming full circle, heading back in the direction we just came.

Great. He’s taking me back to the airport. I freaked him out already.

But as he speeds back down the main street, and I grip th

e seatbelt strap across my chest to steady myself, I watch as he passes back through two lights and jerks the wheel to the left, sliding into a parking spot on the side of the street.

My body lurches forward as he stops short, and before I have a chance to consider what’s going on, he kills the engine and hops out of the truck.

Huh…

“Come on,” he tells me, casting me a look before he slams the door closed.

I look out the front windshield and see Rebel’s Pebbles etched in gold on the black Victorian-style sign.

He brought us back to the candy shop.

Keeping my small travel purse hooked across my chest, I climb out of the truck and follow him up onto the sidewalk. He opens the door, the tinkle of a little bell ringing, and ushers me inside before he follows me.

The heady scent of chocolate and caramel hits me, and I immediately start salivating. I haven’t eaten since the handful of blueberries I forced down this morning before my flight.

“Yo, Spencer!” Jake shouts.

I hear the clutter of a pan from somewhere in the back, and something—like an oven door—falls closed.

“Jake Van der Bong!” a man strolls out from behind a glass wall, wiping his hands as he heads toward us. “How the hell are you?”

Van Der Bong? I dart my eyes up to Jake.

He grins down at me. “Ignore him,” he says. “I never smoked. I mean, I don’t smoke anymore. That’s old shit.” He smiles at the other guy. “The old me. The evil me.”

They both laugh and shake hands, and I gaze at the man who just came out. Looks about the same age as Jake, although a few inches shorter, and dressed in a red and blue flannel shirt with unkept brown hair.

“Spence, this is my niece, Tiernan,” Jake tells him.

Mr. Spencer turns his eyes on me, finishes wiping off his hand, and holds it out to me. “Niece, huh?” His gaze is curious. “Tiernan. That’s a pretty name. How are you?”

I nod once, taking his hand.

“Let her have whatever she wants,” Jake tells him.

“No, that’s okay.” I shake my head.

But Jake cocks an eyebrow, warning me, “If you don’t fill up a bag, he’ll fill it up for you, and it’ll be black licorice and peppermint sticks.”

I scrunch up my nose on reflex. The other man snorts. Black licorice can go to hell.

Jake walks off, grabbing a plastic bag, and proceeds to start filling it with taffy as I stand there, my pride keeping me planted in place. It’s always the heaviest chip on my shoulder. I don’t like giving people what they want.

But then I smell the sugar and the salt, and the warm chocolate scent from the stoves hits the back of my throat and goes straight to my head. I’d love a taste.

“Whatchya waitin’ for, de Haas?” I hear my uncle call out.

I blink.