his rough look suggested.
Fifty dollars, sixty dollars, and finally Nikki’s pump stopped. She caught herself humming Pete’s song and stopped immediately, returning the gas nozzle to its holder. Under his scruffy hair at the back of his neck, he wore the leather string that held the small amulet.
Jumping into the driver’s seat, Nikki realized she’d left her keys inside the store, at the cash desk. The spaced-out, red-eyed cashier was busy setting up a display, so Nikki grabbed some magazines, gum, and a few other items. Stepping up to the desk, she absently knocked a box of condoms off a display. Setting the boxes to the side, she paid and left.
Her front window was partway down, but she felt blissfully unrecognizable as she pulled away from the gas pumps.
Pete looked up. “Morning, Nikki,” he called and tipped an imaginary hat.
What? Pete had said her name plain as day, even though she wore big sunglasses and a frizzy brown wig. How did he know? He wouldn’t recognize the car. She’d given Quinn the Escalade and was now driving the car they kept at the lake for when they flew in by helicopter or float plane. Glancing in the rear view mirror, she saw the problem. Elvis hung out the back window, panting and smiling at everything out there in the big wide world. He must’ve stepped on the window button and, of course, Pete recognized her dog.
“Elvis!” she wailed. The man who kissed her had just seen her in a silly wig trying to ignore him. What would he think about her wandering around town in this ridiculous getup?
Resisting the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel, she headed out of town. She was useless at sneaking around. Pete was everywhere she went and Elvis seemed to be on his side. Pete wasn’t a photographer. That much she knew. If he was, she’d have seen photos by now all over the internet. Those long lenses of the paparazzi could zero in on very distant objects and Nikki had been outside enough to give him plenty of fifty-thousand-dollar shots.
“Let’s stay ahead of this guy, Elvis.” From the passenger seat, the little pooch hung on every word. She checked her rearview mirror and saw no one. “I am screwed if Pete is writing a book on me and I let him kiss me.”
A hefty wind blew off the lake, rustling the trees and sending an abandoned piece of white paper somersaulting across her driveway. Nikki clicked the garage door closed, grabbed the paper, and looking skyward, saw clouds moving in to change the beauty of the day.
She walked to the side of the house to rescue anything that might blow away and, stopping to watch the dance of the birches’ leaves flickering in the wind, she caught a glimpse of something at the Dickerson place. It was just a flash of color in the front window Looking closer, she saw nothing.
The wind picked up and waves blew across the bay. The papery sounds of the flickering leaves almost drowned out Elvis’s barking and when she turned to see what he’d found, her heart jumped. The blue pickup truck was parked in her driveway. Pete stood to the side of it, his eyes on her. Realizing this was the second time she’d been caught spying, her face blazed with embarrassment, until she considered that he might think she was simply looking out at the bay.
She toddled toward him. “We meet again.” Her attempt to be casual sounded forced and Nikki was painfully aware of how unusual she looked in the padded suit.
Pete held up a small plastic bag. “The guy at the gas station thought these were yours.” His voice sounded like sandpaper on lava rocks.
Seeing the Trojan logo through the thin bag, she froze. This was either creepy or amusing. “I’m not missing anything.” Nikki’s vision drifted to the scar on Pete’s chin, then to his eyes. A chill travelled up her spine when their eyes locked.
“He said he charged you.” Pete looked genuinely confused and handed her the bag. “I told him we were neighbors.” His hands were callused. Not
Fifty dollars, sixty dollars, and finally Nikki’s pump stopped. She caught herself humming Pete’s song and stopped immediately, returning the gas nozzle to its holder. Under his scruffy hair at the back of his neck, he wore the leather string that held the small amulet.
Jumping into the driver’s seat, Nikki realized she’d left her keys inside the store, at the cash desk. The spaced-out, red-eyed cashier was busy setting up a display, so Nikki grabbed some magazines, gum, and a few other items. Stepping up to the desk, she absently knocked a box of condoms off a display. Setting the boxes to the side, she paid and left.
Her front window was partway down, but she felt blissfully unrecognizable as she pulled away from the gas pumps.
Pete looked up. “Morning, Nikki,” he called and tipped an imaginary hat.
What? Pete had said her name plain as day, even though she wore big sunglasses and a frizzy brown wig. How did he know? He wouldn’t recognize the car. She’d given Quinn the Escalade and was now driving the car they kept at the lake for when they flew in by helicopter or float plane. Glancing in the rear view mirror, she saw the problem. Elvis hung out the back window, panting and smiling at everything out there in the big wide world. He must’ve stepped on the window button and, of course, Pete recognized her dog.
“Elvis!” she wailed. The man who kissed her had just seen her in a silly wig trying to ignore him. What would he think about her wandering around town in this ridiculous getup?
Resisting the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel, she headed out of town. She was useless at sneaking around. Pete was everywhere she went and Elvis seemed to be on his side. Pete wasn’t a photographer. That much she knew. If he was, she’d have seen photos by now all over the internet. Those long lenses of the paparazzi could zero in on very distant objects and Nikki had been outside enough to give him plenty of fifty-thousand-dollar shots.
“Let’s stay ahead of this guy, Elvis.” From the passenger seat, the little pooch hung on every word. She checked her rearview mirror and saw no one. “I am screwed if Pete is writing a book on me and I let him kiss me.”
A hefty wind blew off the lake, rustling the trees and sending an abandoned piece of white paper somersaulting across her driveway. Nikki clicked the garage door closed, grabbed the paper, and looking skyward, saw clouds moving in to change the beauty of the day.
She walked to the side of the house to rescue anything that might blow away and, stopping to watch the dance of the birches’ leaves flickering in the wind, she caught a glimpse of something at the Dickerson place. It was just a flash of color in the front window Looking closer, she saw nothing.
The wind picked up and waves blew across the bay. The papery sounds of the flickering leaves almost drowned out Elvis’s barking and when she turned to see what he’d found, her heart jumped. The blue pickup truck was parked in her driveway. Pete stood to the side of it, his eyes on her. Realizing this was the second time she’d been caught spying, her face blazed with embarrassment, until she considered that he might think she was simply looking out at the bay.
She toddled toward him. “We meet again.” Her attempt to be casual sounded forced and Nikki was painfully aware of how unusual she looked in the padded suit.
Pete held up a small plastic bag. “The guy at the gas station thought these were yours.” His voice sounded like sandpaper on lava rocks.
Seeing the Trojan logo through the thin bag, she froze. This was either creepy or amusing. “I’m not missing anything.” Nikki’s vision drifted to the scar on Pete’s chin, then to his eyes. A chill travelled up her spine when their eyes locked.
“He said he charged you.” Pete looked genuinely confused and handed her the bag. “I told him we were neighbors.” His hands were callused. Not
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