Page 49 of A Thousand Little Goodbyes

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Of course Grimshaw took them to Powell’s to finish out the day.

“Why does everything with you have to do with books?” Scarlett grumbled as she and Mitchell trailed him through the massive bookstore. Crowds of tourists were taking pictures in front of the doors; just as many of them shuffled down the aisles with the wide-eyed wonder of people who apparently had never been to a bookstore before. “Chrissie told you to entertainme, not yourself.”

“I am entertaining you.” He lifted a huge art book titledNudes Throughout Historyfrom the shelf and flashed it at her. She didn’t bother to hide her disgust. Beneath Grimshaw’s academic, devil-may-care facade beat the most predictable heart in the world. “I didn’t get you a birthday present, so you should pick one out. You can get anything you want.”

Scarlett noticed the price sticker on the book—a whopping eighty-five dollars—and pointed at it. “Okay. You convinced me. I’ll take it.”

Grimshaw visibly blanched and hurried to slip it back on the shelf. Behind them, Mitchell laughed. “Scarlett’s got your number, Grim. You’re honor bound to buy it now. For an extra fifteen, they’ll probablyeven gift wrap it for you.”

“No way. Chrissie only gave me a hundred bucks for the whole day. Pick a romance novel or something.”

Scarlett swiveled to stare at Grimshaw. He’d recovered his color by this time, once again back to endlessly flopping his hair and stopping to catch the flash of his reflection in every passing window.

“I’m sorry. Say that again?”

“What? About getting a romance novel? I don’t know what you like to read. You seem like the type to salivate over some duke rescuing damsels from the back of his horse.”

Scarlett gave atskof annoyance. She did, in fact, enjoy dukes rescuing damsels, but she’d never admit it to Grimshaw. Especially since he was clearly trying to give those dukes a run for their money in the rakish asshole department.

“I meant about Chrissie giving you money to take me out. All those Ms. Pac-Man games and frozen yogurt and stuff—she paid for it? Not you?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m a college student. I don’t have extra cash lying around to blow on my girlfriend’s best friend’s birthday. She paid for my gas down here, too.” Grimshaw shrugged. “It’s not like it means anything to her. Her parents are loaded.”

Mitchell gave an uncomfortable cough. “What Grim means is that Chrissie would do anything for you—”

Scarlett cut off the younger cousin by flinging up her hand. “I don’t need you to tell me what Chrissie would or wouldn’t do for me. She wasmyfriend long before she ever heard the name Grimshaw Pemberly.” Tamping down the urge to grab the art book and bring it down on Grimshaw’s head, she said, “Did she tell you to keep this a secret from me? To pretend like this was all done from the goodness of your heart?”

“Chill, Scarlett. What difference does it make where the moneycame from? It’s not like anyone is asking you to pay it back.”

“How much did she pay you for gas?” Scarlett demanded.

“I dunno. Another hundred, I think? It’s a long drive from Seattle, and I had to blow off two classes to be here. Her parents gave her the cash, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Okay. Then I’d like to go home now.”

She spoke the words without inflection—a rare thing for her, as if she was channeling her inner Chrissie. The sensation was uncomfortable, like wearing a skin that was three sizes too big. For that brief moment, she wasn’t a useless granddaughter who was making her friend pick up all her slack. She wasn’t a straight-C student with no real prospects for the future and dreams as wide as the sky. She was just the person who got things done, who quietly and carefully picked her way through life as though determined not to disturb anyone’s peace.

“Of course you do,” Mitchell said. He patted an awkward hand on her shoulder. “We’ll take you back, won’t we, Grim?”

Grimshaw, who would have benefited from his cousin’s less polished but more authentic manner, merely smirked. “No can do, I’m afraid. I have my orders. You can go home at five o’clock and not a minute earlier.”

“Fine.” Scarlett turned on her heel and pushed past the crowds of tourists to the door. “I’ll take the bus. You can pocket any leftover cash your girlfriend paid you to entertain me. Your services are no longer required.”

“Scarlett, don’t be like that.” Grimshaw loped after her with his long, easy strides. “I’m sorry, okay?”

He didn’t sound sorry—not even a little—but Scarlett stopped and waited for him to catch up anyway.

“Do you have any idea how much she hates asking her parents for money?” Scarlett asked. “How much she hates asking them foranything?”

“Uh…no?”

Of course he didn’t. Because he didn’t know Chrissie the way Scarlett did—deeply, viscerally, like she was the twin she’d once absorbed inside her cell by cell.

“They don’t deserve her, and neither do you,” she snapped.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered Mitchell touching her elbow in concern, someone else jostling her other elbow as they pushed out of the bookstore. Something fell to the pavement next to her—a bag of books, probably—but she wasn’t aware of anything but her own seething whirl of emotion.