Page 2 of Show Me

The box looks identical to the one I’d grabbed. Of course it does. “And how would I know that?”

“You could ask.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t have to.” The smirk on his face makes my eyes narrow. “You were about to hang a shelf with something meant for drywall the thickness of a cereal box.”

I cross my arms. “Some of us don’t spend our lives measuring walls.”

“Some of us don’t want to redo the same job twice.”

The thing is, he’s not being condescending. Just… factual. Which is worse.

A throat clears behind us. Mr. Wilkins, the hardware store clerk, peers over his glasses. “Xavier, you fixin’ to adopt another project?”

“I’m not a project,” I mutter under my breath.

“No,” Xavier says. “You’re not.” There’s something in the way he says it that sounds sincere.

Mr. Wilkins peers over the tops of his glasses. “Second aisle.”

I frown. “For what?”

“Stud finder.”

That seems like overkill. “I don't think I need one.”

“Trust me.” Xavier crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking my pose. “You do.”

“Can't I just knock on the wall?”

Mr. Wilkins chuckles as he heads toward the register. “Sure can. Doesn't mean you'll find anything.”

I hate this town. I love this town. It’s complicated. Brookhaven is the kind of place where everyone remembers who you dated in ninth grade and what you brought to the church potluck.

But they'll also show up with soup when you're sick, a shovel after the first snow, or a trailer when you're moving. It's a place where privacy is almost impossible, but facing life alone is, too.

“I can take care of the rest.”

“I’m sure you can.” He doesn’t move.

My heart kicks once, hard. “Are you going to keep standing there?”

“Probably.”

“Why?”

His eyes flick to the cart again. “Because you’re about to buy enough paint for a house twice the size of yours.”

“They have names,” I say defensively. “Winter Linen. Soft Cloud. Antique Lace.”

“They’re all white.”

“They’re not all white.”

He leans closer, studying the dots of dried paint on the labels, and the same clean, sawdust-laced scent from earlier settles around me again. His shoulder brushes mine, and I hate how much I notice.

“They’re all going to look the same once they’re on the wall.” He leans back, like he’s already settled the argument.