“What are you apologizing for? Being a Twilight fan?” he was laughing at me, biting his lower lip as it curled.
I joined him, smiling even though I was still slightly embarrassed.
“My sister started reading the books last summer and read them all in one week.”
A sister! My brain created a spreadsheet of questions to ask him.
“How old is she?” I started with one question instead of twenty.
“Fifteen.”
I wondered what she was like. If he was a sweet, protective older brother, and if she was as beautiful as he was.
“Aw. Does she live close?”
He shook his head. “Yes and no. Closer than most soldiers are to their families. But her and my ma are in Riverdale. Here in Georgia.”
“Ah, like the show?”
He nodded, smiling a little. I really, really wanted to see him smile like he did on my table a few minutes ago. That big smile made me crave another.
A phone started to ring, and I pulled mine back out of my pocket. It wasn’t mine. Kael swiped his finger across his phone and put it back in his pocket.
“Well, I hope everything was okay with your treatment today.”
“Thanks,” he said, but didn’t answer my question.
I rang him up and handed over the credit card slip to sign. I’d never felt anxious seeing a client scribble his name across that little black line before, so this was new. And, of course, Kael wasn’t giving anything up, which left room for me to fill in the blanks. First, I wondered if he’d come back for another massage. Then it was What’s going to happen after he stops crashing on my couch?
He left me a twenty-dollar tip on a forty-five-dollar massage. It was more than generous. Certainly more than I usually got. I felt a little weird about it, like he was giving me charity or something. Or paying for my time, which I guess he was. But I did need the money, so I took it with a smile. Okay, the smile was mostly forced, but he couldn’t tell. At least, I didn’t think he could.
I thought about how I had talked through half of his massage. It probably didn’t make for the most relaxing experience.
“Sorry I talked so—”
Kael cut me off before I could finish. “No,” he said, and offered me a friendly shrug. “No more sorrys. It’s cool.”
Moving on to something else, I pointed to the dark green walls. “I want to change the color.”
He studied them and asked, “Well, what color do you want to paint them?”
“Something more neutral and modern. Do you think it’s overly decorated in here?” I asked.
He looked perplexed.
“Do you feel like you’re in an expensive spa in a big city, instead of here, in this strip mall?”
“I guess.” He shrugged. Kael answered with a word or two now and then, but mostly it was my voice that filled the lobby. We were in a public area—not exactly a private therapy room—but he was still playing the strong, silent type.
“Do you want a receipt?” I read the prompt from the credit card machine.
“Of course.” He held out his hand.
“Of course? Such certainty over a credit card receipt?” I teased him. I was beginning to love doing that. He reacted differently nearly every time. It was fascinating.
“Responsible,” he said. He almost smiled as he tucked the receipt into his wallet. It was leather, light brown, and obviously well used.
“Sure,” I said, and snorted. “Whatever you say.”
“Better hope you don’t get audited.” No smile this time, but he did give me a raised eyebrow.
Mali was watching everything closely now. When Kael came out into the lobby after his session, she had been busy nearby, humming to herself while wiping the fingerprints from the glass door. Now she’d given up even the pretense of cleaning. I had forgotten she was even here, honestly.
“See you tonight?” I asked, as he approached the door.
“Yeah. For sure.”
He waved to me and said a polite goodbye to Mali, calling her ma’am and all. The door closed and she turned her attention to me.
“Mhm?”
“Mhm what?” I closed the cash register and stuck the tip in my pocket.
Her eyes fell on the door again and a Cheshire-cat grin spread across her face. “Oh, nothing.”
“Stop gossiping,” I told her, as I disappeared down the hallway.
Her voice followed me. “You’re not painting my walls!”
I rolled my eyes and went back into my room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I was keen to go home while the sun was shining—for once. That’s why I didn’t stay to clean as thoroughly as I usually did. I still put a load of towels into the dryer and opened a couple of boxes of products and put everything away, wishing my coworkers would do a little more to pick up the slack around here.
The alley was busy when I left. Bradley was helping a customer load a king-size mattress into the back of a truck when he waved to me, friendly as ever.
I pulled out my phone to open Instagram when my brother’s name popped up on the screen.
“Austin, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?” I didn’t bother with hello. I had no time for formalities.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. Really, Kare, it’s not that big of a deal. It was just a fight.”
“A fight? With who?”
He sighed for a second. “Some guy. I don’t know. I was out somewhere and this guy was giving a girl at the bar shit.”
I rolled my eyes and pressed my body against the bushes lining the alleyway so a church van full of kids could pass.
“So you’re telling me that this whole thing stemmed from your chivalry?”
Austin was good at spinning things. He would make a wonderful publicist for a messy celebrity—or a horrible husband.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said, laughing.
His voice was calming—it was like hearing an old song you had forgotten you loved. I’d really missed him.
“Right. So how much trouble are you in?”
“I don’t know.” He paused.
I thought I heard the flick of a lighter. “Dad bailed me out . . . which sucks, because now I’m going to owe him money.”
Unbelievable. I wish I had his ability to look the other way and not worry about things. He knew he would figure it out—or someone would figure it out for him—before it got too serious.
“Yeah, because owing Dad money is your biggest problem.”
“I didn’t kill anyone, okay? It was your standard bar fight.”
I laughed. I could feel his magic working. I was starting to feel almost okay about his arrest, and the ink on his paperwork wasn’t even dry yet.
“How did you manage to get into a bar? We’re not twenty-one for another month.”
This time, it was his turn to be amused. “You’re not serious.”
“Yes, I am!” But I was joking, sort of.
There was this thin line between me worrying about my brother and just wanting to have fun with him. I was by no means a stickler, or super-responsible, but I was light-years ahead of my twin. The difference was incredibly noticeable. I was the worrier and he was the free spirit. Only in this case was I like our dad.
I knew my loser uncle was taking Austin to bars with his gross older friends, probably introducing him to women who downed too much alcohol, wore too much makeup, had too much experience . . . too much everything.