Page 7 of Unfinished
But now I know it beats some alternatives.
I’m still on the edge of hyperventilation as I get on the highway, aiming in the general direction of Wyoming. I make it a couple miles down the road before a few things register. I can’t use my credit cards to buy gas or stay in a hotel. I don’t have any cash. And my cell phone is going to give me away.
Pulling off at the next exit, I stop in the first parking lot I see and frantically dig out my phone. Switching it off, I throw it into the passenger-side footwell. My eyes scan the area around me as my shaking fingers start yanking pins from my hair, dropping them into the cup holder. I’m about halfway through deconstructing the updo already making my scalp ache, when my gaze lands on a shop a few doors down. A little of the panic squeezing my insides subsides.
I have an idea. I can’t put it into action yet, but I’ve got a full tank of gas before I’m screwed. So once the length of my dark hair is hanging loose, I get back on the road, the sense of determination I thought had been stripped from me creeping back in.
I can do this. I have to do this.
If only to prove to myself what I’m not.
I’m a couple hours down the road before I finally see what I’m searching for and cut down the exit. The strip mall sporting the shop I need is sketchy looking, but that’s probably a good thing. The chances of Matt coming here to ask about me are low.
He won’t want to get his shoes dirty.
I fight my way free of the car, twisting my body around until the bulk of my dress—and its attached, unbuttoned train—are behind me, then hurry to the storefront. The place has bars on the dingy windows and at least five neon signs indicating what they buy and sell. The glowing rectangle of plasticon the overhang is faded and cracked, but still clearly states the less than original name of the business inside.
Pawn Shop
I step into the space, intending to go to the giant man standing behind one of the many glass display cases, but my second step doesn’t get me anywhere.
Because this damn dress is stuck in the damn door.
I’ve hated the thing from the moment Matt’s mom swore it was the most flattering of the options she’d had me try on. I disagreed. Strongly. It’s too big. Too sparkly. Too busy.
And right now, it’s too freaking long.
Turning back to the man now watching me with an amused tilt to his lips, I square my shoulders and ask, “Do you happen to have a pair of scissors I can borrow?”
He doesn’t answer, but does collect a pair of metal shears from behind the counter before coming my way. He stops in front of me. His presence is big. Imposing. Intimidating.
I swallow hard, unsure how this is going to unfold.
Holding the scissors out to me, he stays silent.
My eyes bounce from the scissors to his face before I slowly reach out to take them. But when I try to pull them away, he doesn’t let go.
I may have made yet another bad decision by coming here. Unfortunately, if he turns out to be a serial killer, I can’t get away thanks to the hateful dress trying to once again lock me in.
“You plannin’ to cut that pretty dress?” The man’s voice is deep and low. “Cause if you want, I’ll buy it off you instead.”
“Ummm…” What exactly does he mean by ‘buy it off me’? “You mean I can pawn it?”
He shrugs. “Figured you weren’t partial to it.” His eyes make a slow trek over the scissors then peer around me towhere the dress is stuck, taking in my situation. “All things considered.”
All things considered likely being that I’m in a pawn shop wearing a wedding dress and running mascara.
I’m not going to lie, chopping this monstrosity up sounds really freaking good. But not as good as gaining a little extra cash. There’s only one problem. “I don’t have anything else to wear.”
The man looks me up and down, but I don’t feel weird about it as he takes in my body. Apparently offering to give me money will change my opinion faster than I peeled out of the church parking lot.
“My girl is about your size. If you don’t mind wearin’ some of her clothes, I think we could work something out.” The man turns, his low voice finally picking up volume. “Lily. Come out here for a minute.”
I lean to peek around the store owner, putting my focus in the same spot his currently resides. Way at the back of the shop is a door, and a few seconds after he yells, a woman comes out.
And she looks irritated as hell.
Her full lips are tipped into a scowl as she glares our way. “Curtis. I know you didn’t just raise your voice at me.”
