Page 51 of Entangled
“You take care of yourself, baby. Get some rest and eat bland foods. Talk to you next week.”
“OK, will do. Bye.” I end the call and slide off my stool onto the floor.
Resting my elbows on my bent knees, I hang my head in a mix of shame and sorrow. I need a distraction, and fast. A quick glance out the window tells me it’s flurrying. I loved the snow as a kid. I remember making snow angels with my friends in the town square. God, I miss having friends.
I beat back the memories before I dissolve into a blubbering mess. Crying didn’t serve me then, and it doesn’t now. I need a better distraction.
The falling snow gives me the perfect idea.
* * *
I leanagainst my front door and wipe the sweat off my brow. Who knew shoveling was such hard work? It wasn’t the first time I’ve shoveled in my life—I used to help my dad when I was a kid—but I don’t remember snow being this heavy. Of course, it probably has something to do with the fact that I let it accumulate and ice over for days, but that’s beside the point. Our snow removal guy had a knee replacement, so he’s currently out of commission. Since Dad doesn’t trust strangers on our property, he refuses to call someone else.
After clearing a wide path from the front gate to my door, and shoveling a trail to the main entrance, I’m exhausted. I need a hot shower and a cup of tea.
Propping the shovel outside my door, I stomp off my boots and head inside. The beef stew simmering in my crock pot greets my nose, making my stomach growl. As soon as I get cleaned up, I’ll fix myself a bowl.
I glance at the clock above the sink. It’s almost four. According to the tracking information my grocery app sent me, my delivery is en route. Even though Henry hurt my feelings last night, I’m still excited to see him. Which means I need to get moving in the shower department.
I wonder if he’ll have an explanation for his weird behavior. Or will he pretend nothing happened? Either way, I have a bowl of stew and homemade brownies with his name on them.
After a much-needed shower, I slip into a comfy, flannel nightgown. This may be my inner recluse talking, but I figure it’s late enough in the day for jammies. Now that I think about it, ninety-five percent of my wardrobe could be considered pajamas. I snag a hair tie and weave my hair into a loose braid, then head back downstairs to my kitchen. I feel like a new woman.
Grabbing my phone as I pass it, I peek at the screen to check my notifications. There’s one from my grocery app.
Status: delivered.
I tap on the time stamp. My package arrived three minutes ago.
He was here and didn’t fucking acknowledge me?
Furious, I shove my feet back into my snow boots and pull my jacket on, then rush outside. Frigid air chills my bare legs as I step around the giant boxes by my door and make a beeline for the front gate.
The RPS truck is still parked out front. The back door is wide open. Henry is hunched over a pile of boxes, separating them into two stacks. He slides one pile toward the front of the truck, then taps on his tablet a few times.
I slip through the gate and march up to the back of the truck. “Really?”
“Oh, hey.” He picks up another box and curses under his breath.
“So, that’s it? You’re just gonna deliver my shit and leave?”
Henry slowly turns to face me, furrowing his brow. “That’s literally my job description.”
“You couldn’t even knock?”
He sets the box he’s holding on top of a different stack. “Ididknock. You didn’t answer the door. This delivery didn’t need a signature, so I left it on your doorstep. I’m not seeing the problem here.”
“You’re not seeing the problem?” I grip the truck’s filthy bumper. “Well, that’s convenient of you.”
“What’s this about, Rowan?” He crosses his arms over his chest and peers down at me.
“You tell me. You’re the one who acted weird last night.”
His dark eyes burn into mine. “I wasn’t the one acting.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” He sighs heavily and points to his tablet. “Listen, I still have a bunch of stops to make. I’ll see you, uh, whenever I see you.”
