Jealousy Junction Cathryn Grant (romantic story to read .txt) 📖

I laughed. “Why don’t I give you ten percent off.” Another sound and another turn of my head, but no one was there.

“That’s too kind. Thank you.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. I wrote ten percent off, the name of the wine, signed my name, and handed it to her.

“Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”

Again, I was overcome by a compulsion to look down the aisle behind me. It had become a tic now as if I had to reassure myself even though I hadn’t heard anything.

“What’s wrong?” Delaware asked.

“Nothing.”

“You keep looking behind you like you think someone’s stalking you.”

I laughed. “Sorry. I walked to work this morning, and this guy was following me part of the way. I guess I’m still a little jumpy.”

“Who was it?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Are you sure someone was following you? That’s hard to believe.”

“Yes, I’m sure. It was unnerving, that’s all.” I started to move away.

“I doubt anyone was following you.” She laughed.

“He was. It was still dark out and a little scary.”

“Dark?”

“I usually come in early, so I can prepare for the day before we open.”

“You work too much.”

“I love what I do.”

“It’s not normal to work so much. Why do you have to get up before the sun? It’s unhealthy for someone so obsessed with health.”

“Actually, I think it is healthy to get up early. Once my body feels rested, why not start being productive?”

“But why? I’ve seen your car in the parking lot at night and almost always on Saturdays—”

“I like keeping busy. I have a lot of ideas for this place. I love what I do. It doesn’t feel like work.”

“It’s not as if you need the money. I mean that house…” She laughed. “You’re awfully young to have the kind of money required for a place like that.”

I stared at her, a little taken by surprise that she was so crass. “I’m not that much younger than you.”

She stared at me, waiting to hear a better explanation, I suppose. Or an explanation at all, but I had no need to explain anything to her, especially not my financial situation. It made me wonder if she talked to other people on Liars Island about me, gossiped really. Sometimes, I had the sense that growing up on Liars Island made her feel as if she owned the place.

“Anyway, it was scary, and I hope it doesn’t happen again.” I glanced behind me, proving that I’d done nothing to move past my anxiety. Was I going to become a chronically nervous person, always thinking someone was watching me?

Then it struck me—maybe seeing my sister sitting in the dark, listening to Jerry and I making love, had heightened my sense of vulnerability.

“This community is completely safe,” Delaware said. “I seriously doubt anyone was following you.”

She seemed very sure of herself for someone who hadn’t been there, walking beside me in the darkness. But her confidence made me waver slightly. Had I overreacted? Maybe it was just someone out for a walk who happened to fall in behind me. And maybe when he turned, he’d gone back for something he’d dropped. In fact, maybe he was staring at me as I went inside the store because I was acting so unsettled.

I wasn’t going to argue with Delaware and convince her that I had a right to be frightened, just as I wasn’t going to explain why I loved working at my store or how I got the money to buy my house.

“Do you have any more questions about the wine?” I asked.

She was still holding the bottle she’d thought was overpriced. She glanced at the rows of bottles beside her. “I don’t think so. I appreciate the discount.”

“You’re welcome.”

She gave me a smile that was more of a grimace.

As I walked down the aisle, headed toward the front of the store, I had the urge to look back to see if she was watching me. I managed to resist, but it was tough.

Chapter 6

That evening Tanya suggested we get takeout. “I was out for a run, and I passed this tiny little restaurant,” she said. “Some kind of bistro…I forget the name. The smells coming out of there were absolutely a-maz-ing.”

“The Paradox?”

She grinned. “That’s it.”

I waited, thinking she would suggest dinner was her treat, but she said nothing.

“It’s very good. Very romantic,” I said.

“But they do takeout too. I stopped and read the menu.”

I was tired, maybe partially from coming home and chatting with my sister instead of unwinding with a bit of yoga or meditation like I usually did. “Sure. Takeout sounds good.”

Jerry had texted earlier that he wouldn’t be coming over until nearly eight. He said we should eat without him; he would grab a burger or maybe fast through dinner. He did that sometimes, which I found fascinating and kind of admired but never once considered emulating. Sometimes it seemed like I was hungry every three hours. Maybe it was being around so much luscious-looking food all the time.

Eating alone with Tanya would be a good thing. We could talk one-on-one without the conversation going in a lot of different directions, as larger conversations often do.

While I scooped food out of takeout cartons, arranging cloud-like whipped potatoes, pork tenderloin, and baby green beans onto plates, Tanya set the table and opened a bottle of Chardonnay. She filled two glasses with generous pours and carried them into the dining room. She lit the candles I’d used the night before. I placed the endive, pine nut, and crumbled goat cheese salad in a serving dish.

When we were seated, I lifted my glass to make a toast, but Tanya beat me. “To sisters.” She clicked her glass against mine, smiled, and took a tentative sip. “Mmm. Nice.”

She immediately began talking again about the trauma and heartache of her broken engagement. It sounded very painful, and I wondered how long it would be until she began to heal. She and