Despite my unexplainable need not to like him, I had to mutter a quick thank you.

“What’s that?” He cupped his ear, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes.

Dang you, St. Claire.

“I said thank you,” I murmured under my breath.

“Why, you’re very welcome. Now you can stop ogling me. I feel objectified already.”

It made me laugh so hard, I let out a horrifying snort. We both knew I’d avoided looking directly at his bare torso.

Lord. I’d snorted. In front of West St. Claire. Death by humiliation had never seemed so viable.

“I’m sorry. I sounded like a pig.” I covered my face with both hands.

He threw a piece of fish at me.

“If you were an animal, what would you be?”

“A phoenix,” I said, without even giving it some thought. My hand shot to my broken flame ring, turning it on my thumb. West nodded. I didn’t know why, but somehow I had a feeling he knew exactly what I was talking about.

“You?” I asked.

“Koala. I’d get to sleep all day, but still be cute as fuck, so getting laid wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I heard koalas are actually pretty vicious. And stinky. And are prone to poop on people.” I offered my useless knowledge of wildlife. Good thing I wasn’t trying to flirt. Talking with hot men was definitely not my forte.

He considered this. “Well, that’s just selling me the koala gig even more.”

Other than that conversation, we were polite, but professional. I’d eased into the idea of us coexisting like treading into a dark, strange basement. There was no immediate reason to suspect I’d get hurt, but it was still scary.

I couldn’t help but stare each time I noticed a new welt or bruise on his body. I never mentioned it, though. And the few times I saw him outside the food truck, at school sitting in the cafeteria or on the lawn by the fountain, or the grocery store, all we did was nod to each other and look away.

Two and a half weeks after West and I began working together, my life fell apart in a spectacular fashion, reminding me normal simply wasn’t in the cards for me.

It was late evening. An unexpected graveyard shift after the Westival (West Festival) of the last few weeks. There was a spring fair two towns over, and every Sheridan citizen and their mother seemed to take advantage of the activity and drove up to Foothill to enjoy the rodeo, stale popcorn, candy floss, tilt-a-whirl, and bluebonnet blossom.

Fireworks blasted beyond the darkened yellow dunes. West and I watched them from the food truck window in childish awe, shoulder to shoulder. My phone buzzed in my hoodie’s pocket. I checked the caller ID. Marla. I picked up, knowing she wasn’t one to interrupt me at work unless it was important. I turned my back on the fireworks and ambled inside, pressing a finger to my ear so I could hear her through the explosions.

“Heya, Marla.”

“Honey, I don’t want you getting too worried, but I can’t find the old bat. Ten minutes I’ve been lookin’ for her, but I don’t think she’s home.”

Marla talked about Grams with earnest disdain, which I’d learned to warm up to.

My breath caught in my throat. I leaned against the fridge, feeling my anxiety climbing up my toes to the rest of my body, like little ants.

“Did she look lucid to you last time you saw her?”

“She spent a whole lotta time in her room today, gettin’ fancy. I thought maybe she wanted to go to the fair, so I let her do her thing while I cleaned up the kitchen, waiting for her to come downstairs. The radio was on—you know what her hearing’s like—I must’ve missed it when she opened the front door. My car’s still in the garage, so she couldn’t have gone far. I’m going to look for her now. I just wanted to keep you in the loop.”

“Thank you.” My voice broke. Panic ran through me, and my blood turned cold. “Please keep me posted.”

I killed the call and slammed my phone on the counter, letting my head drop. I wanted to scream. To break something. To lash out.

Not again, Grams. We’ve been through this dozens of times before.

The routine of looking for her everywhere, finding her at a neighbor’s house or downtown—blabbing to someone incoherently—and removing her from the scene as I apologized from the bottom of my heart always wore me down.

I could feel West’s sharp gaze on my back. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he was watching me. A couple of customers showed up, asking for tacos, nachos, and slushies, and West served them, manning both our stations without making a big stink about it.

I looked down at my phone again and texted Marla.

Me: Where could she be?

Me: Can U check the shed, please?

Me: I’m going to call Sherriff Jones. Maybe he heard something.

I dialed up Sheriff Jones’ number, pacing back and forth.

“Grace?” By the commotion in the background, he was at the fair with his family.

“Sheriff Jones? Sorry to call you so late. Grandma Savvy went missin’ again.”

“How long has it been?”

“Ah, a few hours.” Probably less, but I knew he wasn’t going to take it seriously. Grams went missing often and was always found a couple miles away from home.

“I’ll call my guys. Grace,” he hesitated, before sighing. “Try not to worry too much. It’s always like that, isn’t it? We’ll find her before the night’s over.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your help.”

I hung up, tears prickling my eyeballs. As always, I didn’t let them loose. I hated this part. Where I had to beg people for help. I couldn’t blame Marla. Grams had sneaked out of the house plenty of times while she was under my watch.

I sank onto an upside down crate, clutching my head in my hands.

“Is this an I-wanna-talk-about-it crisis or mind-your-own-fucking-business crisis?” West grumbled above my head, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

The former.

“The latter.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Jerk.”

“Let me know if that changes.”

“You bein’ a jerk? Fat chance.”

“Don’t insult the chance. It did nothing wrong.” He wiped his sweat with the bottom of his shirt, still eyeing me in his periphery. I was an odd, out-of-place creature he couldn’t decide what to do with. An unhappy female.

“I didn’t insult the chance. I insulted you.”

“Still sarcastic. That’s a good sign.”

I needed to be out of this place and look for Grams, but the entire Contreras family was at the fair, and by the time one of them could come to replace me, my shift would be over.

Thirty minutes had passed without any news on Grams. I was completely out of it by the time West put his hand on my shoulder. It was heavy and warm and strangely reassuring. Like I was floating in the air, feet above the ground, and he anchored me back to gravity.

“That’s enough of your sulking ass. Give me the keys. I’ll close up and drop them in your mailbox. I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but you should be focusing on pulling it out, not burning time here.”

I shook my head, finding that all I needed to burst into tears for the first time since my hospital stay was him acknowledging something was wrong. People had stopped giving a crap. In Sheridan, I was just another statistic. Basket case grandmother, junkie mom. That was why Sheriff Jones hadn’t even attempted to pretend he was going to leave the fair and help me look for Grams.