My friend beamed at me, and I wandered off toward the locker room, hoping I’d made her day a little better. Molly was her own brand of cute, but she worried way too much about her weight.
Grabbing my stuff out of the lockers in the back of the building, I tried to shake off the guilt I felt about wanting to remain here serving fries rather than go home. It said a lot. About me or my life, I’m not sure. I wasn’t even sure there was a difference.
Working part-time at a fast-food place was not what I dreamed I’d be doing with my life after I graduated. Yet I’d known it was coming. While everyone else was making plans to go to college or travel, I was among the very few who couldn’t do any of those things. Eighteen. And trapped.
My closest friend was Molly. She got me the job since she’d been working here for the past two years on weekends. Now she was full-time. Although she’d joked about it, Molly had never dreamed big. I didn’t know if it wasn’t in her, or if she was lazy or what. All I knew was that my friend hated school. She seemed content to work fast-food and live at home because she never thought about the future. She was always living in the now.
I, however, thought about the future all the time.
I liked school.
I was not content here.
A feeling of claustrophobia crawled over me but I shoved it back. Sometimes it could feel like I had fifty people sitting on my chest, mocking me. Pushing through it, I grabbed my purse.
Time to go home.
Calling bye to Molly as I passed through the front of the restaurant, I inwardly flinched when I saw Stacey Dewitte sitting with a bunch of friends at the table near the door. She narrowed her eyes at me, and I looked away. My neighbor was a few years younger than me and once upon a time had been under the illusion that I was something I was not. I didn’t know who was more disappointed in me working at the fast-food place: Stacey or me.
Needing this day to be over, I pushed the door open, oblivious at first to the two guys messing around, playfully wrestling outside.
Until one shoved the other and he hit me with enough force to send me sprawling to the dusty road with a thud.
I was so surprised to find myself on the ground, it took a moment for the pain to hit, to feel the ache in my left knee and the sting in my palms.
I was suddenly surrounded by noise.
“Oh fuck, am really sorry.”
“Ye awright, lass?”
“Let me gee ye a hand up.”
“Dinnae ye bother, I’ll get her, ye fud.”
A strong hand gripped my bicep, and I found myself gently pulled to my feet. I looked up at the guy holding me, held in the spot not only by his hand but by the kind concern in his dark eyes. He didn’t look much older than me—tall, with the wiry, lean build of youth.
“Here’s yer bag. Sorry aboot that.” The guy with him handed me my purse.
Understanding his words but confused by the way he’d said them, by their alien accent, I blurted, “What?”
“Speak properly. She can’t understand ye.” The guy still holding my arm nudged his friend. He looked back at me. “Are you okay?”
His words sounded careful now, slower and pronounced. I gently pulled my arm from his grip and nodded. “Yeah.”
“We’re really sorry.”
“I got that. Don’t worry. A scrape on the knee won’t kill me.”
He winced and looked down at my knee. My work pants were covered in dust and grime. “Bugger.” When he looked up, I could tell he was going to apologize again.
“Don’t.” I smiled. “Really, I’m fine.”
He smiled back. It was cute and lopsided. “Jim.” He held out his hand. “Jim McAlister.”
“Are you Scottish?” I asked, delighted by the notion as I shook his calloused hand.
“Aye,” his friend said, offering me his hand too. “Roddy Livingston.”
“I’m Nora O’Brien.”
“Irish-American?” Jim’s eyes danced with amusement. “You know, you’re one of only a few people we’ve met in America who guessed where we’re from. We’ve gotten—”
“Irish,” Roddy supplied. “English. And dinnae forget Swedish. That was ma favorite.”
“I apologize for my countrymen,” I joked. “I hope we haven’t caused too much offense.”
Jim grinned at me. “Not at all. How did ye know we were Scottish?”
“A lucky guess,” I confessed. “We don’t get a lot of people from Europe visiting our small town.”
“We’re on a road trip,” Roddy explained. He had a full head of wavy ginger hair, and he was taller than me (most people were) but shorter than his friend.
Where Roddy was of medium-height but a burly build, Jim was tall and built like a swimmer. He had tan skin, dark hair, and thickly lashed, dark brown eyes.
And he was staring at me intensely the entire time his friend explained where they’d visited so far. I flushed under Jim’s perusal, having never been the entire focus of anyone’s attention like this before, let alone a cute Scottish guy.
“Actually,” Jim cut off his friend when he said they were leaving here tomorrow, “I was thinking we should stay a little longer.” He said the words to me, giving me a cute-boy smirk as he did so.
He was flirting with me?
Roddy snorted. “Oh, aye? After a five-minute meetin’?”
“Aye.”
Completely caught up in the idea of a foreigner delaying his departure from Donovan to see me again when we’d barely said a few words made me grin. It was silly and adventurous, and it appealed to my secretly romantic nature. It was so outside my humdrum life. I guess that’s why I threw caution to the wind. “Have you been to the lake yet?”
Jim’s whole face lit up. “No. Are ye offering to take me?”
“Both of you.” I laughed, reminding him he had a friend. “Do you like to fish?”
“I do.” Roddy suddenly looked much happier about the idea of staying.
“I don’t. But if you’re there, nothing else matters.”
Charmed, I flushed and he took a step toward me, startling me. It seemed to surprise him too, as if he hadn’t been in control of the movement.
“Fuck, if I’m gonnae feel like a third wheel the entire fuckin’ time, then naw.” Roddy turned mulish.
Jim’s expression clouded but before he could say something that might cause an argument, I intervened. “You knocked me on my ass,” I reminded Roddy. “You owe me.”
He sighed but the corner of his mouth tilted up. “Fine.”
“I need to get home,” I said, taking a reluctant step back.
Jim tracked my movements, and I felt a little like a deer caught in his line of sight. He really did stare at me so determinedly. All of a sudden, I didn’t know whether I should feel thrilled or wary.
“Where will we meet?”
My shift didn’t start until the afternoon the next day. I’d have to lie to my parents and tell them I’d had no choice but to take on overtime. “Here. At nine a.m.”
“Nine a.m.? I dinnae—”
Jim clamped a hand over his friend’s mouth and grinned at me. “Nine is great. See ye then, Nora O’Brien.”