Just Flirt by Laura Bowers Read Free Book Online Page A

distraction. Otherwise, Natalie might realize my question has something to do with Mom, and I’m not ready to talk about it. The glue-eating boy is happy for the distraction as well, but Lyle still notices him squirting Elmer’s on his fingers. “Hey, dork-face, don’t eat that! It causes cancer!”
    The boy turns to Natalie with fear.
    She nods. “Yep, that’s how poor Uncle Dick died.”
    *   *   *
     
    Soon it’s time for Roxanne’s training. Yippee. There’s no way out of it, though, so while Natalie changes into a glitter-free shirt, I head to the store, where we sell camping supplies, food and drinks, toys, and crafts made by local artisans. Ivy is sitting behind the counter, gazing out the window with a pair of binoculars and dressed for this weekend’s wild west theme in jeans and cowboy boots. “Miss Ivy, what are you doing?”
    “Oh, covering the store while your mom helps some know-it-all park his RV.” She lowers the binoculars and turns to me with red marks under her eyes. “I also defragged the computer and started some virus scans. You need to watch the cookies, kid.”
    “Right, I’ll tell Nat.” Natalie is the computer pro, not me.
    I grab a bag of pistachios and hop on a bar stool Dad made out of wood cut from a fallen oak. He also installed the rustic cedar paneling and copper countertop that give the store a relaxed, homey feel, as does the cowboy Celtic music softly playing on the stereo. Ivy hands me the binoculars. “Site thirty-two. The fool man almost backed into a tree.”
    I give them a try, but my gaze first falls on Jake’s garage, where he’s getting ready for tomorrow’s race. As he wipes his hands on a rag, I have to admit, there’s something so real about a guy who spends his day off working on an engine instead of his Call of Duty score. And he wasn’t ashamed to tell me about both his parents being laid off a year ago and how they sold their farmhouse in order to buy a smaller home in town, which is why he uses our garage. Now he races on a shoestring budget with his own money against rich guys like Danny Reynolds, one of Blaine’s friends and Rex’s son, whose equipment is nothing short of top-of-the-line.
    I admire Jake for that … even if he is a jerk sometimes.
    Okay, time to put away the binoculars if they’re going to make me think philosophically about Jake—who just yesterday told me how I would love his races because there’s plenty of guys for me to drape myself over. I set them on the counter next to a book on bird-watching that is open to a glossy photo of a Baltimore oriole. “Uh, bird-watching, Miss Ivy? I thought you hated any activity that requires a closed mouth.”
    Ivy slams the book shut with a backhanded swat. “Ha, ha, very funny. And yes, it was a bad idea. Whoever developed the concept is a complete moron. If I felt the need to see an oriole up close, I’d go to Camden Yards.”
    “Then why did you buy it?”
    “My idiotic therapist,” she says wryly. “He believes it’s ‘cathartic.’”
    Cathartic? Yeah, right, just like the knitting, the yoga, and the Sudoku puzzles, all of which only agitate her more. Ivy used to be a workaholic until the investment firm she’d devoted most of her life to forced her into early retirement three years ago. She had never married, never had kids, never knew anything other than work, so when her therapist suggested traveling, Ivy took his advice to the extreme by selling her condo and buying an RV. Nothing is working, though, judging from the way she’s staring at Mom’s overflowing in-bin like a shopaholic stares at a clearance sign. “You know what is cathartic, Dee? Work is cathartic, so why won’t your mother let me help her with the bills and paperwork?”
    I know perfectly well why, even though Ivy always helps for free. Because Mom thinks it would prove Madeline was right—that she can’t do it all. So I avoid Ivy’s question by inspecting my pistachios and saying, “Hey,