Tell Them Lies (Three Little Words Book 3)

T
o friendships
that shift and change over time.

The kind that grow along with us, that give us a foundation to weather the tough times in life, that allow us to be real, that help our faith to grow and our souls to flourish. We may not see each other every week, we may not share a roof anymore, and we may be at completely different stages in life, but true and lasting friendships will never disappear.

Y
ou five women
have shown me what it is to be a friend, and I would not have been able to write any stories of true friendship without you.

Y
ou
, in this case is Sarah, Alicia, Kari, Rebekah and Keri

(in chronological order of when we met so nobody is like, ‘hey, how come I’m not first?’)

L
ove you all so
, so very much.

T
here was
something inherently depressing about grocery shopping on a Friday night. There were no other carts to avoid, no cramming into the cereal aisle. The cream Formica floor showed the reflection of the fluorescent lights above in an uninterrupted pattern, no shuffling bodies to break apart the blinding light. Because most people, especially most people in their late twenties or early thirties, had things to do on a Friday night. Other people to spend time with on a Friday night. Just not her.

Other people had date things. Friend things. But not her.

Maybe this was the low point in her story arc. Maybe God, or Jane Austen, had some three act structure that they were scribbling down for her. Elizabeth Anne Peters, lonely, hopeless romantic (emphasis on
hopeless
at the moment, because Mr. Darcy or Captain Wentworth were absolutely nowhere to be seen), wanting to be more than what she was, but seemingly incapable to do anything to change it.

Liz blinked her gaze up from the floor to where her hands clenched the gray plastic of the cart handle.

The glass freezer doors in front of her barely penetrated, all the ice cream cartons bleeding together until they formed one muddle of primary colors. The surface was perfectly clean, showing her reflection in a way that did
not
bleed together. No, it was crystal clear.

And she looked sad. Not rumpled or disheveled, just sad. The crisp white of her collared shirt still stood perfectly straight against her mustard colored cardigan. Her navy skirt held no wrinkles where it fell to her knees. And the ponytail that she'd slicked her hair back in that morning before she left for the library hadn't lost a single stray piece of hair.

It was her eyes.

Liz had the vague thought that if her eyes screamed at other people the way they screamed at her, that the people around her wouldn't be able to help but stare. They'd gawk shamelessly at the ceaseless howling that she was emitting. But people didn't notice that kind of internal clamor coming from a stranger. And the odd thing was that the people who did know her didn't really seem to notice either. Not out of spite, or carelessness... just because of busyness. Life kept moving and shifting around her, in the place that she was stuck.

Grocery shopping at 9:32 on a Friday night. Staring at the Hudsonville Ice Cream and trying to decide which bright blue container would be making the journey home with her.

"You're kinda blocking the best part of the grocery store here."

Liz jumped when a hand appeared straight in front her body to grab the shining silver handle of the freezer door.

"Sorry," she replied hastily, and looked over her shoulder as she pushed her cart out of the way.

He was tall. Much taller than her. And he looked right back, appearing completely unashamed at the fact that he was wearing
sweatpants
at the grocery store. With flip flops. And a red and black flannel shirt that was only held together by a few buttons somewhere in the middle. When he winked, dark eyes and dark hair looking stark against the sterile off-white background on the floor that stretched beyond him, Liz turned and hurried down the aisle without a second glance.

And then realized she hadn't actually gotten the ice cream she wanted. Stopping at the end-cap full of sale items, she stepped back just far enough to look back down the aisle. He was still staring at the same section that she had been.

This look was a little longer, as he didn't know she was doing it, and she could feel herself scowling at the glimpses of a couple different tattoos that peeked above the collar of his shirt. Clearly, he needed to shave, as the bottom half of his face held just about as much hair as the top, the same dark brown color. Then he reached down to scratch at his lower back, and the barely held together flannel shirt pulled back with his hand so that she got an eyeful of muscle, and more ink.

Honestly, was it inconceivable to think about going to the store fully-dressed? Almost every other productive member of society managed to put on clothes that actually covered their bodies. His head started turning to where she was peeking around a box of macaroni and cheese, so she gave up the ice cream, and clipped down to another aisle.

There was only one other person down this particular space. A woman around the same age as Liz, judging from the unlined, makeup free face. She stood staring at the bottles of wine, then did a double take when she noticed Liz waiting to move past her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said with a tired-looking smile. "A child-free grocery shopping trip means that I can sit and stare uninterrupted."

Liz smiled back, noticing the stretched out cotton shirt, complete with mystery stains on the shoulder. Her friend Rachel carried those on her clothes now too, with seven month old Asher incapable of keeping his food down.

"It's fine," Liz assured her, and moved around where the woman had pulled her cart back. Maybe Liz should grab some wine. Open a bottle and do some reading before bed. But all the pinks and reds and whites seemed overwhelming given her current frame of mind, so she ended up staring right alongside her new friend.

"Hard to choose, isn't it?"

"I'm not a big wine drinker," Liz admitted.

With a laugh, the woman grabbed a bottle of white from one of the bottom shelves. "Here, try this one. It's sweet, but not too sweet. I swear, if it wasn't for this, I wouldn't have survived the first year of my child's life."

"Thanks," Liz said, and placed the bottle next to her loaf of multi-grain bread.

"No kids, huh?"

The smile she pushed onto her face was a little forced, given the sharp pinch happening in the vicinity of her heart. "No. Not yet."

The woman nodded, sending a wistful glance at Liz's clothes. "I used to wear clean clothes too. Cute ones. And now, I'm standing in the grocery store wearing dirty clothes, forcing wine at strangers, and I haven't showered in three days. Cherish this time, honey."

"I will," Liz said quietly while the woman walked away. Really, she wasn't normally a bitter person. She wasn't bitter at all. She just wanted more than grocery shopping on a Friday night because she had nothing else to do. And it wasn't like her friends were purposefully ignoring her. They would never intentionally hurt her.

Casey was planning a wedding now that her fiancé, Jake, was home from Afghanistan. And Rachel was still considered a newlywed, which wasn't busy in and of itself, but a newlywed with a seven month old baby
was
very busy.

Her parents had, as usual, fled the cold Michigan winter by relocating to Arizona until April. It was one the good things/bad things about her parents having her so late in life. They were retired, which meant when they were home, she saw them a lot. But during the colder months, they were completely MIA.

Which left her. Just her.

By rote, she pulled bags and boxes from her grocery list off the shelves and into the cart. One by one, she checked off the items from her meal plan that week until she crossed them all off. She picked a checkout lane and started unloading her cart. Only a few employees filled the perches behind the cash registers at this time of night, and the young woman currently pulling her vegetables across the black conveyor belt looked like she wanted to be any place
but
at work.

While she watched each item pass in front of her, Liz saw someone step into the lane next to her. And then get closer. And still closer yet. Looking over at the person who just kept stepping into her space, she saw the man from the ice cream aisle.

The man who forced her to
not
get her ice cream. And he was way, way too close to her and if she pulled in a large enough breath she’d smell him. But Liz was
not
going to do that. She shifted sideways, standing next to her cart handle until the hard plastic bit into her hip, and still only an arm’s length separated them. He wasn't looking at her, but when he moved his bag of frozen fries onto the conveyor, he stretched past her to pluck the small plastic bar that would keep their food apart.

She swallowed and stepped back so that he didn't actually brush her shoulder. He did anyway, just a small stretch of forearm touched against the edge of her sweater.

Really?
Something built up inside her, pushing and pulling against the filter that was typically firmly in place in front of her mouth. Her teeth pressed into the sensitive skin on her tongue when she bit down onto it, and she mentally begged him to take a step away from her. But did he?

No. Of course not. Instead, he went to slide behind her in order to set his basket down at the end of the aisle. And at that moment, Liz gaped. She couldn't help it. Because instead of waiting until his turn to do it, he lifted one arm above her head, holding the basket so that it didn't hit her, and brushed against her back.

At this point, she was practically plastered to the checkout lane, hugging against the cold, silver metal like it would magically make him disappear. When she turned her head to send him the most disapproving glare she could muster, he still held his arm up. His shirt opened again, only a few shadowed lines of muscle showing against his tan skin.

By this point, the store employee was giving Liz a look that she roughly translated as
what the hell is he doing?
And Liz could only give a slight shake of her head in answer. Because nope, she had no clue.

When he moved behind her again to take his correct spot in line, he left a slightly larger amount of space in between them, and a tiny amount of air expanded her lungs. She could smell him, given how closely he was still standing, and despite his unseemly appearance, it wasn't an unpleasant smell. It was spicy. Outdoorsy. Truly, she tried to not smell it. But it was almost impossible once the scent pierced her nose.

She felt hot. And itchy. One hand flew up to her neck to pull her collar away from her skin.

When the cashier said Liz's total, she fumbled with her credit card, almost dropping it before the blessed woman took it from her inexplicably shaking fingers.

"One of those nights, huh?" His voice was dark. Almost sepulchral in the way it resonated through the empty space around them. The annoyance that she felt, at him talking to her, at him standing so close to her, and her not getting her stupid ice cream, was alien. And the fleeting thought that maybe he would get the hint if she ignored him was fleeting indeed. Because he just kept talking.

"Friday nights are always like that for me. Not sure why. It's like I should be in a crazy ass good mood because the weekend is about to start. But then I think, I still have shit to do tomorrow, so it's not all that exciting. You know?"

The breath that pushed out of her nose sounded so incredibly loud to her. The cashier handed Liz her receipt, eyes huge in her young face.

"You're seriously not going to say anything to me?" He said it just as she was turning to push her cart away.

"No," she answered succinctly, feeling a surprising level of defeat that he'd actually coaxed a single word out of her.

"Well, that's kinda rude. Why not?"

Finally, Liz turned to face him, and it was clear that the movement shocked him by the widening of his eyes. And the incremental opening of those dark orbs was just enough that she could not
not
say what she was thinking.

"Because you don't know me. And I don't know you, other than the fact that you kept me from choosing the ice cream that I really wanted to have tonight. It was quite possibly the only thing I was looking forward to when I got home. So that makes me not want to know you, or even manage the pretense of a conversation with you. That's why."

Liz saw the cashier's mouth fall open at her little speech. And in truth, Liz's really wanted to follow suit. She could not believe she'd actually said exactly what she was thinking at the
exact
time she thought it.

And even more unbelievably, he grinned at her. Just a slow unveiling of white teeth surrounded by all that dark facial hair.

“Sweetheart, I knew you had somethin’ in there for me.”

Nope. She was done.

With a loud huff, she whipped around and pushed her cart towards the exit, not even slowing to slip on her coat. With a
huff
. Liz had never huffed in her almost thirty years of life. The pace at which she was walking was almost too fast to sustain until she reached her car, but she managed, the muscles in her thighs burning embarrassingly when she finally popped the trunk of her white Toyota Corolla. Pushing the bags into the empty space in a far more vicious manner than she was accustomed to, she had to stop and gather up the apples that had made their way out of the produce bag.

He was even ruining her apples now.

None of it made sense. Not how he talked to her. How she talked to him. Or how she was feeling right now. The level of agitation, of disorderly emotions that she felt racing through her. It wasn't in proportion with the tiny amount of time she'd stood next to him, whatever his name was.

Once she finally settled into the driver’s seat of her car, she pulled her phone from the inside zipped pocket of her purse. No missed calls. No unread texts.

With only the yellowed tinge of the parking lot lights filtering into her car, she tapped out a message to Casey and Rachel.

Any takers to watch a movie tonight?

The three of them used to get together every other night for Ladies Night, a revolving movie and drinks night, where the hostess got to pick the movie and the beverage of choice. And while the reasons had always been valid, the every other week became once every three weeks. And then once a month. Sometimes.

Even though the exchange made her smile, because her friends always managed to make that happen, she still turned the key over in the ignition with a slightly heavy heart.