Free White Lies by Jeremy Bates

Hooks?” she said, reading the label.
    â€œThe best.”
    â€œAll right. I trust your judgment.”
    He handed her another pack. “On the house.”
    â€œOh, no. I couldn’t possibly.” She began digging through her handbag for her wallet.
    â€œCall it a welcoming gift.”
    She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I’m Katrina,” she said, holding out her hand.
    He shook. Strong yet gentle. “Jack Reeves.”
    Outside, the evening sun was setting, splattering the sky with a dazzling blend of amethyst purple and ruby red. A breeze carried the fresh, green scent of pine needles. Katrina started west, admiring the Victorian Tudors with false half-timbering lining the street, the scalloped trim on the pointed rooflines, the folk-art cutouts on the balconies, the wall frescoes. Window boxes and barrels were everywhere, overflowing with colorful flowers that perfumed the air. She passed shops filled with nutcrackers, dolls, beer steins, music boxes, toys, and other collectables. Take away the touristy aspect, and she could almost believe she was walking through a living, breathing German village from centuries past. Maybe something out of an old Brothers Grimm fairytale. She was happy, content. It was the best she’d felt in a long time. And she knew why too.
    Jack Reeves.
    She’d always believed when, or if, she met another man, the first after Shawn, it would begin as a friendship, progress slowly, and eventually grow into something that was meaningful and complex. She’d never imagined it would occur with a burst of magnetism and desire—
    Now, now, Kat
, she thought, chiding herself, and feeling extremely embarrassed at having to do that.
You ‘re acting like a love-struck schoolgirl. Like this was love at first sight
. Which was ridiculous. He gave her two packs of hooks. That was all. He didn’t ask for her number. Didn’t invite her to dinner. Hell, she didn’t even know if he was available or not.
    There was no ring on his finger
.
    She stopped in her tracks, surprised with herself for noticing that fact. She looked back the way she’d come. She could still see the cast-iron lantern that hung above the door to the hardware shop. The lightbulb inside it was on, burning a soft yellow. No one entered or exited the shop—no one, in fact, was on this section of street—and Katrina was caught by the bizarre fantasy she had imagined the entire encounter. But that was only natural, she figured. It still felt dreamy, uncanny even, her entire psychology—a psychology she’d built brick by brick so it would protect her, protect her from being hurt, devastated, ever again—could be so quickly and dramatically knocked down. But that’s exactly what happened. Knocked down and flipped on its head.
    And in the space of minutes.
    â€œWho are you, Jack Reeves?” she said quietly to herself.
    Once home Katrina slipped a
Queen’s Greatest Hits
CD into the Sony stereo system sitting on the floor, then started hanging some pictures she’d brought with her from Seattle. The hooks Jack recommended were incredible. Poke, twist, voilà. Sturdy too. She could probably hang a small flat-screen TV on a couple of them.
    She was in the middle of leveling an oil painting by a funky contemporary artist she’d picked up at one of the galleries she used to visit when her cell phone rang. It was the first call she’d received since the unnamed someone rang the landline the other day and hung up. She turned down the volume on “Another One Bites the Dust” and snatched up her phone. She checked the display. It was her younger sister, Crystal.
    â€œChris!” Katrina said.
    â€œIs that Queen?” Her voice was slightly sarcastic and impersonal, like a late-night radio DJ’s. Katrina thought this every time they spoke, and she decided they needed to spend more time together. Your sister shouldn’t sound like a