Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(44)

“She must have been really proud of you for getting a scholarship.”

His jaw tics, and he averts his stare to his lap, clearly done with the conversation.

One layer at a time with Trevor, I remind myself as we arrive at our first stop. It’s a local grocery store. The owner and staff wait in the entrance as Trevor and the crew retrieve the food donations. A reporter in a vibrant emerald jacket hovers on the sidelines, snapping photos. Trevor blinks away the flash as he squats down to lift a box of canned soup.

“You don’t like the paparazzi?” I prod.

He passes the box to Kevin, who grumpily agreed to take on the role of stacking the boxes in the truck. “Nah. I’d rather do it without all the fanfare—” He pauses when a stout, balding man approaches, his hand extended.

“I was told you’re the man in charge here. I’m Yoni, the store owner,” he says.

Trevor meets his handshake. “Good to meet you, Yoni. I’m Trevor.”

“I just wanted to thank you guys before you head out. It means a lot.”

“We couldn’t do it without the donations. So thank you,” Trevor tells him.

Yoni nods, casting a proud gaze at the stack of boxes in the truck. “The food bank is a cause close to my heart. As a young boy, my family relied on it. I do what I can to give back.”

Trevor gives him a terse nod and a slap on the back. “Mine did too, man. Full circle, huh?”

I bow my head at the revelation as we return to the truck. I feel terrible for all the times I teased him for being cheap. An apology is necessary, though now doesn’t seem to be an appropriate time.

We repeat the pickup at five more locations. One is another grocery store, while the other four are random neighborhood checkpoints. And by the time our route is over, the truck is stuffed to capacity with donations. With each pickup, Trevor’s mood lightens. At one point, I even catch him mouthing the words to a Bon Jovi classic. It’s not much, but I’ll take it.

The last stop is to drop the boxes off at the food bank. Even I partake in the labor, taking mostly the boxes with pasta and other light goods.

By the time it’s all over, Trevor and I are flat-out exhausted. In the car, I find myself lazily studying his profile. I never noticed before, but the man has a beautiful nose. Perfectly straight. Proportionate to his face. It’s slightly pointed, almost pretty boy, contradicting the rest of his gruff exterior.

When he side-eyes me, I blink, stopping myself from staring at him.

“Hot tub when we get back?” he asks, moving a hand over his right shoulder. He winces slightly as he reaches for his seat belt.

“Yes. I need it. Is your shoulder okay?”

“Yeah, all good. It acts up once in a while. I dislocated it in rugby, and again a couple of years back during a fire call. It hasn’t been the same since.” He reaches over the console and nudges my arm. “Hey, thanks for coming today.”

“Thanks for bringing me, even if I annoyed you.”

He pins me with a small smile as we pull out of the parking lot. “Not at all. Everyone loves you. Especially Cam,” he adds, his expression unreadable.

I snort at the memory of Cameron flirting with me when we reconvened at the food bank. He strategically positioned himself next to me while we unloaded the items. And while he’s a little too bro-ish for my liking, the attention was kind of nice, especially after my shit dating luck. “You think?”

“You make everyone smile.”

I beam like a child in a toy store. I shouldn’t get such a soaring high from a simple statement of affirmation from a friend, but I do. Mel and Crystal compliment me on the regular. But praise from noncomplimentary Trevor feels hard-earned, like junk food after working out versus junk food after lazing about on the couch all day.

We drive a couple of miles in silence. The steady squeak of the wipers nearly soothes me to sleep. With every swipe, my lids grow heavier. When my eyes close completely, his voice snaps me back to full consciousness. “My mom died when I was thirteen. In a fire.”

I pause for a moment, so as to ensure I’ve heard him correctly. “What?”

“You keep asking why I became a firefighter.”

I sit up in my seat, pin straight, cracking the window for some much-needed fresh air.

His face flickers with annoyance when I open the window, so I savor the blast of cold air for a brief few seconds before closing it again. “Summer going into eighth grade. My mom was napping inside after a double shift. My brother and I were outside with some neighborhood kids. A woman who lived in our building came running out, screaming about smoke in the building. The fire had blocked all the exits. Two firemen had to go in through the window to get her. She passed away later that day from the smoke inhalation.” His tone is emotionless, but his face is pained.

My gut clenches, unable to imagine. “I’m so sorry, Trevor.”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” he says, his eyes on the road. “Logan and I went to live with my grandma after that. The one who taught me how to bake.”

“Were you close with your grandma?”

“Yeah. That woman was no bullshit. We always joke that Angie is her reincarnation,” he says with a small smile. “When she took us in, she had to take on another job to support us. She was always worried about how we’d get through the month. I felt like shit about that. Sometimes I wonder if it’s our fault she kicked the bucket early, you know? Like maybe all the extra stress caused it.”