“Hey, sweet girl,” she murmurs against my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Better now,” I say honestly.
“You headed to the salon?”
“Ha. Unless someone has stepped up to manage it for me after all of these years.” I chuckle.
“It might not be as tough as you think.” She winks. “But that’s a conversation for another day.” She gives me another tight embrace before I rush in the direction of To Dye For.
It’s only October, but my mind drifts north. I can’t help but try to imagine the Sycamore Mountain leaves. A virtual patchwork quilt of yellows, oranges, and reds fluttering over winding roads. It’s been months since I saw Ellie. Months sincehewas here.My heart tightens, the memory sharp as a blade. That look of hurt in his eyes when I pushed him away.
I can’t believe I have the blouse I wore that night still under my pillow. It’s ridiculous. I didn’t even do anything like that as a silly teen obsessed with romance novels. But the faint scent of his cologne still clings to the fabric, and some nights, it’s the only thing that lulls me to sleep.
The way my heart leaped at the sight of him, how easy it was to get lost in his arms. And how terrified I felt for wanting it so desperately. But he’s a temptation I can’t afford. Not when I’ve spent half mylife looking over my shoulder, afraid they might finally make good on their threat to find me after what I’d accused them of doing.
I whisper the lyrics from that Bea Miller & 6LACK song in my head. They’ve become my armor. “It’s not you, it’s me.”Whether I want them to be true or not. I need to embrace the stanzas as my anthem.BecauseI amthe only one I need. No sense dragging anyone else into this madness. Beyond the panic that hits whenever I feel cornered, I don’t even know how to trust anymore. Not really.
Okay, that’s not entirely true. I trust Liz and Margaret with my life. They’ve been my safety vest in this storm. Ellie too. I’ve only held back my past from her to keep her safe. And deep down, I know Harrison would move mountains for me if I ever asked. My eyes sting at the realization. I’ve got far more people in my corner than I’ve let myself believe.
Life with Liz and Margaret gave me stability. The kind I’d never had before. But I can’t keep letting them stand between me and the danger that follows me like a shadow. I’m grown now. It’s time I protect myself.
It’s been months since anyone’s lurked on the sidewalk, no strange men in aviators staring through the window. Maybe Liz and Margaret were right. He was probably some bored tourist, curious about this odd little seaside town.Nothing more.
I take a deep breath, forcing my pulse to steady as I push open the salon door. No sense giving these thoughts any more energy. The bell jingles, followed by Norma Jean’s cheerful voice.
“Well, look who finally decided to join us! I was fixin’ to send out a search party.”
“Had to stop for caffeine,” I tease, holding up my latte. I admit I’ve gotten off track with my morning routine. Thanks in part to the scent of “Smoke.”
From the back room, Margaret’s voice carries out, dry as ever. “That’s what you said yesterday. You’re gonna turn into a pumpkin spice latte if you’re not careful.”
“Oh, I haven’t jumped on the pumpkin spice train. I like their regular roast.” Tipping my cup in the air for impact, I lower it andtake another fortifying sip before depositing it at my station in preparation for my day.
Fancy, of course, has already wandered in, plopping into a chair like she owns the place. “Did y’all hear about the mayor’s nephew? They say he’s startin’ a Christmas light business?—”
“Don’t start, Fancy,” Norma warns, wagging her comb. “Let the man make a living before you run his reputation into the ground.”
I laugh, the sound lighter than I feel. The salon smells like hairspray and cinnamon muffins, a cozy little bubble that makes it easy to pretend everything’s fine.
As the daywinds down and I’m closing the blinds, the peace from earlier seems to falter. I can’t put my finger on it. The quiet feels too still.
Suffocating.
I step out into the dusky evening and lock the store. The sky is painted more mauve than gold tonight. My keys jingle in my hand as I approach my car.
That’s when I see it.
A folded piece of paper tucked under my windshield wiper.
My heart stutters. I glance around the nearly empty parking lot, but no one’s there. With shaking fingers, I pluck the note free and unfold it. Only five words are scrawled across the page, in a handwriting I don’t recognize.
You can’t hide from me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DAVE
The paint aislesmells like sawdust and confusion. Matt stands in front of a wall of sample cards, arms crossed, brows pinched as if he’s about to solve a national crisis instead of picking out a color for his twins’ nursery.
