After Rawley described the truck, he gave Sam the tag number. After a brief conversation, Sam disconnected and Rawley got back to work. Dave hadn’t told him to leave, so he scrolled through the tire tracks again.
****
Skylar sat at her desk, the golden late-afternoon light slanting through the blinds onto crisp sheets of printer paper. The house was unnervingly quiet; the only sound was the soft rhythmic whir of the antique brass ceiling fan that cast spidery shadows across the eggshell walls. She tapped her silver fountain penagainst a leather-bound notepad, her stomach knotting as she hoped Rawley was alright. He had left more than an hour ago; with every passing minute, her concern grew. Had he headed home? Or did he go back to work, unable to return? She stared at her phone, willing it to ring.
With a heavy sigh that seemed to deflate her entire frame, she lifted her phone from the polished desktop, manicured fingers scrolling through names until his handsome face and name appeared and sent him a quick text.
Are you alright?Her lips curved into a relieved smile when she saw the bubbles dancing across the screen.
Well, he didn’t throw me out of the building. I’m back at work. I’ll talk to you later, baby. Have a great day.
You too.
Now she had no idea what to do for the remaining hours of the sweltering summer day. She had planned to write chapter twelve of her manuscript, but once Rawley showed up that plan vanished like morning mist. When her phone vibrated against the desk’s surface, she quickly snapped it up with trembling fingers, hoping to see him texting back, but it was Sydney Wright, so she pressed the green button to answer.
“Sydney, hello!”
“Hi, Skylar. I was thinking about the second Wednesday in the month for the signing. Will that be okay with you?” Sydney’s voice came through the speaker.
“Yes, it sounds perfect,” Skylar replied, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger.
“You’ll be here from ten until noon. No need for a presentation, just a straight signing. Can you send me a photo that you use so I can have a poster made? There’s a place in Spring City that can do that in no time.”
“Sure. I’ll send you the one I use on the jackets of the books.”
“Perfect. Thank you for doing this.”
“No problem. I can’t wait. Talk soon.” Skylar hung up, her thumb lingering on the warm screen.
She was anxious about the signing and hoped to ask Rawley to stop in and see her. Maybe grab lunch or at least try.
Skylar stood in front of the thermostat on the wall. The digital display glowed at seventy-two degrees.
“Bullshit. It’s not. It’s hot outside and in here too.” She jabbed at the thermostat, as if her irritation alone could force cool air through the vents. She hoped by the time her signing rolled around, the weather would be cooler.
When the day of her book signing arrived, autumn had ambushed summer with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, plunging twenty degrees overnight. It was barely fifty outside and her fingers felt like icicles. She glanced down at the sensation of fur brushing her ankles, Cosmo weaving figure-eight patterns, his blue eyes staring up expectantly as he released a plaintive meow.
“I’ll get your food in a few minutes. Geesh, aren’t you cold?” She couldn’t help but laugh when the cat flopped dramatically onto his side, then rolled to expose his white belly to the supposedly frigid air. “I guess you’re not.”
After forcing down a breakfast of toast, she retreated to her bedroom and pulled out a pair of worn-in jeans and a pastel blue cashmere sweater. This was small town, after all, and they didn’t need someone putting on airs. She wanted them to know she was one of them now, just a local girl who happened to write books.
At five minutes to ten, Skylar’s stomach twisted into knots as she stood behind a row of mahogany shelves filled with colorful spines. Her clammy hands fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. She exhaled with relief when Sydney, her red hair bouncing with each step, came back to her.
“It’s lined up out the door and around the corner,” she said, green eyes sparkling.
“Really?”
“Yes! We’ve sold over fifty copies of your books just this morning. Now you just have to sign them all.”
“I was afraid no one would show up,” Skylar admitted, tugging at a loose strand of her hair.
“Are you kidding? Between you and Cassidy Marlowe, I barely need to stock other authors.”
“I love Cassidy’s work. I met her years ago at a signing in Chicago. I heard she got married.”
“She did. To Ash Beckett. I invited her today, but they went out of town.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, wait. Ash Beckett? With Beckett Feed?”
