The corners of my mouth turn down. I avoided town, only to find most of the town is here. Must be some kind of event. Hugo mentioned he made the decision, along with his sister and his mother, to expand on the offerings of the already bustling olive mill. He called it agro-tourism. Olive oil tastings, cooking classes led by his sister, and hosting events. Hugo mentioned they're considering splurging on some kind of locally built fancy wedding arch so they can begin offering weddings.
Since I'm steering clear of everybody, that would include any and all gatherings, though I admit, I am just a little curious. I'd like to see what Hugo and his family have accomplished, but it'll have to be another time because there is no way in hell I want to run into people on my first night back. I'm almost positive they won't know it's me, especially once I introduce myself as Peter.
There will be no using my real name while I'm here. The very last thing I want or need is Daisy St. James finding out I'm back, even if only temporarily. I'm not here to disrupt her peace, or the life she's built for herself. Just like all those years ago, the most thoughtful gift I can give Daisy is to be absent from her life. Back then it was for her own good, and it’s much the same now. Who am I to show up and throw a wrench in whatever it is she’s doing? Then again, maybe it would mean nothing to her to see me again. Maybe she’d sayPenn, oh my gosh, how are you?and offer me a friendly, incredulous hug and we’d make smalltalk that would fizzle out, leaving us checking our watches and making excuses to scurry away. But probably not.
Daisy and I might have been kids, but we were something exceptional and outrageous. Lungs beginning their first deep breath. Possibility a hair’s breadth from discovery. We hadpotentialwithcertainty.
Selfishly, I want to hunt her down and force myself into her orbit. Catch her eye and the rise of her chest as she gasps. It could just as easily be from horror as relief, and the thought pulls me from nostalgia and puts me squarely back where I belong.
Fuck, but it hurts.
Necessary though, so I press on, driving around back of a different building and slowing to a stop. I could leave, but then I risk drawing more attention to myself by going back the way I came, and since there is no other exit, I'll hide away back here and wait for the sun to set.
It's fine. Concealment is my modus operandi for the next month anyway. After that, I'll point my truck west, hopefully with a bank account newly padded with cash, and leave Olive Township in the dust.
For a second time.
Chapter 3
Penn
My seat belt is off,window down and playing a word game on my phone with my foot propped up on the dash, when I see her.
Legs for days in a dress that hits just above her knees. Blonde hair, curled and long and sweeping the middle of her back. She clutches a champagne bottle by the neck as she scurries across the grass, checking behind her as she darts.
Is there anywhere to really go from here? The olive orchards begin, and then stretch on and on. Beyond this grassy lawn, there is nothing to do. Nowhere to go.
She throws another look over her shoulder, prompting me to peer in the same direction. What is it she's checking for? Is somebody coming after her? My hackles are up, but nothing comes of it. No wild animals, or wild people. There is nobody out here except her and the insistent hum of the air conditioning units. And me.
I should probably look away, give her a modicum of privacy. I'll bet she thinks nobody's out here, and here I am sitting in my truck like a creep, watching her.
Yep, I should look away. It's just that, well, she's teetering around in those tall heels, each one sinking halfway into the soft earth as she goes. She's probably going to twist an ankle.
She stumbles slightly, her forward progression halted by a spike that has sunk all the way into the dirt. She makes tiny fists at her sides and pumps them angrily, just once. With one knee bent to make up for the height difference from her sunken shoe, she tips her face up at the sky. I'll bet what she really wants to do right now is let out a scream, but judging by the quiet around me, the most expressive sound she's making is a groan. Speculation, of course, but the way her shoulders are bunched, she resembles a string pulled taut.
She's ok, right?
Is she pulled so taut that she might snap?
Fuck. I can't sit here and wait for her to lose it. I can't have that on my conscience.Well, you see, I saw a distressed woman, but did not offer help.
My mother may not be alive anymore, but something tells me she would come back from the dead and break a paddle on my ass the way she always threatened. Jokingly, I think, and back before the bad stuff started happening.
The woman bends to cup a hand around her heel, yanking at the trapped shoe. It comes away from the dirt without difficulty. She peels it off her foot, rears back, and fires it across the yard. She takes one more step, realizes she is now off-balance because of the other heel, and chucks that one, too. It lands near the second one, halfway between her and a set of Adirondack chairs.
Um, yeah. She's a brand of pissed I haven't seen in some time. And Lord only knows why. But here I am, tossing my phone in the passenger seat with a soft thud.
"Stay," I tell Slim Jim, who's been lying on his blanket in my back seat. I roll the windows down an inch and climb out, closing my door gently so I don't startle her. I walk closer, ignoring thereluctance spinning through me. I really shouldn't be doing this. So much for lying so low I was practically horizontal.
I slow as I approach. She's turned in such a way that I cannot see her full profile, but there's something familiar about the partial view. The graceful slope of the nose, the exquisite shape of the jaw. The closer I get, the more I make out her muttering.
"Of course," she sputters angrily, reaching the spot where her first shoe landed and swiping it from the ground. She snags the second shoe, saying, "This is what I get." She runs a finger over what is probably mud on the tall, pointy spike of her shoe.
I stop a handful of feet from her, careful not to crowd her. "Ma'am?" I say softly.
She whirls on me, shoe lifted.Great. She's making it into a weapon. I could disarm her in half a second, but I'd rather not have to. Her eyes flash up at me, surprised at my presence, but in those absolutely unbelievable toffee brown irises I see indignation.
That same feeling of familiarity washes over me, stronger this time.
