This is ridiculous, Jo.
“Can I help you?” a woman’s voice calls gently from behind the counter.
I turn.
And the air leaves my lungs. It’s not resemblance. It’s replication.
Same high cheekbones. Same sharp inner brow line. Same chin cleft depth. Same slight asymmetry in the right shoulder. Everyone has a lower one.
Older.
Yes.
But the structure beneath the skin is unmistakable.
Chapter
Ten
JOSEPHINE
My mind scrambles for logic. Genetics. That’s it. Family resemblances amplified across generations.
The woman smiles politely.
Mid-sixties, maybe. Red hair threaded with silver, braided neatly. Eyes a startling lavender-gray that feel older than her face.
“I’m just looking,” I manage.
My voice sounds thin.
She studies me a second longer than a casual shopkeeper should. Not suspicious. Remembering me from earlier.
“You’re Ash’s friend,” she says too warmly.
“Nope. Neighbor.”
Her forehead knits. Like she takes it personally. But why?
I ignore it, drifting further down the aisle to avoid her gaze. The museum photo burns in my memory. So does the sketch. I pull out my phone casually, as if texting.
But we both know I only have one bar, and that’s scanty in spots.
I angle it toward a display of work gloves. Tilt slightly. Frame her reflection in the convex security mirror above the counter. Click.
My pulse spikes. She doesn’t react. Or maybe she does, and I miss it.
I move again, forcing my breathing to slow. This is absurd. I need a reason to be here.
My eyes land on a stack ofFarmer’s Almanacsnear the front.
I grab one. Of course. Astronomical references. Solstice timings. Perfectly rational. Suggested by Ash.
When I approach the counter, she’s watching me in that same quiet way. “Find what you needed?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say quickly, holding up the almanac. “For research.”
Her gaze darts to the cover, then back to me. “Yes,” she says mildly. “Because of the rock art.”
