My throat tightens. “Love you too, Gran.”
The screen goes dark, and it’s suddenly too quiet inside.
We need to run.
For once, my fox and I agree.
I yank my shirt off over my head and toss it onto the nearest box. The silver fox pendant around my neck is cold on my chest as I head for the front door, fox stretching beneath my skin as I shove my feet into my running shoes.
I don’t give myself time to think about the boxes or putting down roots or calling someplace home. I don’t let myself think about the hollow chasm that opened in my chest when Gran asked what I wanted. I definitely don’t admit to myself that I’m not running toward the ocean and am, in truth, running away from everything that wise old woman just made me feel.
The fake rock sits beside the front steps, and I retrieve the key, lock the cottage, and slide it back into the weathered plastic shell even though my short time in Crescent Cove has already shown me that locking my door is mostly due to habit.
The citizens are too busy being overly welcoming and generally pleasant for me to worry about any real threats. I’mnot even sure their police force has much to do besides put up barricades for the next parade.
The thought almost makes me smile.
I plant one foot on the bottom step and lean into the stretch, rolling my shoulders as I listen to the distant crash of waves. I straighten, press one earbud into place, and turn toward the street.
Then freeze.
Two women are speedwalking toward my house.
The brunette I spotted through the window earlier is carrying a basket roughly the size of a Labrador. The thing is overflowing with ribbons, flowers, and every few steps the cellophane catches the sunlight and sends white flashes across my vision. The blond following at a short distance behind is balancing a three-tier cake.
My fox immediately abandons all interest in the run.
Cake.Cake!
The women get closer, and the brunette reaches my front walkway first.
She’s undeniably beautiful. Long dark hair spills over her shoulders. A pale pink dress skims her narrow curves, and a rhinestone tiara glitters on her head.
“Hey there, Maxwell,” she chirps and flashes me a bright smile.
I search my memory, but I don’t recall running into her. And she’s someone I would remember.
“Candi Honeycutt,” she supplies smoothly, reaching out a slender hand for me to shake. “Candi with anIand reigning Frosting Queen.”
The tiara makes more sense now.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, taking her small hand in mine. “And call me Max. Only my Gran uses my full name and usually only when I’m in trouble.”
“I’m Lila! Hart. Lila Hart.” The introduction arrives in a breathless rush as the blond practically screeches to a stop beside the brunette.
Hair tumbles from her messy bun, falling into golden strands that frame her flushed cheeks. Curves soften the lines of her body, lush and feminine beneath a dress that sways around her thighs in colorful stripes of coral, yellow, turquoise, and purple. The fabric dances in the breeze, the bright colors suiting her perfectly. Her lips are full and pink and parted as she catches her breath.
She’s sunshine filtered through stained glass. A meadow of wildflowers at the peak of summer. Everything about her feels warm and bright and stunningly alive.
The cake she’s carrying is considerably less put together.
Clumps of lavender frosting are smeared down one side of the tiers along with flower petals and bits of glitter. Not to mention the fact that the whole thing leans ever so slightly to the left.
The cake wobbles, and a startled squeak escapes her as she lunges forward, steadying it before it topples onto the sidewalk.
The sudden movement sends her scent rushing toward me.
“Lila…” All coherent thoughts leave my head.
