Chapter 32 – Rhiannon
“Oh my god. He roofied you!?” my cousin Natasha practically shouts, her voice echoing through the quiet aisles of our family thrift store. She’s leaned over the counter now, brown eyes wide, and completely unfiltered with her reactions.
“Shh!” I hiss, glancing around like Rebel himself might stroll in at any second and sue me for defamation. The last thing I need is another celebrity suing me.
The store is completely empty, which is unsurprising, but my newfound paranoia makes it feel like I’m constantly being watched.
If I weren’t still so shaken up by everything that happened, I’d probably laugh because this isn’t who I am.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I had no idea. But thankfully someone saw it all happen, because I’m not sure I’d have made it out of the bathroom, let alone home.”
Natasha shakes her head, her expression dark. “I bet Gabe’s pissed.”
She reaches behind the counter and hefts up a child-sized play desk that’s recently come in. It’s hand-carved, beautifully detailed with little designs of Disney characters, and absolutely adorable.
Gabriel refurbished it himself, sanding it down and applying a fresh stain to restore its charm and add a new twist. Normally, he’d put in a few more special touches but lately, his job in the city has been consuming his focus and time.
“He was mad, yeah. But at Rebel, not me of course,” I say, brushing my fingers over the desk’s smooth surface. “I felt terrible.”
She nods. “It sounds like he understood that it wasn’t your fault.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, thinking back to Cain’s advice to stay away from him and what Gabriel said about giving Cain a chance.
“Gabe thinks that we both need to ‘lighten up’ and start dating again. Model work and play to Eden better.”
Natasha arches an eyebrow as I grab a sticker, scribble $20 on it, and attach it to the desk before tugging it to the floor.
“I agree with him. You two really stepped up when Uncle Daniel and Aunt Linda passed away, and you’ve done an incredible job raising Eden, but you’ve put so much pressure on yourselves.
You’re missing out on your twenties while trying to keep the store afloat and still pretending like Eden’s a kid.
She’s eighteen years old now and a full adult.
She doesn’t need you hovering anymore. It’s time to spread your wings and fly. ”
I laugh. “That’s essentially what he said, but rich coming from you. When was the last time that you went on a date?”
She points the marker I just capped at my forehead. “I’m working all the time.”
“You don’t have to, though.”
Natasha works insane hours at our small-towns bar and in her free time, helps cover shifts at the thrift store for us.
But beyond that, her parents, my aunt and uncle, are some of the richest people I know.
The only problem is that she refuses to touch any of their money due to a fall out that they had years ago.
I don’t blame her. Ever since my parents passed, they haven’t made any effort to keep in touch with Gabriel, Eden or myself. It’s like our connection to their family died with their sister. Thankfully, Natasha and her older brother Roman have stayed close with us.
“I’m practically running Brookhaven Brews by myself, and you know it. When would I have time to date?”
I snort. “That’s what I told Gabriel.”
I lift the desk and weave through the crowded aisles packed with shelves, sectionals and dressers until I find a spot for it in the children’s section.
The store smells like wood polish and lavender air freshener, and the space is crammed full of treasures just waiting for new homes.
I love being in here, it reminds me of when I was a little girl and would tag along with my siblings to the store on the weekend’s when my mom and dad had to work. Gabriel and I would duck in and out of the rows of stacked furniture, playing tag until our parents were ready to leave.
A pang rushes through my chest at the memory and how badly I miss them. I rub there and before I can ask Natasha if there’s anything else that needs stocking, the cheerful jingle of the front doorbells signals a customer arrival.
Setting the desk down near the other kid-sized furniture, I straighten and make my way back to the front.
My cousin is already talking to someone at the front, a striking young woman with dark blonde hair, soft, round green eyes, and a warm smile wearing a chic leather jacket.
The woman is flipping through a rack of vintage curtains, chatting animatedly with my cousin like they’ve known each other forever.
As I approach, Natasha glances at me with a mischievous grin, clearly plotting something.
“Rhiannon,” she says, waving me over. “Come meet Rosie. She just moved to Brookhaven from New York City.”
Rosie? Why does that name sound so familiar. “Hi, Rhiannon Carpenter. I’m one of the owner’s here.”
As Rosie turns to greet me, I can’t help but notice her eyes are sharp, assessing, and there’s something so memorable about them.
“Hi,” she says, turning and smiling at me.
“You just moved to Brookhaven? Are you a commuter to the city? It’s always fascinating to meet someone who moves here after living in the city of dreams.”
She smiles kindly. “My place here is more of a weekend getaway. I wanted to be close to the water, and since Brookhaven’s just a train ride away from the city, with the prettiest and largest lake this close, it felt perfect. I’m loving it so far.”
I nod. “Well, welcome to our town. It’s small, but there’s lots to do. Especially this time of the year with the holidays. And when the lake freezes over and we get snow, it’s magical if you’re into ice skating.”
She smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind. Might need someone to teach me how to skate, though.”
“Is there anything we can help you find today?”
“I’m looking for a lamp for my new home office. I want something unique that’s different from what everyone else has.”
“Well, we have plenty of unique items here. What made you interested in buying second-hand?”
“Repurposed items feel more sustainable, kinder to the environment, which is something that’s important to me. I’m exhausted by consumerism.”
I nod. “I completely agree. My whole home is furnished with repurposed or secondhand pieces.”
Mostly because that’s all we can afford but I also like that we’re not adding to the growing environmental crisis that discarded furniture fuels. That was at the heart of why our parents started the thrift store and got into restoration in the first place.
When the shop was doing well, they’d donate any extra proceeds to environmental research charities.
“Let me show you our lighting section,” I say, gesturing for her to follow me.
Normally, I’m not on the shop floor—Natasha handles the day-to-day while I manage the website and inventory management—but today, I’d dropped in to help out since I didn’t have any therapy appointments lined up and to catch up with her about my meeting with Rebel.
If I can help land a sale while I’m here, all the better.
This month has been tight with hardly any revenue now that colder weather has moved in, and it’s going to be difficult to meet our newly increased rent.
I make a mental note to discuss this with Gabriel when he gets home tonight as we weave through the aisles, past vintage tables and refurbished chairs, until we reach the corner of the store dedicated to lighting.
“These are the lamps that we currently have in stock. If none of these fit your style, we’d be happy to keep an eye out for something specific.
We’re constantly adding new inventory. My older brother can restore pretty much anything, so if you find something on your own but want it changed, we can do that as well. ”
She takes her time browsing the section, her fingers grazing the cool metal of a floor lamp designed to look like a waterfall, with adjustable arms that allow the bulbs to be directed in various angles. It’s definitely unique and a little bit funky.
She pulls it out for a closer look, tilting her head as if imagining it in her new space.
“Where’s your house in Brookhaven?”
She nods with her head. “Directly across from here on the other side of the lake. The two story with the wrap around porch."
"I bet that’s fun to sit on at night.”
She smiles. “It is, though it needs some upgrades. There’s also a dock that stretches down to the water for a boat but I’m not sure I’m cut out for boat life yet.”
“What kind of work do you do? It might help us narrow down what style lamp would suit your office best.”
She smiles, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “I’m a lawyer.”
And the second she says it, it all clicks. That’s why her name sounds so familiar.
Cain mentioned having a younger sister once in passing, and my bet is this is her.
Rosie Prescott.
She’d been on set the day Rebel filmed his music video, though I hadn’t realized who she was, or paid much attention to her at the time. And sure, there are thousands of lawyers in New York City, but none with green eyes like Cain’s. They’re the same ones that I’ve stared into many nights now.
She’s not just some random attorney making a pit stop in Brookhaven to pick up a vintage floor lamp. No, she’s here because I ignored Cain’s calls this morning and was too nervous to listen to the voicemail that he left behind.
Because I’ve been staring at my phone for hours, drafting and deleting the same half-hearted apology text again.
The text that tells him I’m scared, but I want to stop running.
That I want to tell him three truths and no lies.
That I want to take a chance on him seeing me completely, but I’m scared of what he’ll find.
“Do you happen to work for Prescott & Associates law firm?”
She stops what she’s looking at and turns to smile at me. “Sorry, Rhiannon, I know this probably seems strange. I didn’t realize this was your store until I met Natasha.”
“Did Cain tell you to come?”