Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
LOXLEY
I was already in bed when Miles finally made it home Sunday night. I wasn’t asleep, just lying there, listening to the sound of his boots against the wooden floors. For a brief moment, I considered going out there, asking how his day had been.
But that felt like something a girlfriend would do. And I wasn’t trying to seem clingy. Miles was used to life out there alone, and I knew a part of him missed the solitude. No matter how easy things felt between us, I couldn’t forget that I was an intrusion.
Still…
As he passed my door, his steps slowed, pausing for just a beat longer than necessary. I held my breath. Was he about to knock? Check on me?
Then, just as quickly, he moved on, disappearing down the hall to his own room. I let out a slow exhale, staring at the ceiling.
The next morning, Miles was gone by the time I woke up, but a note was waiting for me next to a freshly brewed pot of coffee.
Got called in early to do some desk work today. Apparently, someone spotted Loxley Adams in Dalton, GA, so there’s no need to patrol today. Lucky me—I have a lot of reports to do instead. -Mr. Officer
I giggled, because I could hear the eye roll in his words. Not sure who they saw, but it definitely wasn’t me.
Still, the idea of someone mistaking another woman for me sparked a crazy idea in my brain. One that could probably cause more trouble than I was worth. But I’d been cooped up in that house for almost a week. I needed to get out, stretch my legs.
And somehow, I’d managed to convince myself that Miles wouldn’t mind if I borrowed his Jeep.
After all, I wanted to surprise him. Show him I wasn’t just some lump taking up space on his couch all day.
Getting dressed in actual clothes felt like freedom.
I had been in pajamas for days, and slipping into a pair of jeans and a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt practically resurrected me.
Add the wind whipping through the open windows of Miles’ Jeep, a hat that fit me way better than Sam’s crusty one did, and a pair of cheap sunglasses that somehow looked crisp, and I was feeling alive.
The music was up, and I was singing along to You Look Like You Love Me as I cruised down the same winding road Miles had taken when he brought me to his house.
I didn’t remember much about the town, but I figured once I reached the end of that road, I’d see the Harmony Hotel, and somewhere nearby, I could find fresh apples.
Because my mama had taught me two things for certain. First, it was that Sammi Smith was the most underrated woman in country music. And secondly, she taught me how to make a damn good apple pie.
I doubted Miles cared much about Sammi Smith, but a buttery pie crust stuffed with three kinds of apples? That seemed right up his alley.
It wouldn’t take long to pop into a store, grab the apples, then head back to the house where I’d spend the rest of the day baking, and maybe strumming the old guitar Miles had let me borrow.
Once I spotted the Harmony Hotel, I pulled into the parking lot and started scanning the area for something else familiar. Like a Trader Joe’s or a Fresh Market.
Unfortunately, I didn’t see anything like that, but there was a big sign a few blocks up that read, Piggly Wiggly. Surely that was somewhere that had apples.
“Good enough,” I muttered, flipping my turn signal on and heading back down the main street before pulling into another parking lot. I adjusted my hat lower over my forehead, grabbed my small wallet, and slid out of the Jeep, keeping my head down and my pace quick.
Thankfully, the produce section was right up front, and within a minute, I had three kinds of apples tucked in every crevice I could find to help me carry them all.
“Excuse me,” a gentle voice said along with a soft tap on my forearm. I jumped before turning to find an older woman smiling up at me. “You’re supposed to put the apples in a plastic bag, dear.”
“Oh.” I smiled, keeping my gaze slightly lowered. “I didn’t see those.”
“That’s because you have your sunglasses on.”
“Oh,” I repeated, feeling increasingly dumb. “I was just in a hurry, I guess.”
“Well, here.” She plucked a bag from the roll, opened it with ease, and took the apples from under my arms and chin before sliding them inside. “Let me.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
“No problem at all,” she chuckled, tying a neat knot at the top. “What are you planning to make?”
“An apple pie.” My lips curved. “My mama taught me years ago. I haven’t made one in a while, but I think it’s time to see if I remember.”
“Oh, I love apple pie! Don’t forget to use unsalted, cold, cold butter.”
She was right. Unsalted. And I had no idea if Miles had that at the house. I nodded and pointed toward the dairy aisle. “Good call. I better grab some while I’m here.”
Before I could slip away, she touched my arm again, her warm eyes meeting mine.
“And don’t forget to grate the cinnamon,” she added softly. “Makes all the difference in the world.”
I swallowed, my chest tightening. She was right again. A fresh pang of homesickness settled in, and I thought about calling my mama. When I was ready to get back to being Loxley, the first thing I was changing was how often I called home.
With that thought, and the right ingredients in my arms, I headed toward the checkout.
The line wasn’t long, but I found myself standing behind a girl about my age, her phone pressed to her ear as she idly poked at a tabloid in the checkout display. My own face stared back at me from the corner of the cover.
"Diva Demands Do-Over!"
For the love of God.
Even I was curious what that meant. Whatever it was, it wasn’t true, but I had to admit, the absurdity of those stories sometimes gave me a good laugh. I was just about to grab a copy when the girl in front of me reached for the same one.
“Loxley Adams,” she muttered into the phone, dragging a manicured nail across my face. “How about that?”
I stiffened. I almost responded with, “Like what?” Then I remembered she wasn’t talking to me. She was talking about me.
“The color of her hair,” she clarified to whoever was on the phone. “It’s platinum. I bet the lady down at Tunes & Tresses could match it.”
The line moved forward, and she tossed the tabloid onto the conveyor belt along with the rest of her groceries.
Then she laughed.
“Look, I bet Loxley’s somewhere in Mexico with her feet up, eating only the brown M&Ms and demanding peacocks wake her up every morning with a soft caw.”
My snort was loud. Too loud.
“I envy her,” she told me, smiling, like that somehow made her assumptions more reasonable. “I’d trade places with her so fast. The least I could do is have that hair color.”
I forced a nod, hoping she’d go back to her phone call, but she lingered, staring at my ponytail just a little too long.
Shit.
“Got it done at ‘Chop It Like It’s Hot’ in Jefferson,” I blurted, thinking as quickly as I could. “Check them out. Tell ‘em Belle sent ya.”
Her eyes lit up. “I’ll do that.”
She paid for her things and walked off, still rambling into her phone about this amazing salon she had to check out. I had no idea if Jefferson was a real place, and I was fairly certain there wasn’t a salon called Chop It Like It’s Hot, but that was no longer my problem.
I had my apples, my cinnamon and butter, and it was time to get the hell back to Miles’ house.
Sliding back into Miles’ Jeep, I shook off the lingering adrenaline from almost being caught. I’d pulled off being invisible and everything had gone perfectly.
Until I reached for the ignition and found nothing.
My stomach dropped.
“Oh no.”
I patted my pockets. Checked the seat. The console. The floor.
Nothing.
“Where’s the key?”