Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAR
A light ocean breeze greets me the moment I step out of my car, carrying the scent of sugar and cinnamon from The Gingerbread Man bakery down the block. The sun’s barely up, but Candy Cane Key is already humming with activity.
“Morning, Mrs. Fletcher,” I call as she wrestles a tray of petunias into her car.
“Morning, sweetheart,” she replies, waving her gloved hand. “Don’t forget the town meeting tonight. We’re startin’ on the Christmas parade plans early this year.”
I stop in my tracks. “It’s only October.”
She shrugs, laughing. “Honey, around here, it’s always Christmas.”
What was I thinking?
Even the lampposts still wear their peppermint-striped paint from last season. The whole town’s gearing up for the holidays. The fall festival is planned for next week, and the Thanksgiving charity drive right after that. The air practically smells like pumpkin spice and nostalgia.
As I stroll down the sidewalk, I spot Salty Jo outside the diner, balancing a tray of coffee cups.
He catches sight of me and hollers, “Char, you tell Norma Jean I said she owes me a haircut and a shave! And don’t let her forget that scalp massage that comes with it.
” He beams. “I’ll save the mani pedi for you. ”
“Oh, lord.” I bend over in a fit of giggles. “Lucky me!” I snort. “I’ll tell Norma Jean to be ready for you!” I shout back.
Sheesh. There’s Fancy. She’s leaning against the post office steps, phone in hand, eyes sharp and curious as ever.
Good grief, this menace of a woman. She can sniff out a secret faster than a bloodhound on barbecue day.
I contemplate ducking and running the other way until her eyes connect with mine.
So, I plaster on a polite smile and wave. “Morning, Fancy.”
“Char! You’ll never believe what I just heard—”
But I don’t slow down. “Sorry, running late!” I call, picking up my pace until I’m nearly power-walking past her. “Gotta get to work. Busy day.”
A few steps ahead, I catch sight of Liz across the street. Her silver hair in its usual messy bun, to-go coffee in one hand, tote bag in the other. Relief floods through me. “Mom!” I wave, darting across just in time for a big, warm hug that smells like cinnamon and safety.
“Hey, sweet girl,” she murmurs against my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Better now,” I say honestly.
“You headed to the salon?”
“Ha. Unless someone has stepped up to manage it for me after all of these years.” I chuckle.
“It might not be as tough as you think.” She winks. “But that’s a conversation for another day.” She gives me another tight embrace before I rush in the direction of To Dye For.
It’s only October, but my mind drifts north.
I can’t help but try to imagine the Sycamore Mountain leaves.
A virtual patchwork quilt of yellows, oranges, and reds fluttering over winding roads.
It’s been months since I saw Ellie. Months since he was here.
My heart tightens, the memory sharp as a blade.
That look of hurt in his eyes when I pushed him away.
I can’t believe I have the blouse I wore that night still under my pillow. It’s ridiculous. I didn’t even do anything like that as a silly teen obsessed with romance novels. But the faint scent of his cologne still clings to the fabric, and some nights, it’s the only thing that lulls me to sleep.
The way my heart leaped at the sight of him, how easy it was to get lost in his arms. And how terrified I felt for wanting it so desperately.
But he’s a temptation I can’t afford. Not when I’ve spent half my life looking over my shoulder, afraid they might finally make good on their threat to find me after what I’d accused them of doing.
I whisper the lyrics from that Bea Miller & 6LACK song in my head.
They’ve become my armor. “It’s not you, it’s me.
” Whether I want them to be true or not.
I need to embrace the stanzas as my anthem.
Because I am the only one I need. No sense dragging anyone else into this madness.
Beyond the panic that hits whenever I feel cornered, I don’t even know how to trust anymore. Not really.
Okay, that’s not entirely true. I trust Liz and Margaret with my life.
They’ve been my safety vest in this storm.
Ellie too. I’ve only held back my past from her to keep her safe.
And deep down, I know Harrison would move mountains for me if I ever asked.
My eyes sting at the realization. I’ve got far more people in my corner than I’ve let myself believe.
Life with Liz and Margaret gave me stability. The kind I’d never had before. But I can’t keep letting them stand between me and the danger that follows me like a shadow. I’m grown now. It’s time I protect myself.
It’s been months since anyone’s lurked on the sidewalk, no strange men in aviators staring through the window. Maybe Liz and Margaret were right. He was probably some bored tourist, curious about this odd little seaside town. Nothing more.
I take a deep breath, forcing my pulse to steady as I push open the salon door. No sense giving these thoughts any more energy. The bell jingles, followed by Norma Jean’s cheerful voice.
“Well, look who finally decided to join us! I was fixin’ to send out a search party.”
“Had to stop for caffeine,” I tease, holding up my latte. I admit I’ve gotten off track with my morning routine. Thanks in part to the scent of “Smoke.”
From the back room, Margaret’s voice carries out, dry as ever. “That’s what you said yesterday. You’re gonna turn into a pumpkin spice latte if you’re not careful.”
“Oh, I haven’t jumped on the pumpkin spice train. I like their regular roast.” Tipping my cup in the air for impact, I lower it and take another fortifying sip before depositing it at my station in preparation for my day.
Fancy, of course, has already wandered in, plopping into a chair like she owns the place. “Did y’all hear about the mayor’s nephew? They say he’s startin’ a Christmas light business—”
“Don’t start, Fancy,” Norma warns, wagging her comb. “Let the man make a living before you run his reputation into the ground.”
I laugh, the sound lighter than I feel. The salon smells like hairspray and cinnamon muffins, a cozy little bubble that makes it easy to pretend everything’s fine.
As the day winds down and I’m closing the blinds, the peace from earlier seems to falter. I can’t put my finger on it. The quiet feels too still.
Suffocating.
I step out into the dusky evening and lock the store. The sky is painted more mauve than gold tonight. My keys jingle in my hand as I approach my car.
That’s when I see it.
A folded piece of paper tucked under my windshield wiper.
My heart stutters. I glance around the nearly empty parking lot, but no one’s there. With shaking fingers, I pluck the note free and unfold it. Only five words are scrawled across the page, in a handwriting I don’t recognize.
You can’t hide from me.