12. Libby
CHAPTER TWELVE
libby
I can’t help but peer out the window of Fisher’s house to look up at mine every minute or so.
Fisher is still on the roof, staring at my satellite dish.
He swore it would be an easy fix, but he’s been up there an awfully long time.
Crap. I hate burdening him with this. It’s just one more reason for him to hate me.
Another thing for him to fix. More proof that I’m nothing but a nuisance.
I promised myself that the new me wouldn’t care what people thought.
That I wouldn’t seek the approval of others any longer.
Yet I can’t help but feel like it’s an impossible expectation.
Not only because it hurts to know the people on the island don’t like me, but because I really want Fisher to like me.
Why? I haven’t a clue. It’s a waste of my energy. Every time Sutton drags me along, it’s clear as day he can’t wait to escape my company. And I’m sure the last thing he wanted was for me to show up to dinner with the people he clearly considers family.
“Oh my gosh,” Sutton squeals beside me, bouncing on the couch cushion. “I think Joey is going to win.”
Joey Berkshire has been the clear favorite since episode one. She’s a socialite who I’m pretty sure has never held a job in her life. Must be nice. I’ve been working since I was four. I met her once and liked her instantly. She’s kind, funny, and the life of the party.
The door swings open just as the host announces Joey and her partner are the winners. When the screen door clangs loudly against the frame, Sutton jumps off the couch and runs right into Fisher’s legs. “They won, they won!”
It’s hard not to melt a little when the grump’s mouth tilts up and his eyes do this twinkly thing that, in reality, is probably caused by the way the mirror ball on the television sends speckles of light refracting off every surface.
Whatever the cause, he looks deceivingly happy. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes, and did you know that Libby knows her?”
Fisher looks up, eyes finding mine, and his lips straighten into a firm line. Right. No smiling for me. “Yeah, she mentioned it at dinner. Anyway, it’s late, sweet pea. Say good night to Libby and go on up and brush your teeth.”
Sutton sticks her lip out. “But Fish?—”
He tilts his head and hits her with a look that immediately has her mouth snapping shut.
“Fine.” With a glare at him, she darts away. She rushes toward me, landing in my lap with all the pizzazz of a goose learning how to fly. “Thanks for watching with me. Promise me you’ll come to Sunday dinners from now on?”
Fisher grunts, still standing across the room. His arms are crossed over his chest and his feet are planted wide. “We don’t invite people to other people’s houses.”
Not wanting her to get in any more trouble and certainly knowing my place, I squeeze her hand. “I had so much fun tonight. Thank you for letting me watch TV with you.”
Without another second’s hesitation, I stand and head for the door, giving the growling man a wide berth.
It’s no use. Just as I pass him, he grabs me, his fingers circling my wrist in a way that sends heat flooding through me.
I haven’t enjoyed another’s touch in a long time.
Normally I flinch when I’m not expecting the contact, but for the first time in a long, long time, I don’t startle or pull away on instinct.
It’s as if my body has determined that Fisher’s touch is acceptable.
No, it’s more than that. It’s wanted. God, it’s electric .
Cheeks heating, I look up at him. Only he’s not even looking at me. He’s watching Sutton walk away. Only when she’s gone does he say, “We need to talk.”
I tug myself free of his hold, annoyed with the way my nerve endings light up at his touch.
I’m not wanted here. This man wants nothing to do with me, yet my body hasn’t gotten the message.
“Don’t worry, I won’t show up next Sunday expecting you to take me to the Knowleses’ for dinner. I get it. They’re your people.”
He frowns and his glare deepens, if that’s even possible. “Sutton is my people. You can go wherever you’re invited. And if they do invite you, you should ride with us. Don’t walk around here in the dark.”
I cough out a laugh. Is this his idea of hospitality? If it is, he sucks at it. “Okay, then.” Lifting my chin, I head for the door.
“Wait,” he says again.
Shoulders sagging, I stop, though I keep my focus fixed on my house, refusing to turn around again.
“The wire to your satellite dish was cut. You have any idea who would do that?”
Gripping my chest, I spin. “What?”
He holds out his phone. On the screen is an image of what appears to be two pieces of a wire that have clearly been torn apart. It doesn’t make sense. Why would someone cut the wire on my roof?
“Maybe it was the birds?”
Fisher gives me a you’ve got to be fucking kidding me look. It’s the expression he wears every time I open my mouth, so honestly, it’s not a surprise. “And someone’s been blowing out your pilot light.”
I give him that scowl right back. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s gone out five times, Libby.”
Six, since I lit it without his help yesterday. Not that I’ll tell him that.
“Someone is trying to scare you off this island. Any idea who it could be?”
Scoffing, I fling my arms out wide. “Take your pick. No one wants me here. Least of all you, right?”
His facial expression doesn’t change. “You’re not staying. I don’t need to do anything to run you off.”
I roll my eyes. God, this man knows how to twist a knife.
“I need you to be honest with me,” he grits out. “What are you running from? Because whatever it is, it’s come to this island, and I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who it is.”
God, I wish I could muster even half the indifference Fisher has.
More than that, I wish his words didn’t cut me so deeply.
I am running from something, and the man I’m hiding from is capable of far worse than cutting a cable line or forcing me to go without hot water.
That’s child’s play. A prank. Nothing I’ll lose sleep over, considering Brad has no idea where I am.
So long as these islanders keep their mouths shut, I’ll be safe.
“There’s nothing to tell. It’s no secret that none of you want me here, but you’ll have to do a hell of a lot more than force me to endure cold showers and refuse to serve me or order the groceries I request.”
Fisher steps onto the porch, his brows drawing together. “Refuse to what? What are you talking about?”
I keep moving as I wave him off. “It’s fine. I don’t need cable. Thanks for allowing me into your home. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way, and unless Sutton talks to me, I won’t bother you.”
“Libby, that wasn’t?—”
Without waiting for him to finish, I dash across the lawn and rush into my house. I shut the door without looking back and lean against it to catch my breath. I can’t hope that he’s standing at his door watching me. I can’t wish that he’d chase after me.
No one chases after me. At least not in the way I want to be chased.
Once my heart rate has settled, I jog up the stairs to my room and text my father.
Me: Hi Daddy, you haven’t told anyone where I am, right?
My phone rings immediately, my father’s name on the screen. Rather than answer, I send it to voicemail and text him again.
Me: Sorry, I’m out with friends so I won’t be able to hear you.
Dad: Glad to hear you’ve made friends. Hope you’re enjoying your summer so far. No, I haven’t told anyone. Is someone bothering you? Brad?
Breathing out a sigh of relief, I hold the phone to my chest. Not Brad.
Like I told Fisher, it’s nothing. Well, not nothing, but not anything sinister.
People don’t want me here, and they’re making it known.
I can deal with pranks and grumps who think I’m trying to ruin their island.
And I’m more determined than ever to change their minds.
I grew up as Hollywood’s darling. I know how to make people like me.
No matter what it takes, I’ll make sure every person on this island loves me before the end of this summer.
Everyone but Fisher. I know a lost cause when I see one.
Me: Nope. Just checking. Miss you, Daddy. Love you!
It is surprisingly difficult to avoid my next-door neighbor.
Despite my certainty that I’m the last person Fisher wants to see, I can’t go anywhere without seeing him.
In the two days I’ve been avoiding him, I’ve already hidden in two bushes, beside one tree, and behind one oversized tourist who smelled like roasted walnuts and seaweed.
It was not my first choice, but I held my breath and bore it.
I’ve just stumbled down the hill behind our houses, rather than taking the path into town, when I hear a hiss and then a spitting sound, then come face to face with a goat.
“Oh, hello, there.” Hands up, I take a step backward, then another.
The animal bows its head, showing off his impressive horns. Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good sign.
“I’m Libby,” I say as I continue to back away. “Everyone loves me. Well, okay, not everyone. But you should love me. I’m very lovable.”
“I think you’re lovable.”
I jump, my heart lurching, and the goat bleats loudly.
“Oh, Betty,” Maggie says as she walks up to the angry goat and pats him on the head. “Don’t scare Libby, you old fool.”
The thing merely grunts at her and then turns around and walks away.
Heart pounding from my near-death experience, all I can do is blink at Maggie. She’s wearing another set of overalls—deep red this time, with a hole in the knee.
“How’d you stay so calm?”
She giggles. “She’s harmless. We do need to let the sheriff know when she escapes. Though I reckon he’s a bit busy right now.”
Still a little out of sorts, I frown. “Huh?”
She smiles. “Because he’s on your roof at the moment.”
“Who is?”
“The sheriff?” She says it like it’s a question.
“Is there a sheriff other than Fisher?”
She giggles again. “No, and Fisher’s not really the sheriff.”
Now I’m really confused. I close my eyes and shake my head, hoping to clear away the fog of panic that hit me when the goat appeared. “He’s not?”
“Well, he is, but he’s not.”
Yeah, still not making any sense.
“He’s the acting sheriff. He took over for his brother. We just haven’t gotten around to electing a new one yet.”
I nod, though she lost me.
“So we should let him know about the goat.” She points to a tall wooden box at the top of the hill.
“What’s up there?”
“The police box.”
I squint at the windowless white structure with POLICE painted on the side in bold black letters.
“Fisher fits in there?” The roof of the structure comes up to my chest. I can’t imagine anyone bigger than Sutton fitting in there comfortably.
She giggles. “The police call box. It’s how we contact him.”
“Why don’t we just use a cell phone?” I pull mine from my pocket and give it a shake. Not that I have Fisher’s number.
“Because that’s not how you get in touch with the sheriff,” she says with a laugh. “But since he’s on your roof, he won’t get the message until later.”
“Right.” I do my best to keep my facial expression neutral. I’m so damn lost. “So why do we need to tell him about the goat?”
“Oh.” She peers over her shoulder in the direction the goat wandered off. “Because Betty clearly escaped.”
I nod. “Okay. Is there, like, a goat yoga class we need to return him—or her?—to?”
Maggie’s face screws up like she’s eaten a lemon. “Goat what?”
I shrug. “Goat yoga. It’s a yoga class with the goats.” I plant my hands on the ground and get into downward dog position, then throw one arm out. I have no idea how a goat would do yoga, but this is close enough.
Maggie snorts. “Oh no, the islanders don’t even yoga. Our goats definitely don’t.”
I hop back up to my feet and wipe my hands, a zing of pleasure coursing through me. It’s nice to smile with someone. “Well, then what do they do?”
Maggie tilts her head. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
I burst into laughter, and after a second, she joins me.
“I’m not sure what’s weirder: that your goats don’t yoga or that any goats do,” I say as tears blur my vision.
“Definitely that any goats do,” Maggie hiccups. “So should we let Fisher know to watch out for the goat?”
“That’s all you,” I tell her, waving as I go. I’m avoiding Fisher. And, apparently, the goats.