Chapter 9 Nikki
Nikki
James and I walk through the library. It’s quiet, no one’s here. Being a Saturday, most people are watching sports or out doing things. The swelling around my eye has completely gone, so now I’m just left with a small bruise, the Arnica Sutton gave me helping immensely.
“Sutton was nice yesterday,” James comments as we move down the rows of books, flicking through some before we move to the next.
“I saw you guys chatting at the diner yesterday. What were you talking about?” I was going to ask him last night, but by the time we both shoveled in some lasagna and had showers, he was out like a light.
“Just stuff. He helped me a little with my project.”
I smile. “That’s nice of him.”
“Yeah. He asked about… us.” Now he has my full attention.
“Asked what, exactly?” I’m cautious. Not because I fear Sutton, but because I fear everyone.
“Just asked about my dad. He thinks you’re my mom.” James rolls his eyes, knowing that’s what most people think.
I nod, then ask, “Did you tell him the truth?”
“No. I stayed quiet, just like you’ve told me to. He said his dad was bad growing up too.”
Sutton opening up to James is nice, as is helping him with his homework, but I’m still scared for us to get too close.
He isn’t the only one. I see Rochelle watching me too, her husband, the sheriff, is always looking at us when he comes into the diner as well.
At least their looks are compassionate, not looks of callousness.
“Good. He can work out that you’re my brother in his own time. We don’t need to go filling in the blanks. Not with him, not with anybody.” I pause as we walk toward the magazine section, because there, on the stand, is Sutton’s image staring right at me.
“Look.” James grabs it, the magazine next to it, and the one next to that, all with him on the cover.
The photos are from a red carpet. A beautiful woman on his arm, her grin as wide as his.
He looks different, almost too polished, too airbrushed and nothing like the guy I serve in the diner every day.
Nothing like the man who touched my cheek like I was the most delicate and most important person in that moment.
“Yep, he’s a real-life movie star.” It all feels so surreal.
In my former life, I met some important people.
Chairman of boards, dignitaries, senior professors, all who were at our various galas and balls that my father and his company held every year.
There were also celebrities, athletes, movie stars like Sutton.
Dad would probably love to have Sutton in his inner circle.
That thought gives me pause, wondering if they’ve already met.
“I think we can trust him, Nikki.” James is a good judge of character. He picked up on how awful Maribel was the minute Dad introduced us. She proved him right in every way.
“Maybe. Time will tell.” I need proof. I can no longer just make assumptions that people are genuine, nice, decent humans. If our own stepmother can’t be that, then I hesitate to think a Hollywood movie star is.
“He watches you, you know.” James is also observant.
My heart beats just a little faster. “I know.”
“I think he likes you.”
I look at him pointedly. “He’s just a friend.”
“Yeah, but you’ve never had a boyfriend. Not that I met anyway. Why don’t you—”
I cut him off. “I think we need more Benjamin Franklin and less Sutton Silvers this morning, don’t you?”
He rolls his eyes at me again. He might be younger than me, yet with his height and maturity, he comes across as older sometimes.
But I need to stop the conversation. Boyfriend?
Sutton? Those two things just don’t go together.
Sure, he’s hiding, just like we are. But for him, it’s temporary.
He’ll go back to LA in a few months, maybe even weeks, and jump into the spotlight again, a gorgeous model on his arm no doubt, flashing his smile to everyone he meets, just like what’s on the cover of these magazines.
Me? Hiding is permanent, and the plight of it all feels insurmountable.
“Fine. Let’s go to the history section.” Once he puts the magazine back on the shelf, we walk to the other side of the library.
I wander after him, feeling Sutton’s eyes on me from the magazine shelf the entire way.
James is right; he does watch me. Every day.
And he didn’t need to drive us home yesterday, but he did.
When he passed me the bag from the drugstore, I couldn’t believe it.
Not only had he thought of everything I needed, but when I saw a few bags of peanut butter cups, I almost cried.
Not because they’re the only treat I love, and I haven’t indulged in them for months, but because he listened.
I mentioned it to him in passing, and he remembered.
He also didn’t need to give me his number. I was hesitant, not wanting to give anyone our number, but last night, when I sat with my thoughts, I realized that he gave me his too. A Hollywood megastar handed me his number. He trusts me, and now maybe I need to trust him.
“I just want to look through this one.” James grabs a book about our founding fathers and takes a seat at the small lounge nearby. He flicks through a few pages, coming to a halt when he spots the chapter on Benjamin Franklin.
As he does, I find my cell in my bag. I hardly use it. It's so the school or Rochelle can contact me, mainly. My thumb brushes over the screen. This is probably a really bad idea, but I take a photo of the magazine rack, my stomach swirling as I put together a text.
Even the library has you all over their shelves.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I send the text quickly and immediately cringe. God, it feels like forever since I texted a man. But I need to start trusting someone. I need to have someone in my corner.
I look at the screen, seeing no bubbles or indication that he’s seen it. The stupid message stays unread, and I throw my cell back in my bag, remorse for sending it already sinking into my shoulders.
“I’ll just go look at the noticeboard.” Stepping away from James, I walk to the far wall, coming face-to-face with the large community noticeboard that’s been like a lifeline for us.
This board is where I found our cottage.
It’s also where I learned about the diner needing a waitress and found some free secondhand furniture and items for our home. It’s my good luck board.
“Hey, Nikki.”
Looking up, I see Daisy, a new local resident, who moved here not long ago.
Always bright and bubbly, her boyfriend owns the luxury whiskey distillery in town, the Whiteman men well known and central figures around here.
They’re both nice guys, although I don’t speak to them much.
I keep my head low, my presence small, not wanting any attention.
“Hi, Daisy.” I shuffle back as she pins something to the board.
She turns to me and smiles. “I’m starting a new class, if you’re interested?”
I look at the paper she pinned. A new community yoga class at her studio down the street.
“Oh, um, I can’t. I have work during the day and have James after school.” I swallow my disappointment. I used to do yoga, all through high school and college. It was the only thing that kept me sane. I really miss it.
“It’s at night, so bring James. Kids love yoga, and even if he doesn’t, he can always sit in my office and read or play games.”
James would probably hate yoga but would actually love the peace and quiet of a studio where he can escape with a good book. I look back at the paper and bite my lip. It doesn’t have the price on it. My rule of thumb in life is, if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.
“I don’t think I can do it.”
“Are you sure? It’s free. It’s a community night,” she tells me softly, like she already knows my inner thoughts.
My brow pinches. “Community night?”
“Yeah, one night a week, open for all, no cost to anyone. I’m trying to talk Rochelle into coming. I think it would do her good to stretch out her back.”
That makes me smile. It would do her good.
“I do miss it.” My voice is low, like I’m talking to myself, but Daisy catches it, and her face lights up.
“You’ve done yoga before?”
Shit. I said too much.
“Not much. Just a little in college.” I try to wave it off.
“Oh, what college did you go to?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m getting too relaxed around here.
“Just a small college,” I say simply, not offering more information.
Her face falters, and I feel bad. It’s a stupid response. Obviously, my college has a name. But I can’t give it. The silence around us turns awkward, and I inwardly break a little.
“Oh… well… I’m always looking for yoga buddies…
” Her voice lifts at the end, sounding hopeful, and I know better than most what it’s like to move to a small town and have no friends.
Daisy has friends, but I’m sure she’d like more.
She’s about my age, super friendly, and we seem to get along whenever we talk.
“Maybe I can come this week?” I’m tentative.
I don’t want to promise her; I’ll probably chicken out on the day.
But I do love yoga, and while walking home in the dark isn’t my idea of a good time, especially after getting mugged, Whispers is generally quiet, so I don’t fear it like I probably should.
“I’ll save you a mat. I can’t wait. See you then!” She has an extra spring in her step as she walks out.
“Bye!” I shout after her as James walks up.
“Nikki, look.” He points to the noticeboard, and I read the paper. Bikes free to a good home.
Giddy, I grab the paper, knowing that will cut our commute in half. “Oooh, looks like we’ve just found some transport.”