Chapter 2 #3
“The same to you, Hillary, dear. And Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Maxwell.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Smith. And thank you for entrusting your home to me.”
He beamed at his realtor. “I’m actually going to be a homeowner in Driftwood Bay. Want to go for a celebratory drink?”
“No, I’ll let you do that, Keaton. I want to get these inspections scheduled and the paperwork rolling. Knowing the Smiths’ attorney is a workaholic, he’ll be in his office for at least part of tomorrow and want to review everything. I should have things back from him come Monday.”
“Just text when we need to meet. For inspections and the closing. I’ll contact my landlord and let him know I won’t be renewing beyond the end of January.”
Since they were so close to the Pelican Porch, Keaton decided to have a drink there before going home. He had some leftover pizza from Pizza Perfecto that would serve as dinner tonight. But for now, he wanted to sit in a classy place and celebrate his decision to purchase the Smiths’ home.
Usually, Ben Chastain, the owner, greeted customers, but a woman in her mid-twenties was serving as hostess tonight. He approached the stand as she scrolled through her phone.
Glancing up, she said, “Sit anywhere. We’re not busy.”
He looked around, seeing only one couple in a booth and a guy he thought might be his mailman at the bar.
“I’ll head to the bar,” he told her as her eyes returned to her phone.
Keaton took a seat, and the bartender asked, “What’ll it be?”
“A Sazerac.”
“Going fancy tonight, I see. Coming right up.”
He watched the bartender mix the drink, which was basically an Old Fashioned, with whiskey and sugar, but with the added element of absinthe, which gave the taste of black licorice to every sip.
“Here you go,” the bartender said, sliding the drink over atop a napkin.
Keaton took it and spun his stool so he faced out.
Then he saw her.
She was sitting on the opposite side of the room, but he recognized her right away.
Layne. The woman from Carson and Mila’s wedding.
He remembered hearing that she and Mila were tight since kindergarten, along with another friend who couldn’t make the impromptu ceremony.
Though they’d only spoken briefly, he’d been taken with her quiet beauty.
The bob-length caramel brown hair. The moss green eyes.
The slender build with a hint of curves.
In their short conversation, she had mentioned her boyfriend, who hadn’t been able to come to the wedding since it was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and he had just started a new job.
Keaton, who had been ready to flirt with her, got the message and backed off.
What was she doing back in Driftwood Bay already? He was positive she had mentioned going to the boyfriend’s parents for Christmas. Yet here she was, all alone.
He decided it couldn’t hurt to go and say hi and took his drink, moving quietly across the bar. Sliding into the opposite seat of the booth, she looked up. Immediately, he knew she had been crying. A lot. Her eyes were swollen and red. So was her nose.
“Are you all right, Layne? It’s Keaton. Keaton Maxwell. From the wedding.”
She bit her lip, nodding woodenly at him. “I remember you,” she said softly.
“What can I do to help?” he asked, seeing she was clearly distressed. “Can I call Mila for you?”
“No,” she said emphatically. “I just need some time to myself.”
Reluctantly, he pushed himself from the booth. “Okay. I just wanted to see if there was anything you needed.”
Her gaze met his, tears swimming in her eyes. “Oh, I need a lot of things, Keaton. Most of all …” Her voice faded out.
He knelt beside her. “Tell me. I’m here for you.”
“I could use a friend right now.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Even if it’s a new friend. Of course, if I start dumping on you, you may run screaming for the hills.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it, finding it cold. “Try me. I’m a pretty steady guy. Not much scares me—or scares me off.”
For some reason, holding her hand felt like the best thing in the world. Different from any other time he had ever touched another woman.
Reluctantly, he released it and rose before taking a seat across from her again. “Fire away. Anticipating torpedo number one,” he teased, hoping to lighten her mood.
She eyed him sadly. “For starters? My dad killed my mom and then himself.”
Her words stunned him, like a punch in the gut.
Keaton was rarely left speechless, but he had no idea what to say to her.
Layne pulled an envelope from her purse.
“He left me this. Chief Roberts came to Dallas and gave it to me. I’ve read it at least a dozen times since Wednesday.
Every time, I keep hoping what’s in it will change.
That this nightmare loop I’m stuck in will dissolve and everything will go back to normal. ”
She gazed at him, her eyes brimming with tears, sadness radiating from her. “But then I have to realize that this is my new normal.”
His heart ached at her words. Reaching for her hand again, he took it.
“Let’s read it together. Then we’ll go from there.”