12. Chapter 12
Skye
C lutching the forest green shopping basket tightly, Skye meandered down the snack aisle at the local grocery.
The store wasn’t nearly as large as the bigger box stores in the city, but it was serviceable for regular grocery shopping.
She perused the aisles, making sure she scanned each shelf with care.
For her first ever girls’ night, she didn’t want to mess up her snack selection and be booed out of the house.
Skye forced down the rising nervousness that threatened her enthusiasm for the night.
While other kids had been spending their days and nights together, having sleep overs, and get-togethers, Skye’s experience consisted of spending long nights studying some subject, practicing some talent, or staring at the fence where it denoted the property line.
Outside of school functions, Skye had become a prisoner in a pretty cage.
Friends were a commodity she’d given up, and she’d do it again without hesitation.
Now, Skye tumbled in a riot of emotions, unsure of herself and anxious that she would somehow do something wrong or say something odd. She was a kindergarten teacher after all, her days tended to be filled with teaching basic skills to young minds.
She would probably throw up before she arrived at the gathering. Her nervous terror was completely irrational, but that didn’t stop the butterfly circus spinning around in her stomach.
Her eyes caught on the bright red, blue, and yellow packages that contained her favorite comfort junk foods. Skye’d been avoiding as much junk food as possible, trying to watch her weight and be healthier, but not a single part of her planned to bring a vegetable tray to her first girls’ night.
When she’d been littler, Skye would sneak the packages of chunky chocolate chip cookies down to the fence after school to share with Rabble. He always savored every bite, even licking his fingers clean of the melted chocolate and crumbs.
Did he still savor sweet treats in that way? Or had life taught him a different lesson, to devour without pausing to take in the quieter parts of life.
Another facet of Skye’s anxiety, the response she’d spent minutes mulling over before finally pressing send.
Her thumb hovered over the send button until it cramped.
The finality of recognizing his desire for a second chance mirrored her own drudged up those old memories that pricked and pulled at her heart.
Not to mention the potential town-wide fallout if her parents were to find out she and Rabble were finally, officially, an item.
Skye shuddered to think of the octave level her stepmother’s voice would reach when she found out.
After careful consideration, Skye picked crinkly plastic containers of crunchy and chewy chocolate chip cookies off of the shelf, deciding neither deserved to be left out of the basket.
With unhurried steps, she headed toward the alcohol aisle, determined to let loose a little in the safety of her friends.
She’d never been much of a drinker, having missed all of the parties where people chose their favorite alcohol.
Still, Skye peered at the bottles, trying to pretend like she knew what she was looking for.
Trying, and failing, not to feel like an imposter.
The air around her grew warm and uncomfortable.
A moment later, an arm snaked around her waist and tugged her backward.
She landed against a hard chest with a muffled “oof” as the air escaped her lungs and that palm roved across her waist, eliciting a queasy response in her stomach.
The shopping basket banged against her legs as Skye whipped around, shoving the basket between her and the owner of that seeking hand.
Smirking, Dylan slowly extracted his arm and slid his fist into his pants pocket as if he had no cares in the world.
“Dylan,” Skye huffed out. The relief of recognizing who the appendage belonged to quickly gave way to boiling-hot rage at his presumptuous touch.
“What are you doing over here, Skye?” His muddy-brown eyes perused the assortment of colorful bottles on the shelf behind her. “I didn’t think you were much of a drinker?”
“I’m not.” She gritted her teeth, straining to maintain a civilized appearance.
His smirk remained firmly in place. “For a wedding, I recommend a nice red, or something a bit more bubbly.”
Skye frowned. “Yeah, sorry about dinner the other night. I had no idea my parents were planning anything. They know we left all of that in college.”
His eyes seemed to dim and harden, and his smirk transformed into something a bit more sinister. The uncomfortable feeling in the air intensified, and a shiver ran down her spine.
“Of course.” He inclined his head briefly. “Who knows? People do things for unknown reasons all the time.”
Dylan grabbed a bottle of red wine by the thin glass neck and set it in her basket. “Have a good night, Skye.”
She watched him saunter away, no basket in hand or cart to push.
Breathing deeply through her nose, she exhaled through pursed lips, willing her heart rate to return to normal and refusing the need to shudder.
She pulled the bottle of wine out of her basket and examined the Pinot Noir.
For a moment, she flashed back to the college party where she’d first experienced that discomfited feeling, so like alarm, around Dylan.
Why did that type of wine ring a bell? Feeling mildly ill, Skye put the bottle back on the shelf, mindful of the slight tremor in her fingers.
The last thing she needed was to knock a row of glass bottles to the floor with her shaking hands.
Skye quickly paid for the few things in her basket, sticking with the tried-and-true drinks she knew and loved.
If the ladies gave her trouble for showing up with a bottle of sparkling grape juice and a quart of apple juice, she’d just take it.
She had no doubt their jokes would be only a good-natured ribbing, free of actual judgment.
With the bags safely tucked in the backseat of her car, Skye glanced around the parking lot, the sense of being watched lifting the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.
She scanned each row of vehicles, but beyond an elderly couple holding tightly to each other, the man gently helping the woman bent with age into their car, no one else was in the parking lot.
“That’s it, Skye. You are losing it,” she whispered.
She waved to the man on her way out of the lot and turned toward Bekah’s. Having friends in the same neighborhood was nice and though she didn’t know really know Bekah, if Elyza and Kellyn got along with her, Skye knew she would too.
Despite being able to walk to Bekah’s rental from her own cottage, Skye enjoyed the freedom her car afforded her, the ability to drive where she wanted, to leave if needed. Pulling up to the rental, she parked along the curb, noting the other cars already in the short driveway.
She’d been the last to arrive. It wasn’t because she would secretly rather be anywhere else.
At least, that’s what she told herself as she left her car and grabbed her groceries.
Even though she loved her friends, she still wished she’d come up with some excuse to stay home, tucked in under mounds of blankets.
Elyza and Kellyn ambushed her at the door, pulling her into the lightly decorated living room, and slammed the door behind them.
Early 2000’s pop music came from somewhere near the kitchen where Bekah did her best to dance while stirring what looked like homemade pasta sauce.
The scent of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs filled the air, and Skye relaxed into the atmosphere.
Bekah may have been in town for only a few days and her house may not have many personal effects, but something in the air spoke of coziness, protection, and peace.
The living room evoked images of long nights curled up on the couch under a soft afghan blanket and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
It felt like a home. Though she was new to town, Bekah had managed to create an atmosphere of peace and tranquility, something Skye still wasn’t convinced she’d accomplished, even after owning her cottage for several years.
The tension flowed from her shoulders, and she smiled for the first time all day.
Skye kicked off her shoes by the door and padded to the kitchen barefooted. The smell of some red-sauced pasta dish cooking nearly had her groaning.
“It smells so good,” she hummed.
Bekah wiped her hands on a frilly pink gingham apron tied around her waist and hurried to intercept Skye, a hesitant smile on her face.
“You’re Skye, right?” The slight-framed woman held out her hand for Skye to shake.
Skye took Bekah’s smaller hand in her own, noting the stormy blue eyes that observed her with the caution of a prey animal.
Skye hated that for her, wished she could take away this woman’s demons, though they’d just met.
A gentle air surrounded the woman, her presence a calming one despite her background.
“I am, we met at the bridal shop, briefly. What brings you to Shiloh Hills?”
Bekah’s eyes turned dark and her slight smile drooped, “Just needed a change of scenery.”
The half-truth hung between them but Skye decided not to pry. The woman deserved her privacy. Though a troubled quality stuck in Bekah’s eyes for a while, Skye already decided she liked her. Bekah’s energy fit right in their little girl gang and Skye smiled.