5 Everleigh Drowning—The Red Clay Strays
Everleigh
Drowning—The Red Clay Strays
Goose pimples cover my body as I inch through the closed pub, straightening chairs and making a mental list of morning tasks. Even if I hadn’t planned on staying here, I don’t want Cassidy to think I’m ungrateful for her help.
Another shiver runs over me as I begin wiping down the tables with a wet rag and detergent. The remnants of the nightmare that woke me up before dawn still cling, filling every pore with disgust.
What were you doing in my office?
Spray. Scrub. Wipe.
You had no right to be snooping in here!
Spray. Scrub. Wipe.
You’re delusional, darling. Let me help you.
Dropping the rag, I crouch down and rest my forehead against the table surface. The feel of solid wood holds me in the present while dark tendrils threaten to yank me back to a night I’d do anything to never revisit.
A sudden throat-clear rings out behind me.
“Am I interrupting?”
I startle so hard, my body shakes while trying to straighten up. The floor almost disappears beneath me until I grab hold of the nearest chair.
“Shit!”
“Cool it. Not here to rob you.”
Lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, the head chef, Maverick, casts me a friendly smile. We were briefly introduced after closing up the other night, though I didn’t stick around to exchange pleasantries.
“I think I need a new heart.” My hand presses above the thundering pulse in my chest.
“Unless you want it cooked in a pie or a casserole, I can’t help with that.”
“Think I’m okay, but thanks.”
“Shame. I’ve got some killer recipes for quality offal.”
Still tanned from summer, well built and boasting intense amber eyes tucked beneath devilishly thick lashes, Maverick is six feet of tattooed intimidation. If it wasn’t for his easy smile, I’d feel threatened by his stature.
“You’re working today?” I grab my supplies to resume cleaning.
“If the day ends with a y, then I’m working.”
“In that case . . . can you point me in the direction of the coffee machine? I need to wake up before Cassidy arrives.”
He rolls his eyes, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on, mystery lady.”
Tentatively trailing him into the kitchen, I glance around the spotless stainless steel space in awe. For a relatively small-scale operation in this tiny town, the place is kitted out like any five-star city restaurant. Cassidy clearly takes her livelihood very seriously.
“So . . . Eden.” Maverick samples my name like it doesn’t quite fit. “You staying for long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Got a home to get back to?” He fires up the espresso machine, sourcing milk from the huge refrigerator.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “No, I’m looking for somewhere to settle.”
“Needed a change?”
“You could say that.”
“And you just got stranded here, right?”
“I guess.”
“You guess,” he repeats with a brief look. “Can you give me an answer that isn’t a riddle?”
“Does the fate of my coffee depend on it?” I retort.
Rich laughter tumbles out of him, slightly offsetting my anxiety.
“I’m not here to interrogate you,” he offers in consternation.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Call it neighbourly concern for who’s living in my workplace. Cass has a big heart. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of it.”
Watching him fix two coffees, my spine braces against the note of suspicion in his voice. It feels uncomfortable to slide a scowl into place, taking on the role I left behind, but I can embody the role of snide heiress well enough to scare people off.
“I’m not here to inconvenience anyone, and if you recall, your boss is the one who badgered me into staying here. If that’s a problem for you, I suggest you take it up with her.”
Head bowing, he chuckles deeply. “Easy, tiger. I wasn’t trying to back you into a corner.”
“Sure feels like you are.”
“Then I apologise.” He turns to slide a fresh latte towards me. “Here—peace offering.”
I gingerly accept the coffee, keeping my focus fixed on him. He eyes me just as warily, despite that disarming smile. Something tells me it’s well rehearsed.
“You have the same look on your face that my sister gets when I’ve caught her doing the walk of shame.” He takes a deep pull of his coffee.
“Can’t imagine she appreciates being questioned either,” I hedge.
“Most definitely not. Comes with the territory of being a big brother, I’m afraid.” Maverick shrugs. “I’m sorry. I just feel protective of my friends.”
“Then you’re a loyal friend. They’re lucky to have you.”
“Not sure everyone appreciates it.”
“Well, I’m a stranger sleeping under your roof. My opinion doesn’t exactly matter.”
“We should fix that.” He drops his gaze to begin slicing bread. “If we’re working together, then we should try to be friends. So where are you from?”
You know the story, Ever. The best lies are found in truth.
“London,” I volunteer, bracing my cold fingers around the coffee cup. “I worked in marketing for a while but wanted a career change. Get out of the city, you know.”
He nods to himself. “Your family didn’t mind you leaving?”
“I’m . . . uh, an orphan. So no.”
“Shit, sorry.”
“You didn’t know.”
“What about friends? A partner, perhaps?”
“Some friends,” I quickly lie. “Not enough to convince me to stay.”
“So this really is a fresh start.”
“Depending on where I end up. I don’t have a plan right now.”
The kitchen suddenly feels stifling, and my gaze snaps to the ajar kitchen door for an escape.
My palms are moist on the coffee cup, betraying the nerves gathering inside my body.
Though offering a pinch of truth within the kernel of the lie allows me to convince him, it’s anxiety inducing to inch so close to my terrifying reality.
When Maverick’s phone rings, it makes me flinch. I avoid eye contact as he fishes the device from his chef’s jacket and jabs the screen to accept the incoming call.
“Ready in five,” he says in greeting.
A deep rumble emanates down the line.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make them extra large.”
He hangs up the call, then sidles back over to the refrigerator to pull out different cheeses, sliced meat, and an assortment of salad. The towering stack is dumped on his workstation in a heap.
“Mind giving me a hand?” Maverick asks. “The asshole will only moan if I’m late with his takeout order.”
“Uh, sure.”
“Load it up. I don’t need him complaining about a stingy sandwich.”
“Any particular order?”
“Nah, chuck it all in. He isn’t that fussy.”
After washing my hands, I take several slices of fresh bread to begin assembling. It feels weird to prepare something myself, even a simple sandwich. When I was given pre-approved meals, they were always cooked by Christopher’s chef to ensure strict calorie control.
Even then it felt like chewing ashes most of the time. I swallowed down whatever I could to appease him, but acquiescing to his regimen felt like selling out. I had to abide by his rules; the only other option was to go hungry or endure his rage if I challenged him.
“Plastic wrap is over there.” Maverick nods towards the pantry.
“I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, Eden.”
With a stack of thick-cut sandwiches complete, I fish around in the cupboard, then return to the workstation to wrap the order. Maverick has the pile bagged and ready to go when an engine rumbles outside.
“Right on time.” He shakes his head. “Mind running the order outside?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You. I need to get started on breakfast prep before the boss arrives.”
Wrangling my anxiety at being seen in public, I plaster on a faint smile. “Sure . . . okay.”
“Great, thanks.”
I take the bag and follow the cool air outside, where the pub’s courtyard is frost speckled and barren. Beyond the fence sectioning off the smoking area, a mud-splattered red truck lingers on the kerb, pumping a steamy cloud into the winter dew.
One fuzz-covered arm leaning out of the open window, a familiar face distractedly frowns into the distance. In the cold light of day, his features are much clearer, hitting me with a hot bolt of recognition.
It’s him.
That stubborn square jaw. Golden tanned muscles straining plain cotton and rough flannel. Sweeping caramel locks curling over shaved sides, tucked beneath his tatty baseball cap. Big, firm hands, one clenched on the wheel while the other drums on the truck door.
At my approach, his head quickly turns. Two peridots lock on me, flickering with surprise. In the morning light, glimmering gold flecks tangle with the mossy hue, perfectly matching his covering of caramel stubble.
“You,” he deadpans.
Awkwardly, I lift the takeout bag. “Hi.”
“Do you work here?”
“Um . . . kind of. Well, not exactly. I’m helping out for a couple days.”
“It’s Eden, right?”
“Yes.” I tuck loose hair behind my ear. “Sorry again for the other night, but thanks for helping me out.”
A tumult seems to rage across his face, flickering between indifference and concern. Like he’s struggling to wrestle his own cover story into place before anyone can spy the truth that lies behind it.
Eventually, he sighs. “You’re welcome. I’m Sterling.”
As an olive branch, I extend the white plastic bag towards him. “Nice to meet you.”
“Maverick got you running his orders now?”
“Just earning my keep.”
“I didn’t realise Cass had hired help. Winters are usually quiet.”
“Pretty sure she’s just doing me a favour.” I bounce on the balls of my feet, a shiver flushing through me. “I’m not staying for long.”
“Well, if you need something . . .” He trails off, head bobbing from side to side. “Never mind. I should get going. Tell Mav I’ll pay up later.”
When he moves to take the bag from my hand, I stretch to thrust it towards him. The movement causes the sleeve of my hoodie to ride up, and I realise my mistake far too late.
You ignorant, stupid slut.
How dare you accuse me of anything?
With memories of that night threatening to break free, the vivid handprint staining my skin is exposed to the air. Enough to tear off the mask I’ve hastily plastered on to hide the truth. It’s ripped off in a single breath.