Chapter 7
Zen Coffee House.
I stare at the sign. I should feel like an absolute piece of scum for getting a coffee from Matthew’s sister’s coffee shop.
But I’m supporting their business? It seems like a good enough reason, and there is literally nowhere else in Moccasin Cove to get the kind of caffeine I need. I push the door of my Pathfinder open, and slide out, my converse hitting the asphalt of Main Street.
My stomach lurches at the familiarity of the small, quaint town. It’s the kind of place that lives for Friday night lights and small-town festivals. It’s the typical setting of a true crime documentary that begins with, ‘Nothing ever happens here.’
I push the thought away. I don’t watch those documentaries anymore, and I damn sure stay away from anything that covers Matthew’s case. Even though my father’s in the grave, I still follow his advice.
Don’t go digging, Rue. You’ll dig your own grave.
“Nope, I just dug yours instead,” I mumble under my breath, letting out a long sigh. I slam the driver’s side door and ignore the way a couple of older ladies stop mid conversation underneath the patio outside of the café.
Fuck ‘em and what they think.
I step up onto the sidewalk, my fists shoved in my front pockets. I grab the door handle,tug it open, and am met with the deep, comforting scent of lattes. As soon as I enter, I force my eyes up, bracing for the worst.
But I don’t recognize the young woman behind the counter.
“Hi!” She flips her blonde hair and gives me a lip gloss coated smile. “How’s your morning going?”
“Fine…” I blink a few times, glancing around the nearly empty place. Despite plenty of space with cute rustic tables, there’s only one person there—some guy tucked into the far corner booth with his eyes on his laptop.
Okay, this is doable.
“What can I get for you?” she asks me as I step up, my eyes flicking up to the menu. “If you haven’t been here, I totally recommend the cookie dough mocha.”
I shrug, feeling unnerved by how normal this experience is. “Um, yeah… Okay. We can do that.”
She nods, punching her tablet. “What size?”
“Largest size you have.” I glance back to the door, as if someone who hates me might walk right in.
No one comes.
I stand back and wait, while the overly chipper girl in her green sweater makes my iced coffee. I keep my arms folded across my chest, though with every deep breath I force myself to take, my heart rate seems to settle a little more.
Everything is totally fine.
“Here,” the barista slides the coffee across the counter. “I hope your day gets better.” She gives me some weird sympathetic smile as I pick it up.
I guess it’s that obvious I’m a fucking wreck.
“Thank you.” I force a smile, and spin on my heels, slipping out of the place like I didn’t murder the owner’s brother.
I choose not to dwell on it.
But I keep dwelling on it, my mind argues with myself.
The streets are empty, except for the few occasional cars parked diagonally outside of the hardware store a few blocks down. All the other stores aren’t open yet—or maybe just closed?
I don’t know. And I don’t care either.
Taking a sip of the overly sweet coffee, I cringe a little. It might be too sweet, but that’s okay. It’s better than whatever black liquid my mom’s machine shits out.
And speaking of, I should check on her.
Or rather, check to see if she’s screaming at me to come home.
I pull out my phone, and check for notifications.
None.
I pop open the door of my SUV and slide in, putting the coffee away in the cupholder. Something in my gut feels off as I start it, but I do my best to push that away.
Probably just the excessive amounts of sugar in the coffee.
Which I’m totally going to inhale anyway.
I start my car, back out of the spot, and then ease down Main Street back toward the lake. Before I reach the entrance, I swing into the Grab n’ Go, figuring I’ll get whatever’s on my mom’s lengthy list of stew ingredients. I flip the console up and grab the notebook paper.
The parking lot of the little store is more crowded than the coffee shop, but only by a few cars. I carry in the coffee and list, my purse bouncing against my hip. The scent of cold produce and whatever else hits my lungs in a way that makes me frown, but I force myself to continue.
I start down the list, beginning with nonperishables in the far back aisle.
I swing the basket around, the lights flickering above me in a way that’s more annoying than unnerving.
The place seems to be mostly empty, and so I ignore the bathroom door as I hear it swing while reaching for my mom’s preferred lavender body wash on the top shelf.
But I can’t fucking reach it.
“Come on,” I mutter, standing on my tip toes, my shoulder aching as my fingertips brush the white plastic. “You have to be kidding me.”
“Here,” a deep voice booms from behind me, and I catch my breath at the scent of suffocating cologne. “Let me help you with that.”
I drop down to my flat feet as I accept the help, who plucks it right off the top shelf. I take in the muscular, tatted guy in a black T-shirt. I definitely don’t recognize him from my past.
His warm brown eyes meet mine as he grins. “Lavender, huh?”
“Yeah,” I choke out, feeling my face heat up as I brush my brown hair from my face. “For my mom, actually.”
“Ah, right,” he carefully sets it in my basket. “Because I guess pretty girls like you don’t use lavender?”
I let out a light laugh, feeling momentarily off balance. “I mean, I don’t know… But I don’t, no. Sorry if that’s what you were hoping for.”
He shakes his head, letting out a low chuckle. “Nope. Not at all. I don’t think I care what kind of soap you use, as long as you use it.”
“Good to know.” I take a sip of my coffee, noticing how he’s suddenly looking past me.
I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch sight of a man in a black long sleeve, wearing a pair of dark wash jeans and hiking boots.
His dark brown hair is in a tight buzz and his face cleanly shaven, showing an immaculate jaw line. It’s completely unfamiliar.
But those blue eyes…aren’t.
My brow furrows, my mind racing to place them—and to catch up to the way my heart is flipflopping in my chest like I might stroke out and die right here. My lips part, but the only noise that comes out is an “uh,” that makes the man look at me with pure disgust.
Like I did him really wrong.
“You know him?” The guy behind me grabs my attention, and I whip my head back around to peer up at the six-foot-something man with a full beard and warm brown eyes. “Um… I think… I might?”
He chuckles. “The pain of a small town, huh?”
“Yeah, for sure,” I say quickly, my gaze flicking back in the direction of the man. But he’s not there anymore.
Damnit. I know I know him. From somewhere.
“I’m Andy,” the guy who grabbed the body wash continues talking. “I’m actually just driving through, but if you’re free—”
“No, nope,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “Thanks for getting the body wash.” I whip the cart around, and don’t look back as I pick up my pace, speed walking in the direction of the man with the ghost eyes.
My heart is in my throat as I turn the corner, expecting to see him.
Nope.
“What the hell,” I mumble under my breath, now flying down the aisles and throwing in the shit that’s on the list. I don’t even care that it’s not the brands my mother suggested. She can get over it.
I pour through the entire store in less than fifteen minutes, keeping my eye on the registers at the front the entire time. Where did he go? He couldn’t have gone that far?
I don’t know what it is about the guy, all I know is I need to see him again.
But after a solid thirty minutes and tired calves, he’s nowhere to be found.
And I give it up, dumping my shit off at the register.
“How’s your day?” the older, middle-aged lady behind the register asks me as I unload the items onto the conveyor belt.
“Good,” I mutter. “You?”
I’m sweating beneath my sweater, my eyes jumping to the parking lot through the one set of automatic doors. There’s nothing remotely out of place, and I close my eyes for a moment, tuning into the steady beep of the scanner…
And those eyes.
I can see the crystal-clear irises like they’re already burned into my memory, and yet, I still can’t remember where they came from.
Maybe I just went to school with the guy.
But why did he look at me like he hates me?
I spin the thought around, working my way through the list of Matthew’s old friends. It would make total sense for those people to hate me. Most of them did long before he ended up floating in the lake.
But none seem to fit the bill.
Whatever. I push the thought away. Stupid fucking small towns.