The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,43
sure Sierra should be that unconcerned, but she had no choice except to believe what she was told. “So how’d he react after you said what you did to the police?”
“He calmed down. I think he realized I could’ve said some shit that would’ve caused us both a lot of problems, but I’m not that stupid. After I went back to my room, he was quiet, and pretty soon I heard the TV go on. That’s when I knew it was over.”
Taylor couldn’t believe that had been the extent of it. “I was... I was really afraid you were being hurt.” Tears sprang to her eyes. Sierra was fine—she’d said so herself—but Taylor had genuinely believed she was in danger and still felt rattled by what she’d seen. It didn’t help that she’d spent a long, sleepless night imagining the worst.
Embarrassed by her reaction, she turned away and was trying to think of something to say when Sierra set her coffee aside and took her hand.
“I’m okay. Really. Come here.” She put Taylor’s coffee on the side table, too, and pulled her in for a hug.
Taylor liked the way this strange, new, compelling person smelled. She liked the feeling of Sierra’s hand running reassuringly up and down her back, too.
Taylor didn’t let go right away, like she’d done with every other friend she’d ever had. She didn’t want to let go. It surprised her that Sierra didn’t break the hug, either. They stood in each other’s arms for probably a minute or longer.
Taylor was feeling odd by the time Sierra did step back. Out of breath. Flushed even though it wasn’t very hot. And her heart was racing.
“Thank you for caring,” Sierra said.
That would’ve sounded totally lame coming from anyone else, but Sierra somehow made it sincere. Even better, Taylor could tell that Sierra’s embarrassment was going away.
Relieved to think everything was okay and last night hadn’t changed anything, after all, Taylor smiled. “Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Sierra peered into her face as though she was looking for something. “If that’s what you want to be.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Taylor recalled something Mr. Lambert had said last night—a snippet that had been lost in all the anger and upset. When Sierra called her a friend, he’d scoffed and said, Does she know what you are?
Taylor hadn’t known, but she was pretty sure she did now.
10
Mary showed up an hour early. She wanted to be the first one to reach the Starbucks she’d selected, didn’t want Drake D. Owens to see what she drove or to get her license plate number. She’d even parked down the street and walked the rest of the way, just in case. She doubted it was worth the extra effort, was pretty sure he’d be able to find her, regardless. She was just so used to being cautious she couldn’t help holding back when and where she could.
She shifted on the stool at the window and checked the time on her phone while keeping watch on the parking lot and making note of every car that came or went. At least she knew what Mr. Owens looked like, since she’d seen him in the drugstore.
He arrived early, too. At a quarter to ten, he walked in wearing chinos and a light blue button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and got in line. He turned while he waited, scanning the small lobby filled with millennials tapping away on their computers. His expression was businesslike, neutral—until his gaze connected with hers and he froze.
He could tell that he’d found her, if not by the expectation he read on her face then by her age. Everyone else was younger, except a couple of men in the corner.
He tipped his head in acknowledgment, and she did the same.
Clasping her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking, she waited for him to put in his order. This was the first interaction she’d had with her past in almost thirty-five years. Autumn had been only three when she’d changed her name and moved to Sable Beach.
He didn’t approach until he had his drink. Although he tried to act as if this was just another day for him, there was no mistaking the curiosity and interest in his eyes. “Hello, Bailey.”
She chafed at the sound of her old name but didn’t correct him by providing her new one. She was here to get information, not give it. “Hello, Mr. Owens.”