finally stand next to Owen, feeling people burning a hole in my back since I’m standing next to their new enemy.
“I’d like the goat cheese, all the flavors. Sebastian, they have a blueberry spread to die for. You have to try it.”
“No, I’m—” He shoves it in my mouth before I can get my entire protest out, but as I chew, I realized it is good. Really fucking good. “Can we get five of those?” I ask through a full mouth, trying not to spray crackers everywhere.
“Swiss, mild white cheddar, sharp cheddar, actually, can we have one of everything?” Owen asks, pulling out his wallet.
“That’s a lot of cheese,” the woman behind the table says with shocked green eyes. “What will you do with all of it?”
“Eat it,” Owen said in a ‘duh’ manner.
She shrugs and takes his money, then gives us the change.
The sight and sounds of the market make me feel more relaxed. Maybe it is the fresh air and the all the scents; maybe I haven’t gotten used to the freedom of being outside instead of being bars.
The sun makes a quick appearance through the clouds, raining light across the tents before vanishing again. Trinidad is such a beautiful place, small town, kind locals (most of them), and good food. The views are amazing too. There is always so much to do here. I never want to live anywhere else.
Next, we stop at a fruit vendor and nearly buy everything since there are so many people living in the Cliff House. Peaches, plums, oranges, and grapes. Oh, the fucking grapes are so sweet and juicy, I had to buy three bags of them. California has the best vineyards, and I would fight anyone who argued with me.
After getting our assortment of fruits, we stop at vegetables, and nearly buy them out too. It’s a good thing there are multiple vendors for the same products.
Last, but not least, are the meats. Fresh steak, chicken, pork, every cut a man can dream of.
We buy steaks and chicken. Quinn liked chicken and for some reason, beef has been making her sick, so we take the necessary precautions. Our arms are full after that, and we decided to make another trip down the street after putting the bags in the car.
“Round two?” Owen asks as he shuts the trunk door.
“You know it.” I slap his shoulder. The wind takes that moment to blow across my face, and scent is one I am intimately familiar and stops me in my tracks. I close my eyes and inhale, breathing in as much as I can.
Gabriella.
Wildflowers and rain.
My eyes snap open, and I glance around, standing on the tip of my toes to look over the crowd to see if I can spot her.
“What is it?” Owen asks.
“It’s her. I smell her. I smell Gabriella. The perfume, Owen. It was there. It was like I could touch her.” The ghost of her, anyway.
“Dude, the chance of her being here… That could be anyone woman wearing the same perfume.”
A spear of despair shoots through my heart as I continue to spin in pointless circles. It had to be her. “Owen, she’s here. I feel it. She has to be here.”
“It isn’t her.” Owen grips my arms and lowers his head. “Wake up, Sebastian. It isn’t her. You haven’t found her since you got out, and the chances of her being here, all along, are slim.”
I knock his hands away and stand chest to chest with him. “It’s still a chance. I’m going to look. I’ll regret it if I don’t.” I smell it again. The perfume. The perfume that has haunted me for far too long. If searching for Gabriella means I come up empty-handed, fine. I am empty-handed now, so what is the difference?
“I don’t want you to be disappointed. I’ve seen you work on your computer, checking your files, checking deaths from all over the place and not getting anywhere. If she were here, right under your nose, that would be—”
“Cruel,” I finish for him. “That’s just the way life is.” The wind carries the sweet fragrance again, and my eyes nearly roll to the back of my head at the memories playing like a roll of film in my mind.
Her on the couch, her hair up in a tangled not on top of her head. I’d steal a small touch by leaning too close, my hand brushing her thigh, our arms heating from contact, and when she moved, I’d smell those wildflowers,