So close to freedom…
“Doc, wait,” Miles said quietly.
…yet so far.
“What?” I turned around so fast wet hair whipped me in the face. “If I don’t jet soon, I’ll be late to the carnival, and there are enough tardy slips on my record. I don’t need Paige climbing up my—”
“Okay.”
I felt a jolt of annoyance. “‘Okay’ what?”
He frowned while fishing keys from his pocket. “I’ll go.”
Seriously? On the inside, his response floored me, but I refused to showcase my disbelief.
“Get in,” I said, “and if you piss me off, I’ll pull over and make you walk.”
“Understood,” he mumbled, head hanging like a scolded puppy. “Thanks.”
I lifted my sunglasses a few inches. “For threatening to ditch you roadside?”
“No. For,” he paused and then clumsily staggered through the rest of the sentence, “helping… me out.”
There was something in his tone that surprised me, a whisper of unexpected honesty. But the way his facial expression caught up with it contradicted that authenticity.
Miles confused me with his varying levels of badittude. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t have time to analyze any of it before we left. I swung the Jeep’s rear door open and set my tote bag down. A pair of frayed jean shorts and a cropped hoodie were wadded at the bottom.
I untied the neck strings of the maxi dress and peeled it down past my hips, letting the soggy material puddle around my feet with a heavy splat. Thanks a lot, Bo. Going to change my clothes in the Whitaker’s bathroom wasn’t happening. The wet, one-piece swimsuit would have to suffice until I got back from Bianca’s. My shoulders warmed as I shrugged into the pastel tie-dyed top. When I pulled the hood off my face, I caught Miles’s heated stare watching me from the sideview mirror before he opened the passenger door.
Can’t he put his hostility away for five seconds?
I tried to fan my irritation away, but it billowed up around me like a cloud of choking, black smoke while I finished getting dressed. Maybe spite got the best of me when I turned up the radio far louder than necessary after starting the engine. Poe’s voice sang Angry Johnny through the Jeep. We weren’t at The Triple C anymore, no longer on Miles’s dime. That meant music. I jammed my foot on the gas pedal and shipped us down the hill so fast his head slammed back against the headrest.
“Jesus!” His body tensed.
I used his words and tone from before his massage. “What’s the problem?”
“Just worried about being ‘late’ on a whole ‘nother level now.” He grabbed for the seat and the door handle when we caught air over a speed bump.
Good. Being in control of the afternoon made me the winner for once.
Little did I know, me being in the driver’s seat would result in another shitastrophy.
* * *
Some might expect minimal traffic on a holiday in Grays Harbor County, but Ocean Shores was always a hot spot on July Fourth. People headed for the beaches in droves, staking their claim to watch the fireworks. Everyone lingered for hours until nightfall, playing frisbee, picnicking, building sandcastles, dancing with boomboxes, and a few were even brave enough to wade out in the frigid Pacific. That year, the side streets were parking lots.
A flock of seagulls squawked and took flight from a field of tall grass as I glanced at the ocean, dark blue water sparkling beneath the mid-summer sun. On the sand, a handful of people maneuvered stunt kites. Brilliant colored blips and their tails dotted the sky overhead as they soared, flipped, and dove through the air. Farther down the beach, a group of horses trotted near the water’s edge.
I tuned back to the environment inside the Jeep. The threats within Garbage’s Vow remained the sole third-party conversation. Miles’s arms were folded, posture rigid, and his stare glued to the windshield. His right knee bounced, but he followed directions. Without speaking, he reduced my chances of kicking him out.
The first half of our drive to Bianca’s may have been void of talk, but it didn’t stop loud questions from racing through my head. On the flip side, my mouth refused to communicate any of them. Maybe Karmin nailed it— I was a chicken in more than one area of my life.
In my defense, I didn’t know how to articulate what I wanted to say to ensure it didn’t sound smooth as an alligator.
Hey, dipstick. Why does the town hate you?
Miles, why did someone turn your truck into an art project?
Dime Tipper, why are you an ass?
I decided it’d be best to approach the subject on the way back from Seamless. First, it’d give me more time to think. Second, it’d give Miles less time to reapply those angry eyes of his.
The highway started to curve away from the sandy beach and would eventually lead to town. Unexpectedly, Miles spoke before we turned. “Pull over.”
“No.” I didn’t deviate from the speed limit.
Did he want to talk? Yell? Find a spot to hide my body in a ditch? I didn’t know.
“Just… please?” he asked with rising frustration. “C’mon.”
I glanced at the passenger seat. Right knee still. Eyes wide. Neck craned. Body torqued. Staring over my shoulder and out the rear driver’s side window. Arms unfolded.
I was a little alarmed and a lot curious. Maybe a lot irritated, too.
Reluctantly, I veered onto the right shoulder alongside the entrance to a public parking lot. Cars and trucks whizzed past us at high speed, sending bursts of wind that rocked the topless Jeep. I slid the sunglasses down my nose so I could see him over the rims of my lenses. “What’s the issue?”
Miles pushed his own shades up his forehead to rest in his messy hair, unbuckled his seatbelt, and knelt on the seat, his left forearm bracing the frame overhead. No explanation. Completely fixated, he stared at the ocean while shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.
Impatience coiled in my chest. And then I trailed his line of vision. “What are you…”
“Freaking unbelievable,” he muttered.
“What? The stunt kites?”
He motioned by moving his chin upward an inch. “Farther out. Kite surfers.”
I blocked the sun with my palm and followed his gaze.
“That guy on the left?” He pointed. “Double Heart Attack.”
“Zero surprise there; I’d have one, too,” I replied coolly.
“No, that’s the name of the move.” His eyes never left the water. “The surfer on the right did a Shifty. Dislocated my shoulder doing that a few years ago.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You… like that?”
“Like it? I live it.” He briefly glanced at me like I had two heads, the ocean calling for his attention again. “Any extreme sport.”
This doesn’t make sense. Someone who is so resolute about safety around a pool is hooked on dangerous water activities in the ocean? Total dichotomy.
“Won’t you get, you know, blown out to sea by the wind?” I asked.
“If you’re not careful, but the gamble’s worth the high.”
“Pass.”
His brows snapped together. “Seriously?”
“I like my feet on the ground.” I didn’t mention my swim habit in the protected cove as an exception to the rule.
“Some of the best kitesurfing around here is so close. Down at Damon Point.”
“Not an adrenaline junkie.”
“Surfing?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Galloped down the shore on an appaloosa?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Raced on a moped down Chance de la Mer?”
“Nope.”
Miles sank back down into the passenger seat and lowered his sunglasses back over his e
yes, staring hard out the windshield again. “How long have you lived?” His tone trickled into disappointment territory, and I didn’t appreciate it.
“In Cannon Cove?” I tried to remember the exact time when we’d moved from Seattle while I pulled back into traffic.
“No.”
Assuming I misunderstood, I rattled off my birth year.
“No,” he reiterated. “How long have you lived? You reside in Cannon Cove, but you haven’t experienced anything it has to offer.”
Who do you think you are? “I’ve done plenty. And I gave up being impulsive long ago.”
The conversation made me uncomfortable. For the second time, Miles McCullough turned the tables, shining blinding focus my way without permission.
He continued, “Steele Falls has decent surf conditions, but not like this.”
My expression dipped. “I avoid Steele Falls.” I hesitated. “And I don’t live under a rock full-time, you know. People do risky things near the cove, too.”
He shuddered. “The cove.”
“Don’t knock it. I live out that way.”
“To each their own, but I prefer spending my time elsewhere,” he replied. “Why don’t you go to Steele Falls?”
“For reasons,” I answered quickly.
Miles shot me a knowing glance paired with an eye roll. “A guy. You have that scorned look women get on their face when a relationship blows up.”
And I’m sure you’re a pro at detonating bombs of your own, too.
He leaned back into his seat. “I’d bet money on it.”
“I do not have a look! And not a guy. He’s a pest. Ask the local zoo. A friend paid to have a cockroach named after him a while back.”
Miles let out a punctuated laugh through his nose.
My eyes flicked upward to the rearview mirror. “He earned it.”
“Most guys out that way are dicks.”
Well, if that’s not the pot calling the kettle black…
“These days, there’s talk of a tally board behind the water tower to see who can rack up the most lays,” he said. “Some kind of club initiation. Dunno if it’s true. I apply the ninety-ten rule to Steele Falls.”
“Ninety-ten?” I asked.
“Ninety percent of what you hear is bullshit. The other ten percent is possibly true. No wonder people ditch that town.”
“Sounds like I escaped just in time.” I glanced his way. “Why don’t you go to the cove?”
His stare down with the windshield continued. “For reasons.”
That sonofabitch played my own game; every time I aimed a subject his way, he’d turn it on me. And his timing was impeccable, too. I’d be left wondering because we arrived at Seamless.
The drive took longer than I expected, and the hour hand neared the four on my watch. Seamless would close in a few minutes for the holiday festivities— and I didn’t mean the fireworks show. Only Bianca Taft would shut down her entire store for multiple days and force her employees to take unpaid leave because of her daughter’s wedding. Or so the grapevine murmured. Heck, at least we paid our employees during The Crack Shack’s closure.
Even with the sun perched high in the sky, the breeze made it deceivingly cooler than it looked. I parked in the middle of the lot with plenty of empty spaces surrounding me on all sides. The farther from Annelies’s mom, the better. Even at forty feet away, the front doors intimidated me.
“Thought you were in a hurry, Doc. Your face says you saw a ghost.”
I realized the keys were in my hand, but I hadn’t moved. “Demon spawn. Ghost. It’s all the same.”
“Huh?”
“Not jazzed about seeing Bianca Taft. That’s all.”
“Taft. Like those chintzy lawyer commercials?” he asked. “Don’t want the shaft? Hire Taft.”
“Kind of. That’s Annelies’s uncle.” I took my time unbuckling the seatbelt. “Her mom owns this dress shop. Bianca’s version is more like ‘Bitchcraft Taft.’” Calling her my future step-mother wasn’t terrain I wanted to explore with Miles.
He laughed and opened his mouth to say something when his phone chirped. With lightning speed, he jabbed at a button. “I already know what you’re going to say…”
I heard Sienna in the background. “Seth, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Miles exhaled slowly, holding the phone a few inches from his ear.
“Where are you, and what happened to your truck? It looks like a teenager doodled a dong at a crime scene.”
He groaned. “I know, and I should’ve called you, but—”
“Hey,” I whispered. “We only have a few minutes before the shop closes.”
“Hang on,” he said into the phone before cupping his hand over the speaker. Miles kept his voice low, “Do me a favor? Pick up the tux. I need to take this call.” He opened his wallet and shoved a wad of cash my way. Then he waved me off like he dismissed hired help. “Keep the change.”
I looked at him and down at the money. “What… are you serious?”
He pushed the phone up to his ear and ignored me. “I’m glad you called. Must be your sixth sense in knowing exactly when I need you.” He paused. “Stop yelling and listen.” Silence. “Are you going to let me talk yet?”
Hello, Dick Giblet. We meet again.
Who did Miles McCullough think he was? Being his errand bitch wasn’t on my bucket list. So much hatred ate at me. I’d helped him! Helped him by taking care of his tire problem and by giving him a ride to Seamless! The least he could’ve done was walk his own sorry ass into the store.
Before I throat punched him, I forced myself out of the Jeep and walked away. The goodwill gesture was for both our benefits. No hospital visit for him. No jail time for me. I glanced back over my shoulder from halfway between the dress shop and the Jeep. Miles’s silhouette paced, his arms motioning wildly a few feet in front of the curb. There it stood. Just as he’d called it back in Sabina’s dress shop. War zone. Bloodshed. Suffering. Much luck, Sienna.
Only forward, I reminded myself as I turned around.
The entryway to Seamless reminded me of Bianca herself— dramatic. Ceiling-high windows sat on either side of the double doors with plenty of designer gowns on display. A single shoe likely cost more than my paycheck at The Triple C.
Even the ornate handle resembled two massive diamonds situated point-to-point. Their smooth surface chilled my fingertips.
I knew I’d talk myself out of going inside if I stood there too long, so I forced my hand around the knob tight. One deep breath later, I counted to three and yanked. The pretentious doorbell rang out overhead in a seven-second trumpeted fanfare. Presence announced. No turning back without looking like an idiot. Who knew? Maybe moving forward would result in the same.
Love was not in the air, and Cupid would have a fit if he flew his naked ass through the doorway with his bow and arrow. While full of extravagant gowns, Bianca’s franchise of Seamless seemed vacant. Industrial. Cement walls and floors paired with abstract metal artwork. All of it complemented the many Sputnik chandeliers dangling overhead. In every direction, size zero mannequins wore dresses with geometric designs in non-traditional colors and cutting-edge styles. It was nothing like Sabina’s store.
An employee dusting a shoe display noticed my unease as I soaked in the surroundings. She bustled over to where I stood, standing far too close. Her silver hair had thick streaks of black and was cut into a perfect bob with blunt bangs. It didn’t move when she tilted her head like a curious bird. Sapphire-crusted glasses accentuated her long, pointy nose and were perched so low I thought they’d fall off.
“I’m Figgy.” She clapped her hands together once, cupping them to make a hollow sound. “Welcome.”
“Uh. Thanks.” I pushed a limp piece of hair out of my face.
> “There’s an exquisite Vera Wang waiting to say hello around the corner. It’d be perfect for your hourglass frame, and I can have it off the mannequin in minutes. Come.” She ushered me to the left.
“Whoa. Slow down. I don’t need a wedding dress.”
“Slow down?” She touched her throat and gasped. “It’s never too early to plan. When’s the big day?”
Cue flustration complete with red cheeks. “I’m not… it’s not—”
“Oh, she’s not getting married,” a voice said from behind me. Its femininity was reduced, squashed by its depth and loftiness. “Jade’s eternally single.”
“Bianca,” I closed my eyes and strained a smile before facing her, “it’s nice to see you.”
“Give it time.”
Damn it, Universe. Use some lube for once.
“I’ve got this, Figgy.” Bianca sashayed her rounded hips as she strode past me, adding a snap of her fingers at shoulder level. “Follow.”
It wasn’t a request. I bit my cheek hard enough to taste rust, trailing her to a large dressing room in the back of the store. A brushed nickel vanity took up an entire wall of the space. Daylight filtered through the tinted bay window, showcasing the ocean in the distance.
That’s when I did a triple take. The monstrosity of a dress awaited, leaning against the rack. Both sides of its hanger bowed and struggled to hold the material upright. With sagging shoulders, I did my best to conceal my spiritless reaction.
“Isn’t it just glorious for a July wedding?” Bianca rested one hand on her chest and drew a lengthy breath. Jury was out on whether she tried to suffocate me by inhaling all of the oxygen in the room.
“Sure. It’s… something else.”
The dress mirrored the one I tried on at Sabina’s but in a muted, creamy yellow. The upper half was fitted, strapless, and coated with both beadwork and sequins producing dots of reflections against the far wall. Darkened lights on the bottom half-felt like a threat.
Jade Page 16
