by Cassia Leo
“Guess I’ve got a restless soul.”
“A restless soul?” he replies without a trace of a smile. “Have you consumed any drugs or alcohol today?”
“No, sir.”
He leans back in his chair, apparently deciding it’s time for him to get comfortable, too. “Okay, King — interesting name, by the way — the point of this interview is to find Isabel Lake. And—”
“Izzy,” I correct him just as I did Sooner. “She prefers Izzy.”
Fuck if I’m going to let these assholes screw up my girl’s name.
Stanley looks slightly amused. “Okay, to find Izzy, we have to go back to the beginning. Do you want to tell me how you came to know Izzy Lake?”
5. Izzy
July 26th
“I asked Johnny Sills to head over and show you where the main water and gas shutoffs are,” Ursula Lovelace says, pulling a set of keys out of her top desk drawer. “He’s a volunteer fireman for the Charlotte Fire Department, and handsome, to boot. Wink-wink.”
I chuckle nervously. “I’m not really looking to get into a relationship right now, but I appreciate the help,” I reply in my faux Carolina accent. “Do you know what time he’ll be by?”
She rises from her squeaky desk chair and rounds the oak desk, which is so clunky and battered, it looks as if it’s been donated and purchased at the Goodwill at least three times. “A single girl like you’s gonna need a man around the house to help with all those leaky faucets and critters.”
The thought of the critters I’ll have to contend with in the middle of the North Carolina countryside conjures images of razorback turtles and fluffy-tailed deer, but I have a feeling my brain is being optimistic. “Exactly what kind of critters are you talking about?”
Her plump face splits into a wide grin as she dangles the keys in front of me. “Oh, you know, just the usual spiders and mosquitoes and the occasional rodent.”
My skin tingles as I take the keys from her hand and squeeze my fingers around them. “But the inspector said that the only critters I might need to call pest control for would be the squirrels.”
The auburn curls surrounding her face quiver as she giggles. “Oh, silly girl. Squirrels are rodents. You’re in for quite a culture shock, young lady.”
I can’t help but smile as I run my thumb over the jagged edges of the longest key. My very own house… If I have to, I’ll fight off a million squirrels to protect my home.
Of course, now that I’m wanted by some type of criminal organization, I have a feeling it won’t be squirrels I’ll be fighting off. I just hope my new identity as Jolene Fisher, the fourteen pounds I gained, my new dark-brown box-dyed hair, ditching my old Ford F-150 for an even older Ford Ranger, and the way I zigzagged my way across the country from Las Vegas to Valdese, North Carolina, have worked to conceal my whereabouts.
Ursula walks me to the door of her realty office in a rundown strip mall on the outskirts of my new hometown, which happens to be my father’s old hometown. “How are you liking working with Edie?” she asks as she opens the door for me and we’re blasted with a thick gust of humid Carolina summer air. “I saw her at services on Sunday, and she was talking you up like you’re her favorite grandchild.”
I brush off Ursula’s attempt to flatter me into spilling the beans on what, if anything, my new boss, Edie Bryant, has told me about her relationship with her estranged granddaughter. “Edie is the sweetest woman I’ve ever met,” I reply, hoping she takes the hint that I’m not going to gossip with her. “ I’m actually on my way there now.”
Ursula gasps as I reach for the door handle on my rundown brown pickup truck. “You’re not even gonna say hello to your new house before you jet off to work? You’re such a working woman, Jo-Jo.”
I chuckle at her attempt to make a joke at my expense. “Yep. That’s me. Just a regular old modern woman.” I reply, opening the driver’s side door and climbing inside. “See you soon, Urs-Urs!”
Pulling into the parking lot of The Junk Drawer, my Ranger sputters to a stop in a parking space, and the oppressive June heat immediately smothers me. I’m used to dry desert summers. This humidity is like living inside a sauna that smells like hot pavement and warm grass.
The bells jingle as I enter my new place of employment, and I breathe a sigh of relief as a rush of air-conditioned air washes over my heated skin. The Junk Drawer is my eccentric new boss’ idea of a Joanna Gaines style upscale junkyard with indoor retail space. It’s a clever name for what is becoming a bit of a tired concept, but Edith “Edie” Bryant has managed to make the space feel modern and comforting all at once.
As I pass a display of vintage candle holders, I slip the neck-strap of my knee-length apron over my head and tie the strings around my waist. “Good afternoon, Miss Bryant!” I call out to my boss.
“You’re red as a beet, honey-child. Can I pour you a glass of cucumber-mint water?” Edie asks as I approach the sales counter in the corner of the store.
I tuck my purse in the corner of the shelf under the register and shake my head. “No, thank you, Miss Bryant. You know that stuff makes me pee every fifteen minutes.”
She waves off my reply. “Sweetie, you know I done told you to stop calling me Miss Bryant. I’m just Edie.”
I shake my head again, more adamantly this time as I take a seat on the stool behind the counter. “No, ma’am. My momma taught me how to address my elders with respect, and I’ll be doing it until the day I die.”
My mother taught me no such thing, but it sure sounds nice when I say it in a Carolina accent.
“Besides,” I continue, “aren’t you the one who tells me not to sweat the small stuff?”
She nods proudly. “That’s right. And don’t you forget it. Where are you coming from this afternoon?”
“Just came from the realtor’s office. I got the keys today,” I mention casually as I retrieve a pack of almonds, which I always keep in my apron pocket to maintain my new healthier weight. No scrawny insults for me anymore.
Edie claps her bony hands together and gasps. “You just got the keys to your first house, and you’re sitting here talking to this rickety old bat? You don’t have to work today. Go on and bask in your first day as a homeowner.”
“Nope. I can’t really move in until I get a bed. So it doesn’t really make sense to drive all the way out there just to look at it. I’ve been there enough times over the last four weeks. Besides, I need the hours.”
“Oh, hogwash. Let’s go find you a nice headboard in the furniture department.”
“No way,” I reply forcefully. “I can’t afford anything in the furniture department right now, and I won’t allow you to gift it to me.”
She appears stymied with my ability to shoot down her generosity so easily. “You know, sweetie, it’s not very nice to refuse a gift. Didn’t your momma teach you that?” She fixes me with a hard look that dares me to challenge her, and I don’t. “That’s what I thought. Now, come with me and let’s pick out a headboard for you. And afterward, we’ll head on over to Mike’s Mattress Plaza and get you one of those new memory foam mattresses. They’re pretty reasonably priced.”
I shake my head and smile at Edie’s aggressive generosity. “Yes, ma’am.”
When we arrive at the furniture department, we find a thirty-something woman with a sleeping baby strapped to her chest eyeing a vintage wrought-iron headboard and matching footboard. My heart sinks as I realize it’s the only twin-sized headboard we have in stock, and I really don’t think Edie had planned on buying me anything larger than a starter-size twin bed.
Edie runs her fingers over a white shabby chic wooden headboard, which looks like a queen. “This is nice, don’t you think?”
“Miss Bryant, I really don’t feel comfortable accepting a queen-sized bed and mattress. That’s too expensive. Can’t we just wait until we get another twin bed in stock? Or until I’ve saved up some of my own money?”
Edie glances at the woman with a baby then cocks a p
enciled eyebrow at me. “You think she’s looking at that bed for herself? She’s getting that for her baby girl. You are not a baby girl. And you sure as heck aren’t gonna make any babies in a twin size bed.”
The sound of laughter comes at me from both directions, the blonde woman with the baby on my right and a sandy-haired man who just entered the aisle on our left. Heat rises in my cheeks. This tall, sexy stranger — with eyes so icy-blue they look demonic — just laughed at the idea of me failing to get knocked up in a twin bed.
I hyper-focus my attention on Edie. “Okay, we can get this one. I’ll put it in my truck after my shift. I’m just gonna go back to minding the register. I think I see somebody headed in that direction,” I say, keeping my head down as I walk past the insanely gorgeous man with the demon eyes.
His gaze seems to follow me as I pass. “Can I get some help with this, ma’am?”
I turn on my heel to face him, and something about the way this man stares at me with such intensity makes the hairs on my neck stand up. “Of course. How can I help you, sir?”
He gazes back at me unblinking for a long moment before he responds. “I’m looking for any old wood doors you might have. Fixing to turn it into a headboard.”
I don’t know if it’s his icy-blue eyes, or if the way they seem to penetrate my soul, but something about this man gives me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach — and maybe a little tingling in other parts. “Sure,” I reply cheerily. “We have the construction scraps in the warehouse area. Follow me.”
We walk silently for a bit through the dining furniture section until we pass through the wide entryway, which opens into The Junk Drawer’s warehouse space. The warehouse is not as intensely air-conditioned as the retail space. Instead, loud industrial fans blow downward from the twenty-foot high rafters.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” I ask. “Are you looking for a wood slab door, a shuttered door, something a bit more ornate? Are you doing this for a client? Do you have a picture of something you’re looking for?”
He smiles, revealing perfectly straight, pearly-white teeth. “Actually, I am looking for something very specific, but it’s not for a client. It’s for me.”
I give him a moment to respond as I continue toward the door section in the back corner of the warehouse, but he doesn’t elaborate. “I would sure like to know what that is if you don’t mind telling me.” And it better not be my phone number. I sneak a glance at him and glimpse his striking blue eyes again. On second thought, it better be my phone number. Please, let it be my phone number.
I left Vegas seven and a half weeks ago, and before that, I hadn’t had sex in about three months. I’m approaching half a year without sex, and it is driving me insane. I miss my FWB — friend with benefits — Pablo Macias, the Spanish transfer student I befriended in my freshman statistics class. Pablo was always there for me when I was in the midst of a dry spell. It’s funny the things you don’t realize you’ll miss when you make a split second decision to leave your entire life behind.
I wonder what Tiff’s doing right now.
“What kind of accent is that? You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” he remarks.
“Do I detect a note of regionalism in your voice?” In that deep, sexy country boy voice.
He chuckles. “Do I detect a note of deflection in yours? And I sure as hell ain’t no regionalist. I just moved here from Tennessee.”
Tennessee? Of course, he had to be from the place I have claimed as my fake home-state.
I don’t want to let on that I’m uncomfortable with this line of questioning. I’ve fabricated a pretty solid fake backstory for Jolene Fisher, and I think I’ve done an excellent job of keeping the details straight. But I suddenly have a strong feeling this guy — and his sexy demon eyes — may have the power to make me slip up. I have to remember to be careful with everyone I meet, no matter how horny I am.
I turn to him as we arrive at the door section. “I just moved here, too. From Pigeon Forge.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve been through there at least a dozen times on the way to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I took a pretty indecent picture with Hugh Hefner at the wax museum, back when I was a dumb kid.”
I shrug as I turn away to look at the doors. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I never visited the wax museum. I’m really more of a homebody,” I reply casually as I point out a large Shaker-style solid wood door covered in peeling mint-green paint. “Is something like this what you’re looking for? It’s big enough for a king-sized bed. Probably can be shortened if you have a queen.”
He stares at me for a while with a curious smile on his gorgeous face. “I have a king, but I reckon I can tighten it up. This’ll do.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Well, alrighty then. That was easy. Do you need someone to help you load it into your vehicle? Or do you want to schedule a delivery? We deliver within a ten-mile radius.”
“Actually, I don’t need any help, but I’m thinking you might,” he says, taking a step back to put a little more distance between us.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“I obviously overheard that conversation you were having with your boss about needing a bed. I was just going to offer to help deliver it to your house. I have an F-350 parked outside, and I think you and I might be neighbors.”
I squint my eyes at him. “Neighbors? I haven’t even moved in yet. How would you know if we’re neighbors?”
His eyes widen as he seems to pick up on my suspicion. “Oh, I’m not stalking you or anything like that. I just noticed your truck pulling into the driveway next to the house I just bought off Lakeside Way.”
“I’m the only property on Lakeside Way,” I correct him. “My nearest neighbor is Ms. Bryant, and she lives around the corner from me on Waterside.”
“Actually, I’m in the cabin on the lake about three hundred feet from yours. You can access my house from the private drive off Waterside, but the driveway’s not labeled.”
My mouth goes dry as I recall feeling as if I was being watched the last time I paid a middle-of-the-night visit to my newly purchased home. “Nobody is supposed to live in that cabin. I mean — I didn’t know it was for sale.”
“It was a private sale,” he replies, his eyes locked on mine as if he’s studying my reaction.
“Have you been watching me?”
He chuckles a bit, then he immediately stops when he realizes I’m serious. “Oh, you’re serious? I only saw your truck pulling in once, but it’s a very distinctive truck.”
A gush of shame douses the flame of suspicion as I realize he only had to see my beat-up brown Ford Ranger once for it to be burned into his memory. “Oh, sure. Um... Actually, I won’t be needing any help. Thank you for offering...neighbor.” Neighbor?! “What did you say your name was?”
He smiles at the change in my tone. “I didn’t say, but it’s Colton. Colton Walker.”
I’m a bit disappointed he didn’t attempt to shake my hand, but that’s probably just my burning loins aching for a man’s touch.
“Did you find what you were looking for, young man?”
I spin around to face Edie, my heart thumping wildly as if I’ve just been caught kissing a boy on the front doorstep. “Oh, hey, Ms. Bryant. Colton would like to purchase this door, but he says he won’t need any help with loading or delivery.”
“I was just offering the young lady my labor services to help out with that mattress purchase. Save you two some delivery costs now that I’m your new neighbor,” Colton replies, as if I didn’t just tell him I won’t be needing his help.
Edie claps her hands together in excitement. “That would be wonderful! Are you the one who bought the old Wilson cabin across the road?”
“Yes, ma’am. That would be me.”
Edie’s eyes are as wide as grapefruits. “Did you hear that, Jo? We have a new neighbor. You both should come over on Sunday! We’re
having a potluck after services. But don’t you worry about a thing. You don’t have to bring anything except your beautiful faces.” She turns to me, ready to cut me off. “I’ll make some extra corn fritters for you. I know how much you love those.”
Colton looks at me as if he’s waiting for me to respond for both of us. “I don’t know. Jo said she’s a bit of homebody. I wouldn’t want to cramp her lifestyle.”
I roll my eyes to hide the excitement that bubbles up inside me at the thought of doing something neighborly with sexy Colton Walker. “I don’t think I’ll have time,” I say regretfully. “I have a lot of cleaning and painting that needs to be done just to make the new house livable. Can I get a raincheck for the next potluck?”
Edie points her bony finger at me. “I’m gonna hold you to that,” she says, turning back to Colton. “Now, let’s get you checked out. Then, we’ll close up shop early so we can go get Jo’s bed. This is so exciting!”
Maybe I’m being paranoid, but it feels like Edie and Colton are conspiring to get me laid.
We decide that Colton’s door will be loaded into my truck, along with my new queen size headboard and footboard, leaving his vehicle available to transport my mattress. As I watch Colton load the stuff into the bed of my truck, I try not to stare at the way his muscles move under his tanned skin, which glistens with a subtle sheen of sweat.
“I can text you my address if you’re unsure about how to find the cabin,” he says, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans.
I don’t know if he’s just trying to be a friendly neighbor or this is a ploy to get my phone number, but something feels a little off about this whole situation.
I understand that folks out here tend to be friendlier, but I can’t allow a guy with gorgeous eyes — and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of — break down my defenses so easily. If I’m going to survive life on the run, I have to assume every person I meet is potentially going to harm me.
