“I think we should prove her wrong.” Her gaze dipped to his lips meaningfully for a second before rising again in question.
His eyes widened in surprise. If he’d had a million guesses, he still wouldn’t have been able to predict that this was the direction the evening would have taken. He registered some sort of noise coming from the other side of the table but blocked out the intrusion. He dipped his chin and gave Hayley anare you surelook.
In response, she lifted both of her hands and threaded her fingers through his beard to bracket his head and pull his mouth down to hers, sealing their lips together in a kiss.
Hoots and hollers echoed around them, and Hayley pulled back with a satisfied smirk on her face.
“Instead of birthday cake, y’all are eating humble pie for dessert,” his dad laughed.
Levi’s neck heated as Hayley ran her thumb over his lips.
“Lipstick,” she said by way of explanation, then picked up her fork again to resume her meal.
Levi stared at the side of her face as everyone began talking around him. He could hear them asking questions and sharing anecdotes, but he wasn’t paying all that much attention to the conversation. He had his own questions burning in his mind. Ones he couldn’t ask until he could finally get Hayley alone again.
28
“That will be $12.72,” the barista at Cotton-Eyed Cup of Joe says from the open drive-through window.
I smile at her and squint against the morning sun that’s shining through my windshield. “I’d like to pay for the car behind me as well.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet of you.” She beams her approval.
She adds the totals together, and I hand her my debit card to pay, glancing at my notebook that’s lying in the passenger seat as she processes the order. The rectangle of bound pages has been giving me judgy eyes ever since I drove away with it from Levi’s house yesterday evening. He’d seemed a little off in his behavior, but I’d pinned that on having to deal with his whole family all at once. From things he’d said to me in the past, I knew they could overwhelm him pretty quickly. Personally, I think they’re great and can tell they love Levi a lot, but I can also see how they could be a bit much concentrated in one room like that.
Even with my self-assurances, however, a niggle of doubt won’t leave me alone, a continuous finger poke to the brain. It was obvious that Levi had stumbled across my notebook before I’d arrived since he’d had it on hand instead of me having to go and look for it. He’d given it to me without a singlequestion, but there was something akin to hesitancy in his eyes. Had he peeked inside? If so, had he seen his own name written within?
My stomach churns as possible reactions roll through my thoughts. I mean, if it had been me who’d stumbled upon my name in a book like that, I’m sure I’d have questions. Possibly even some pretty negative inferences, if I’m honest. Even so, I hope he didn’t jump to any erroneous conclusions. I worry my bottom lip. Just what exactlyismarinating in his mind right now?
“Here you go, hon.” The barista hands me my debit card back, and I return it to the holding slot in my wallet. Once my hands are free, she extends a traveling container with three cups—a London fog for Evangeline, a Mexican hot chocolate for Martha, and the first pumpkin spice latte of the season for me.
“Thank you so much.” I smile once more at the employee. My gaze falls again on the blasted notebook that’s become more damning evidence than proof of well-being. Shame climbs like vines along the walls on my insides as the faux leather cover stares back mockingly. I put the coffees down on top of the notebook hoping to silence the nonverbal accusations, roll up my window, and shift into drive.
I’ve never wanted to inspect my motivation for keeping that notebook or any of the previous ones I’ve filled over the years. In fact, I’ve been pretty firmly rooted in the comfortable state of denial. Any time my thoughts started to prime the wells of reason, I’d turn on the flashing bright lights ofit’sgood to be intentional about making someone else’s daybrighter,of making the world a better place, and I’d focus on that truth alone until the desire to probe deeper passed. Because, seriously, who can argue that doing at least one good deed a day is a bad thing?
But now it’s like a mirror is being held up to my face, forcing me to look at my distorted reflection. Or, more accurately, nowthat someone else is aware of the Band-Aid I’ve been using to cover what is more than likely a case of survivor’s guilt—among other things—and has ripped the bandage off, I’m forced to look at a wound I haven’t allowed to properly heal.
I turn into the library’s parking lot, my gaze snagging on a giant blue tarp covering the left corner of the roof that I hadn’t noticed yesterday when I’d dropped Cletus off, having parked him in the upper lot on the other side of the building.
What in the worldhappened?My heart sinks as I press down on the brake pedal and duck my head to get a better view.
I realize I’m experiencing some of what the Pevensie children did when they walked through the wardrobe and into Narnia and back—that time didn’t work the same between the two worlds. I’d been gone but had expected it to be like no time had passed here in Little Creek. Obviously, that wasn’t the case, and a lot has happened in my absence. Like the library roof looking like a half-frosted cupcake for a Smurf-themed party.
I pull into a parking space and turn off my car, gathering my belongings and the tray of coffees. As I walk toward the building, I can’t help but try to get a glimpse of what the damage is under the tarp.
I store my belongings in the back room and make my way to the front, drinks in hand. Evangeline is turning on the computers at the huddle of desks set up for patrons’ use while Martha is riffling through some papers in the children’s section.
“Good morning,” I call out.
They both stop what they’re doing and immediately turn to me, smiles overtaking their expressions.
“I brought fuel for the day,” I say as I lift the cupholder in the air.
“I’d say you shouldn’t have, but I have a feeling this is going to be the most Monday-est Wednesday in the history of time,” Martha says as she pulls out her hot chocolate and takes a long sip.
“The reason for that have anything to do with the tarp on the roof?” I ask, fishing for the story of what happened.
Evangeline collects her London fog and takes an appreciative sip. “The storm that blew through decided to blow off half the shingles on the roof. There are a couple of roofing companies that are supposed to drop by today to check out the extent of the damage and then give the board of trustees a bid on repairs.”
