Run away with me.
4
Partly sunny after a friendly gesture
Dawn is only justcreeping over the horizon, and I still can’t avoid St Helens’ premier real estate agent.
Kristen smirks at me from theFor Leasesign stuck in the empty shop window beside the post office. She’s mocking me from outside the mansion on the way to the waterfront. And as if my morning can’t get any worse…
Kristen’s charging straight for me.
She marches down the middle of the sidewalk. A sleek pair of shield sunglasses masks her eyes, and her ponytail whips from side to side. Every step is a swish of lilac velour, but the sliver of her tiny waist visible above her impossibly low pants is burnt orange.
That has to be a fake tan…right?
I resist the urge to pinch my skin through my oversized knit sweater. I suppose I have abdominal muscles like Kristen’s hidden somewhere under the soft roll of my belly. My skin isn’tgoldenorbronzeor any other word that describes ahealthy glow—unlessmoonlight whiteis suddenly in fashion.
Um…I whip my head from side to side.Is she going to move?
There isn’t enough room on the sidewalk for both of us. My sweater and pinstriped pants match the dull gray of the pavement, but she has to see me—
“Ow!”
Pain rips through my arm when Kristen’s shoulder collides with mine. My feet tangle, and I stumble, clinging to the plate in my hands for dear life. I can’t let the cookies crash to the ground—not when this is the only batch I didn’t burn to a blackened crisp.
“Sorry.” Kristen lowers her sunglasses. “I didn’t see you under all…that…” Her lip curls as she scans my outfit from head to toe. “You didn’t have time to change out of your…pajamas?”
“I, um…”
“The thrift store next to the florist sells workout clothes, you know. Nothing luxury, of course. I got this”—she gestures to her tracksuit—“in Hawaii. But I’m sure you could find something less…” Her lips purse when her eyes fix on the hole in my sweater. “Old.”
My shoulders slump. The hole is new. A gift from my apartment when I climbed in the window last week because my front door was stuck shut. Again.
“I’ll try to stop in one day,” I say.
She smirks. The next target for her criticism is in my hands. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
Hesitantly, I admit, “Cookies.”
Well, theytastelike chocolate chip cookies, even if they don’t look as good as the picture on the boxed mix. I grimace. I’ve never exactly excelled at baking.
Kristen’s eyebrow lifts. “Honey, I don’t think you understand fine dining. Luke is a celebrated chef. If you think you can win him over withthose…well…”
“I don’t give a flying fig about Luke.”
“Then who are the cookies for? Another beau?” Her breathy laugh is anything but friendly. “Elsie, honey, let me give you some advice. Pace yourself. People might start talking about you.”
“But I’m not—that’s not—”
“I’d hate for you to be labelled as-l-u-t.”
“The cookies aren’t for abeau.” I clutch the plate protectively to my chest. “They’re for Sawyer.”
“Sawyer?” Her lips flatten into a line.
Doesn’t she believe me?
There’s no competition between us. Luke is hers for the taking. That’s what she wants, isn’t it? She can slither up to him and strangle him with her perfectly proportioned lilac velour tentacles. He’ll love it. She’s at least an eight on most men’s metric—if they’re stupid and shallow enough to have one.
