“Are you okay?” I asked.
I remembered when Sophie transferred here in elementary school. Fourth grade, I think. It was always a big deal when a new student arrived in a small town like Cozy Creek, and she had just gone through so much with losing her parents. At the time, I didn’t really think about any of that. I was more worried about riding my bike and getting into mischief with Levi. I made no effort to befriend her, and she stuck out in ways that made her an easy target. Looking back, I felt a twist of sympathy for that little girl who had so much to navigate on her own.
Hoping she would notice me before I accidentally startled her, I’d stood and watched her for several seconds as she hunched over her work of art. Her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she carefully moved one tiny piece over at a time, her posture appalling.
Inside, the shop was jam-packed, as I vaguely remembered it to be. Every shelf overflowing, but organized according to different types of hobbies. It wasn’t dusty or gross; it was chaotic in a way that felt like everything had its place. The shop smelled of comfort and nostalgia all at once, like an old deck of cards that was so well-worn it shuffled effortlessly, or like your best friend’s TV room on a movie marathon night.
By the time the shape had noticed me, I couldn’t help the laugh. She blinked up at me with eyes magnified so large I’d have to be a robot not to.
But neither of us was laughing now, as she registered the paper in my hand. With her colorless face and her hands gripping the sides of the desk, she looked seconds from tipping over and falling out of her chair. Instinct to help her had me move a few steps forward to make sure she didn’t crack her head if she did take a tumble.
Her reaction to seeing me hold the note, along with the fact that she was here alone on a festive Friday night as the rest of the town celebrated, gave me a sudden, hopeful suspicion. Was this timid mass the funny yet anxiety-riddled voice that I had spent the last few days reading time and time again?
Had I just found the originator of the To-Do List?
My heart lurched hopefully in my chest before I realized she’d tilted dramatically to the side.
I quickly shoved the note back into my pocket and kneeled in front of her chair, arms out, ready to catch her. We both spotted the steaming cup of tea, but she let me gently move it out of the way. Then I dropped into a squat on my haunches to meet her eyes.
“I-I’m okay,” she finally said. I hadn’t realized how close I’d gotten to her, but her soft exhale of an embarrassed laugh brushed my cheek. “I’m okay, really.”
We both seemed to register my inappropriate nearness at the same time. She cleared her throat and scooted back as I stood up and stepped away. This was the author of the note that I’d made my life’s mission, my singular purpose since ... at least three days ago. The note was funny and disarming while being serious and determined.
Could this be its author?
I couldn’t put the image of Sophie Kincaid as she existed in the catalog of Cozy Creek residents in my head—faint as it was—with this woman who wrote the list.
Not that I’d imagined the author too much, but I’d started to paint the picture of some frail creature in need of saving. I’d clutch her dainty frame to my bare, muscular chest, as she stared up at me with eyes widened in appreciation, an invisible wind blowing both our long locks ...
There was a chance I envisioned one of those paperbacks I once found in my mom’s room.
Apparently deciding she was able to stand, Sophie pushed back from the table, facing away from me. She moved with slow care as she divested herself of the blanket and the intense headgear, as though she needed every moment to think of a plan. She drew back her shoulders and took a large breath. She picked up her phone, clicked down the music, and the small space grew quiet except for the soft tick of some unseen clock. With one last toss of her hair, she straightened and turned toward me. I was taken aback by what I saw.
Sophie Kincaid was a knockout.
It was on the tip of my tongue to blurt out how beautiful she’d become. But my gut told me she would think it was some smarmy attempt to hit on her, or worse, she’d think I was lying. How had I missed her when we’d been in school together our whole lives? But I knew. I had been with Kaylee since the secondI was hit with the puberty stick, and I hadn’t paid attention to any other girls. Simple as that.
But Sophie really was breathtaking. She looked so much like I remembered, but also different. I could see her as the shy girl next to me in math who would silently smile at me when I said good morning, then quickly turn her face away and back into her book, but I could also see her in this woman, here now. She still had familiar bits. Her face still held that roundness that would get her teased, but now it was transformed into a woman’s softness. Her dark brows, which used to connect, had been shaped to break them apart, but were still thick. Her pale skin was creamy and smooth. Her unruly dark brown hair, always in the same braid, was smoothed into soft waves just past her shoulders and was still so thick that it made me want to run my hands through it to test its strength. She was dressed casually in loose-fitting cuffed jeans that were snug enough around her waist that I could see a hint of some truly distracting hips and ass. Her loose forest-green sweater swallowed up her hands but couldn’t quite hide the swell of her chest.
“Sorry, again,” I said.
I felt a little unsure on my feet, suddenly blanking out on who I was and why I was here. My usual charm took a moment to come back as I got myself in check.
“No. I shouldn’t craft when I’m watching the shop. I know better. I get singularly focused.” She cleared her throat, and color rose to her cheeks.
Fuck, how had I never seen how beautiful she was? I guess I had heard people mention it, now that I thought about it—Sophie Kincaid’s transformation upon returning from college—but I never paid attention. And where was she all the time? Cozy Creek was always having one event or another; why hadn’t I seen her? I was sure that I would have remembered seeing heraround. We were the same age. She would have finished college years ago.
“Did you say you were looking for something for a list?” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat again. Her fingers were twisting around each other as she shifted from foot to foot. She was lying. She knew I had her list.
“No. I mean, maybe. I found a list.” I carefully brought it out of my pocket and held it up.
When I headed over here, I had been sure this had been Grandma El Kincaid’s list. Some final grand adventure. I thought of the last item on the list that had been struck through and written off as absurd.Multiple toe-curling orgasms ...
I was really stuck on how she filled out those jeans, and I needed to move on.
These heavy boots and pants felt way too hot. Why had I insisted on wearing the uniform to the bonfire? To show off? I was such a tool bag sometimes, Levi was right.
Sophie snatched the paper from my hand faster than I’d seen her move since I arrived.
