Page 65 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

Chapter 40: Gavin

Gavin didn’t worry about lying to Skylar. So what if he hadn’t yet been accepted into Le Cordon Blue? He would be soon enough. As soon as his shift at the bakery was over, he went to his parent’s home and downloaded all the application materials. His mom and dad would be happy he had a plan.

But at the same time, he knew it wasn’t enough.

Already he could tell Skylar was conflicted. After all, she’d told him that she ‘wasn’t remotely’ attracted to Mitch! What was that about? Less than forty-eight hours ago, she was sure Mitch had killed Jo Beth, and now she was analyzing whether she had feelings for him?

No. Hell no.

So, while plan “A” was to make himself more desirable by being slightly out of reach and having the promise of success, plan “B” was all about Mitch. He would dig up dirt, dirt he could use to set Skylar against him.

He drove over to Sky’s after his shift at the bakery. “I’m going to the library to study for my Brontë class,” she’d said before she left that morning. “I work better there. After that, I have a physical therapy appointment.”

He parked by her curb when he knew she’d be gone, and he waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous Mitch. After about an hour he emerged, with the baby in one of those slings that was like a forward-facing backpack. Okay, so Mitch was tall and broad, and with a great head of hair. And when he placed his large hand over the baby’s head, murmured something to her, and smiled a warm, wide smile, Gavin clenched the steering wheel in disgust. This guy was Mr. Darcy and flourless chocolate torte wrapped up in the flawless package of an intellectual-looking NBA player. Gavin doubted there was a woman alive who could resist him. But what the hell; why was Mitch smiling? His girlfriend was dead and his daughter was motherless.

Mitch was obviously an asshole.

Gavin waited until Mitch wouldn’t notice and then he got out of the car and followed him, keeping a safe distance so his presence wouldn’t be detected. He trailed Mitch as he walked into a busier part of town, where there were little shops that sold things like hand-made paper, wine, and specialty knitting supplies. Gavin hurried through puddles and over piles of slush, cursing his thin leather shoes, while Mitch’s long legs traipsed easily and quickly over the wintry mess, his feet protected by Sorels. Mitch turned into a boutique grocery store that Gavin knew to be overpriced, stocked with European imports that offered exotic packaging but disappointing flavor.

Gavin followed him in and browsed the aisles while Mitch made his selections. “Excuse me,” he said to a saleslady, “but can you recommend a good olive oil?”

She was happy to and she also gushed over the baby. Except for one moment when Mitch sort of tripped over his own feet, he stood so tall and proud that you’d never guess he’d just been punched by tragedy. That was only one of the reasons Gavin didn’t trust him. Flirting with the salesgirl and buying over-rated food products to most likely use in an incompetent dinner attempt for Skylar: that all made Mitch seem shady, but it could maybe be forgiven. However, on the walk home, Gavin heard Mitch talking to himself. It was like he was having a conversation with a ghost.

It was like he was crazy.