Page 6 of Sight of Fate

I click a few more links. Less than a hundred employees. I raise an eyebrow. Another article goes on to quote Teague’s desire to keep it private and the actions he takes to ensure every employee is valued and necessary to the long-term growth of the business. Why does this seem too good to be true? I continue searching, hoping for an image of Teague, but there isn’t one. Anywhere. That’s odd.

I glance up as someone walks by. They do a double take when they see my face. I drop my phone in my lap and keep my head turned as I back out of the spot and leave.

If I hadn’t had the pin, I would’ve never found this place. The two-lane road looks as if it’s leading me straight into a mountain, but around the bend, the road continues up a steep hill. I crest the top and inhale sharply at the sight of the sprawling city that suddenly appears in the valley below like a mirage in the middle of the desert. I pull onto the shoulder and get out of my car.

Greystone Vale is a hidden gem in the middle of nowhere. Bigger than I pictured, it’s surrounded by mountains on almost all four sides. I don’t know why I kept thinking it was a small town. Teague did say over a hundred thousand people live here. Buildings, shops, and neighborhoods clustered in the center gradually spread outward to houses and farms, stopping only when they meet the sheer rock of the mountains.

Pine and fir trees dot the landscape. Animals graze in the meadows nearest to me, which I’m guessing are beautifully green and filled with wildflowers in the summer. There’s a stillness to the image as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for winter. Crisp, clean air fills my lungs as I stand there, breathing it in. Nature in all her glory. It’s beautiful.

I study the mountains enclosing this remarkable haven. This appears to be the only road in or out. Once it’s impassable, the city will truly be isolated from the rest of the world.

That thought should terrify me, but there’s something comforting about the idea of leaving the world behind. Starting new. Somewhere where Hank won’t be able to find me, at least not for the next six months.

Getting back in the car, I pass a sign welcoming visitors to Greystone Vale, and as I do, an odd sensation washes over me. For a brief second, the valley disappears as if a blindfold has slipped over my eyes. By the time I move my foot to the brake, it’s back. My heart races and my hands tremble against the steering wheel. It was like driving into a whiteout in the middle of a perfectly sunny day. Could it have been a vision? I didn’t get any images, but they do sometimes hit me like that.

Taking a deep breath, I continue following the road directly into the heart of the city, where I find the most delightful downtown area. Cute shops sparkle in the afternoon sun, while sidewalks full of people peek into their windows. A small park sits off the main street with kids playing on its bright, cheery playground. I grin in disbelief. It’s a Hallmark movie come to life.

On the other side of downtown, I pull into a gas station and get out. A brief gust of icy cold wind sweeps through, making me suck in a harsh breath. Damn, that’s cold. I blow on my hands as I fill up the tank, then rush inside to use the bathroom and get directions. I’m going to need a few things in order to stay in Greystone Vale. Like a heavy winter coat.

“Excuse me.” I pause and wait for the cashier to acknowledge me. When the woman turns in my direction, she sniffs the air. That’s odd. Do I stink? I subtly turn my head and take a whiff of myself. Maybe a little. I didn’t get a chance to shower yesterday before everything blew up. “Can you tell me if there’s a Wal-Mart or a thrift store nearby?”

Starburst brown and gold eyes study me for a second before she slowly recites directions to a store down the street. She glances at the screen beside her. “$37.”

I stare blankly at her for a second, then realize she’s talking about the gas. “Oh, yes, sorry.” I tap my card against the reader. “Thanks for the directions.”

A tiny nod is all I get in response, making me frown. People seemed so friendly in the little downtown area, smiling and laughing with each other. Maybe they have to get to know you first. Jogging to my car, I hop in and follow the directions she gave me. Two blocks over is the cutest little thrift store in a bright green building called Second Chances.

A bell chimes the second I enter, and a moment later, an older woman with a short grey bob walks out of the back. Her cheery expression and forest green eyes are a welcome sight after the woman at the gas station.

Wearing a paint-covered bright green smock and old blue jeans, she’s drying her equally paint-splattered hands with a rag as she greets me. “Welcome to Second Chances. I’m Victoria. How can I help you?”

Relieved, I walk toward her. “Hello! Nice to meet you. I’m Charli.” I rub my arms up and down. “Do you happen to have any coats? Maybe some blankets or a heavy-duty sleeping bag?”

She smiles and leads me over to the women’s section. “Coats, sweaters, ski gear. Take a look. Feel free to try anything on.” She waves a hand toward a small, curtained area. “I’ll have to check in the back to see if we have any blankets or a sleeping bag.”

I nod and dive into the racks. Thanks to the two gigs I accepted, I should have more money coming in later this week, which is good because I didn’t ask Teague when I’d get paid. Still, I need to be frugal in case it’s a month before my first paycheck.

There’s a pretty good selection of coats. I grab a few in my size and walk over to try them on in front of the mirror. I turn from one side to the other. All of them fit, but the grey one is probably the most practical since it will go with anything. The hot pink one is super cute and cheerful but might be too bright. Or maybe I’m too used to blending in. With a sigh, I take it off and slip on the light blue. My nose wrinkles at the sight. Nope. Washes me out.

“The pink,” Victoria urges. “It really brightens your face.” She comes up behind me in the mirror.

“Definitely not the blue,” I tell her, putting it back on the hanger. “I was thinking the grey would be better because it’s more neutral. More professional.”

Her lips twist in a wry smile as she looks down at her shirt. “I’m a little partial to bright colors, but I really do think the pink suits you. Makes your eyes pop.”

I finger it for a second, but I need to pick something practical, not something that stands out in a crowd, no matter how pretty it is. “I’ll take the grey.”

With a slight frown, she takes the coat from me. “Okay. I’ll put this by the register.”

After she leaves, I hang the other two coats back on the rack for the next person. For a second, my eyes linger on the pink one, but I force myself to move on to the sweaters. I have two nice sweaters in the car which will be perfect for work. It’s so cold, though. I decide to get two more. One in navy and the other in black. Lastly, I add a couple of button-down shirts in white and pink to go under them.

Moving on to the pants section, I wince, realizing I don’t really have anything appropriate for work, but right now, all I can afford are two pairs. Maybe if I get them both in black, I can pass them off as a preference instead of a lack of wardrobe. I grab several and head toward the curtained area to try them on.

As I slip in and out of the pants, I hear voices in the shop. Victoria’s and a deep, gravelly voice, speaking in hushed tones. Not wanting to eavesdrop, I return my focus to the pants. Thankfully, at 5’6”, I don’t need petite or tall, so most of them fit. I hold the pants up to the light one by one, examining them for loose threads, worn areas, and stains, then choose the two that look the best.

Walking out, I hang up the ones I don’t want, then head to the register where Victoria’s standing near a big, tall man with his back to me. My feet falter when I see his dark, wavy hair and broad shoulders, and for a second, my heart skips a few beats. But then, my artist’s eye automatically captures the differences between the man in my vision and the one turning to face me. Similar but distinct. Instead of hair the color of an espresso, this guy’s hair is a silky black with longer, tousled waves on top as if he can’t be bothered to get a regular haircut. His shoulders and chest are broader too. Overall, he’s big and muscular instead of broad tapering into lean like the man in my dream.

His eyes find mine the second he turns, and I suck in a shocked breath. Those eyes. Deep blue with long, ebony lashes. I must have seen them a dozen times over the last two years. Drawn them countless more. In person, their impact is more potent, and I shakily exhale. But it’s more than their shape or color; the promise in them tugs at something deep inside me.