Page 62 of Run to Me

“Logan’s little sister?” Trevor asks. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

“She’s staying with Pam Wakefield, but no one knows why.” Gina snorts and adds, “Typical Maisy. She was always a mystery.”

“Remember her wild outfits? Crazy Maisy.” Trevor chuckles at the old nickname Logan’s friends—apart from me—used when they teased her.

“Don’t call her that,” I say.

He squints at my biting tone, but Gina doesn’t notice our subtle exchange and prattles on.

“She had so much confidence. That’s why girls were jealous of her and boys drooled over her, but she didn’t give anyone the time of day.”

Much of Maisy’s confidence was fabricated. She struggled with low self-esteem as a teenager, but like the other challenges in her life, she rose above it.

Thoughtfulness wrinkles Trevor’s forehead. “I don’t remember any guys drooling over her.”

“Logan wouldn’t stand for any guys going after Maisy. Remember when he locked that kid in the janitor’s closet to keep him from asking her to homecoming? That poor kid wasn’t found until late at night. And didn’t he choke Peyton Riggs in the hallway senior year?”

Squirming in my seat, I witness the realization hitting Trevor. His eyes burn a hole through my head. He assisted me in the closet escapade by acting as a lookout, though he believed the kid bullied someone and earned a little payback. He also stood nearby when I pinned Peyton Riggs to a locker, but he didn’t hear the vile words Peyton said about Maisy.

“That’s right,” Trevor drawls. “Logan was ruthless about keeping boys away from his sister.”

Gina continues. “Well, Lydia said Maisy’s more beautiful now than she was back then, if that’s even possible.”

“Oh, it’s possible,” I murmur under my breath.

“Girls are gross!” No sooner does the declaration leave Parker’s mouth than he gets little heart eyes and screams at the top of his lungs, “Astrid!”

With pizza sauce covering his face and shirt, he flies out of his chair and races toward Javi, Clementine, and their four-year-old daughter, Astrid. Parker grabs the little brunette’s hand and tows her toward the play set in the yard.

Clementine lets out a wistful sigh while watching the kids play. “Those two are adorable.”

When Javi began his world tour in search of his ideal wife, he brought several women to Walford to show off his hometown. They weren’t impressed, expecting a well-traveled Zen master to live some place more exotic than a Podunk town in central Texas. Turns out, his dream wife lived in a similar small town about an hour away. Clementine meets all of Javi’s requirements: she’s taller than him, curvy, blonde, and she prefers beaded jewelry to gemstones.

“They’re cute for now,” Javi says, grumbling. He falls into the empty seat beside Trevor, who’s eyeing me like I’m a subject in a criminal lineup. Javi’s scrutinizing gaze bounces between us. “What’s up?” he asks.

Trevor tilts his head and crosses his arms. “We were just talking about Maisy Donovan.”

“What about her?” Javi adds his laser-focused stare to my head, and sweat gathers on my neck.

“She moved back to town,” Gina supplies. She’s unaware of the three-way staring contest between the men at the table while she frees Eloise from the highchair.

Javi sinks back in his chair and curses, “Shit,” under his breath before looking away.

“Is that a bad thing?” Clementine didn’t attend school with us, but she’s heard stories of Logan and, by association, Maisy.

“No.” My firm voice dares Javi to meet my gaze so I can reiterate how her return is not a bad thing despite what he thinks. Her being back in Walford offers me hope for the new beginning I’ve been waiting for.

Gina picks up on the tension around the table. “I feel like we’re missing something,” she says.

Lucky for me, a sweet voice whispers, “Potty,” diverting Gina’s attention. She lifts Eloise into her arms and rushes into the house. I never gave much thought to their recent foray into potty training, but I’m grateful for it now.

“How long is she staying?” Javi asks. Apparently, he’s incapable of remaining in my good graces and feels the need to provoke me.

I raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Why don’t you ask her?”

With any luck, she’ll stay forever if I prove myself to her. I’ll show her I’m honest in my feelings and mean every word I say, and she’ll trust me again.

“You can also ask her if she likes to read illustrated books,” Trevor quips.