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“You’re really signing up to help out with the Boo Bash?”
The ink is still drying on the volunteer form where a single name is scrawled on the white paper. Mine.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Well, that’s…thoughtful of you.”
“I’m happy to help.”
Twirling her hair around her finger, she bats her long, lacquered lashes up at me. “I would’ve signed up, too, but I have a family thing.”
My mouth quirks up on one side. “No judgment here.”
“Then, what’s with the smirk?” She waves her manicured finger a few inches from my face.
“No smirk.”
“I can see it,” she flirts.
The door slams open before a certain Swenson sister sways into the break room and cuts off our conversation.
“Hey, Sarah,” Skye greets her. Her voice is sickly sweet as she leans against the counter beside us and folds her arms. “There’s a cute little kid waiting in the hall that was asking about you.”
Sarah’s brow arches. “You sure about that?”
“Positive. Asked for you by name and everything.”
“Hmm,” Sarah hums, unconvinced, before turning back to me. “It was good chatting with you today, Owen.”
“You too. Thanks for showing me the ropes.”
“Anytim
e.” Her little fingers wiggle back and forth before she sashays out the door like a runway model, leaving me alone with a very astute, very prickly woman named Skye.
“Why, hello, Big O. Fancy seeing you here.”
The girl might be the youngest of the Swenson sisters, but she used to be the fieriest. It seems things haven’t changed since I left.
“Hey, Skye. How’ve you been?”
She shrugs before reaching for the pen in my hand, then scrawls her name beneath mine. “Crappy. Got married to help a guy out, fell in love with him in Tuscany during our honeymoon, then found out he was a big, fat liar, and am in the process of getting divorced. But I think the real question here is, how have you been? Seems like a pretty small world for you to show your face back here after everything you put her through.”
“Skye––”
“Why are you here?”
I grab the back of my neck and squeeze.
Why the hell does everyone ask me this?
“Answer the question,” she pushes.
With a sigh, I lean my ass against the counter where the coffee machine sits. “I’m here because I had a great childhood and want my son to have one too.”
“There’s a lot of places your son could have a great childhood,” she argues, sounding a hell of a lot like my sister. “Why here, Owen?”
“I missed her.”
