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CHAPTER 30
Hank
Iput the last of the leftovers into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer. I wasn’t a big drinker, but a cold one sounded nice. I popped it open as I listened to one of my mom’s favorite oldie’s stations that was playing “Between the Sheets” by the Isley Brothers. It was online now but she used to listen to it on a radio she kept on the window sill above the sink.
That radio was up in the attic now. I’d seen it when I’d gone up to get Luna books. I stared at the empty spot in the window and decided that I’d go back up into the attic tomorrow and get it.
Tonight, I was going to finish Love Island and try not to think too much about what my brother had said because his question had been on repeat in my head.
What would I do if I woke up one morning and Skylar and Luna were gone?
My hope was the trash reality show would get my mind off that possibly happening. I’d just sat down in the recliner and listened to the narrator recap what had happened in the last episode when my phone vibrated.
I pulled it out of my pocket hoping that it was Skylar. We hadn’t really had a chance to talk at the party. But we’d caught each other’s eye on several occasions. One moment, in particular, stood out when I’d seen her with my sister.
Cheyenne was standing next to her and for a split second, it looked just like Skylar was talking to my mom. It was still eerie and uncanny how much Cheyenne resembled our mom. Everything down to the way she tilted her head right before she laughed, and how she scrunched her nose when she concentrated.
Those little mannerisms had been so unique to our mom and watching them come back to life was a lot to process. It was like seeing her again, but not. It was sort of a mind fuck.
When I checked the message, I was disappointed to see it was from Reagan not Skylar. But I perked up when I clicked on the link Reagan sent of pictures that she’d taken at the party because eighty percent of them had Skylar in them.
I scrolled through the pictures and marveled at how people responded to Skylar. Every single person, in every picture she was in, was beaming with happiness as they talked to her. It was the same when I’d watched her behind the bar at Southern Comfort.
She had a way of making anyone she talked to feel like the most important person in the world. There was a magic about her that I’d never experienced before. People were drawn to her. They just wanted to be near her.
I also noticed just how fucking beautiful she was. Not that that was a surprise either. Of course, I knew that she was stunning. But seeing someone and being able to study them were two different things. She didn’t have a bad side, she looked good from every single angle she was photographed from.
The more I looked at her, the more I realized that it wasn’t just one thing that made her so gorgeous. Some people had one or, if they were lucky, a few stand-out qualities. A button nose, pretty eyes, a nice smile, silky hair, smooth and creamy skin, curves that were dangerous, or toned legs. Skylar had all those stand-out qualities and more. She was smart, funny, sweet, sassy, loving, nurturing, selfless, and she could kiss.
Damn, she could kiss.
I was staring at a picture that highlighted her lips when I heard the slats on my porch squeak. I’d been sure that everyone had gone before I’d come inside. Or at least I thought I had.
I stood and when I opened the door, I expected to see a straggler from the party. But what I saw was Skylar’s back as she froze halfway down my steps.
“Skylar?”
She slowly turned around. “Sorry, I was going to knock, but then, I just, I didn’t want to interrupt…whatever it is you were doing.”
I was looking at the pictures that Reagan sent of the party missing you.
“I wasn’t doing anything.” I could feel her nervousness even from a few feet away.
Her hands shook as she lifted them and covered her stomach.
Looked like she’d swallowed some butterflies. Which begged the question, why was she so nervous? “Is everything okay?”
“Yep. Fine.”
My eyes must have lowered for a split second and shown my hand because she dropped her arms like she’d been caught in the act.
I opened the door further. “Do you want to come in?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“You could never bother me.”
She took in a shaky breath and walked the last two steps and crossed the porch. As she walked past me inside the house, I noticed that her hair was damp and smelled like strawberries. I knew that was what her shampoo smelled like because I’d accidentally dropped it when I was replacing the showerhead in her bathroom.
