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“Nonsense. This is black,” she insisted.
I grabbed the ribbon from her and set it back on the shelf. “It’s navy, and it won’t work.” The backroom door swung open, and Jack walked out. “There’s Jack.”
“Oh lordy. See, he’s tucking his shirt in.” Missy hissed. “Whatever you do, do not touch his hands,” she advised.
“Jack,” I called. “Can you check to see if there is any more one-inch black ribbon in the back?”
Jack gave me a two-fingered salute and backtracked to the backroom.
“Gonna be ten minutes before he surfaces again. You gave him an excuse to read a few more pages,” Missy laughed.
“You’re a nut, Missy.” I moved over to the selection of orange ribbons and tried to figure out which shade would be perfect. It needed to be bright, but not neon bright.
“Can we get back to what we were talking about before?”
“Your breakfast? It must have been pretty good if you want to keep talking about it.” I fingered a light shade of orange and wondered if it would clash with the dark shadow of orange I already had at home. Mrs. Baxter was as sweet as pie, but she would have a bird if the colors weren’t right for her fall wreath.
Missy scoffed. “Wilder Presley is back, Shelby,” she shouted.
I dropped the light orange ribbon, and Missy's words hit me like bullets to my head. “Uh, what?” There was no way she had just saidthat.
No.
No, no, no.
Missy snapped her fingers in my face. “Now you’re gonna listen, huh?” she laughed. She shook her head and turned to the rack of ribbon. “What if you did a dark purple instead of black?” she suggested.
I grabbed her shoulder and spun her back to face me. “We’re not going to talk about ribbon right now,” I spat.
“You’re about a minute behind on your shock, Shelby. I’m over having to tell you about Wilder.”
“I was listening all along,” I muttered.
“Wilder Presley is back in Adams, Shelby Lyn, and you look like you saw a ghost.”
I glared at Missy. “I heard you the first time you said it.”
Missy cackled. “Second time I said it, you heard, but I had to repeat it because the look you get when I say his name says so much.”
I didn’t get a look when she said his name. There was no reason why I would get a look.None.“Where is Jack with my ribbon?” I grumbled.
“So you’re just going to act like I didn’t tell youtheWilder Presley is home?” Missy smirked. “You can’t act like this with me, Shelby. You told me what you said the day he left.” She wagged her finger in my face. “I have known you for nineteen years and one hundred ten days.”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t acting anyway, just like I hadn’t had a look when she said Wilder’s name. “And this isn’t his home,” I insisted. “When you leave for more than nine years, the place you go to becomes your home.”
“Is that a rule?” Missy questioned.
“Here ya go,” Jack called. He held up three rolls of black ribbon. “These are the last of them.” He made his way to me, and I grabbed the rolls from him.
“Thanks.” I nodded to the orange ribbon. “I need to grab a couple of rolls of orange. I’ll meet you at the register.”
Jack nodded. “Sounds good.”
I grabbed two shades of orange and hoped they would work for the wreath, but my mind was too wound up about Wilder to even notice what I grabbed.
“Shelby,” Missy called.
My eyes darted to her. “What?”
