When I saw one with the name Mila on the bottom, I paused, studying it a little longer, and I wondered if it was my Mila’s masterpiece from when she was in primary school. There were no dates to tell me if it was, but for some reason, I could picture her painting the abstract I was looking at.
“Tell your mom I said hello, Lexa,” the woman behind the counter said as she handed over a bag to the dark-haired customer. As she spoke, I turned to smile at them.
The curvy customer took her sack of food, but she didn’t return my smile. Pushing her hair back from her face with her free hand, she exposed the right side of her face, and I saw the mean scar that went from her temple to the corner of her mouth. The scar looked like it had been painful acquiring, but it did nothing to detract from how beautiful she was.
The ring on her left hand proclaimed her married, and the baby wrapped against her chest in one of those swaddle harness contraptions my sister had used to hold my niece and nephew close to her chest while she went about her daily routine finally caught my eye.
The baby’s head was covered in thick, dark hair. Since he was wrapped in blue, I assumed the baby was a boy, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud until I had confirmation. I’d made assumptions before about strangers’ babies and been given an earful because I’d gotten the gender wrong. I wanted to be welcomed in Creswell Springs, so I wasn’t about to make some random new mommy an enemy by calling her precious bundle a boy when it just as easily could have been a girl.
“You must be the jerk-off who is opening the new tattoo place near campus,” she said as she eyed me dispassionately. “Just a little friendly advice.” Her voice was anything but friendly, but I didn’t call her out on it. “Cut your losses now and go back to wherever you came from.”
“Nah, I kind of like all the frost around this place.” I opened my phone and pulled up my pictures. I had two recent pictures of Hayat and Evan my sister had sent me. “Beautiful baby you’ve got there. Take a look at my niece and nephew.” I turned the phone so she could see my favorite little kids.
I could see her trying not to react to the cuteness that was Hayat and Evan with their dark curls, dimples, and those aquamarine eyes that pulled people in no matter how hard-hearted they were. It took all of five seconds before she grabbed my phone and the glare turned into a soft smile. “They are adorable.”
Leaning closer to her, I swiped my thumb over the screen, showing her a picture of Little Em. Normally I didn’t show any of the kids’ pictures to strangers, but for some reason, I wanted to show them to this chick.
“All that red hair,” she gushed.
“With all the hair this one has, I bet you had a lot of heartburn. My sister did with both, and they each came out with a mop of curls so dark and thick, my mom would sit and play with it for hours.”
She rubbed her hand over the baby’s back. “I was miserable, especially the last few months before I had Finn.” I heard a phone alert, and she lifted hers to look at the screen. Her eyes widened as she read, and then she was looking up at me with a glare again. “You’re Lyric Thornton.”
“That news traveled slower than I expected,” I said with a wink. “Figured as small as this place is, it would have already been old news by now.” Stepping back, I pocketed my phone and then opened the front door for her. “Enjoy your lunch.”
Once she was out, still shooting me hard glances over her shoulder, I walked over to where the woman behind the counter was watching me like I was her new favorite sitcom. “What’s your most popular sandwich?” I asked, upping the wattage on my smile.
“Son, you already have the sheriff’s wife half won over, but you’ve got the local MC president’s daughter about ready to scratch your eyes out.” She laughed. “Oddly enough, they are one and the same.”
I laughed. “That was the sheriff’s wife and the motorcycle club pres’s daughter? I thought MCs were criminals. What are they doing letting their own marry a cop?”
She laughed and started putting together a sandwich right in front of me, piling it with deli meats and veggies. “I ask myself that all the time. But those two are crazy in love, so I don’t worry about it too much.” She swiped on some spicy mustard, and my stomach growled in appreciation. “You’re Lyric Thornton?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Name’s Patty. I own this place.” She cut the sandwich in half and wrapped it up. “You ever need to know anything about this town, I’m the person to come see. I know everything that goes on here.”
“Yeah?” I pulled out my wallet, ready to pay her. “That picture over there, the one by the kindergarten kid named Mila. Would that be Mila Masterson, by any chance?”
Her eyes lit up. “It would. I teach art once a week at the local elementary school. Keep all my favorite pictures right there. Lexa still has a few over there too, if you want to take a look.”
“How much for Mila’s picture?” I asked, ready to pay whatever number she came up with to have something of my Mila’s.
“Those aren’t for sale, son.” She bagged my food and handed it over. “No charge today. Consider it a ‘Welcome to Creswell Springs’ from me.”
“Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.” My gaze went back to the wall of pictures. “But I’m not going to take no for an answer. I want that picture. Name your price.”
???
Licking spicy mustard off my thumb, I stepped back and admired Mila’s picture on the front wall of the shop. It was the only artwork I’d hung so far, but I couldn’t stop looking at it.
Finishing the last of my sandwich, I started to force myself to turn away when I saw someone walking up the sidewalk toward the front entrance. Pausing, I waited, figuring it was someone there to apply for the receptionist position.
A curvy woman in her early forties walked into the shop. Her hair was shoulder-length and a pretty brown, her eyes an even prettier blue. When she spotted me, she stopped in her tracks, her hand covering her mouth. “It is you,” she half whispered, and tears filled her eyes. “Oh my goodness. You’ve grown up
so much.”
It was a day of people coming into my shop and confusing the hell out of me, it seemed. I stood there, frowning down at the woman, wondering what drug she was on.