Runaway Girl (Girl 2)

“No, this is my first time.” She takes her first sip of wine, sighing with pleasure, and I feel that sound right between my legs. “Officially, anyway. I have mentored some friends.”

“What were you doing before you left Charleston to become a coach?”

Birdie lets her fork clatter onto her plate. “God, Jason. She’s not a suspected terrorist. Stop with the interrogation.”

“Just making conversation.”

My sister makes her disagreement obvious with an eye roll. “We’ll wait here while you get your polygraph machine hooked up.”

“No, it’s okay,” Naomi breathes, holding up peaceful hands. Looking…alarmed. “It’s fine. It’s totally natural to be curious. Why, I’m practically a stranger.”

The almost-argument rattled Naomi, that much is obvious. There’s an ever-so-slight tremor in her fingers, and her coloring has gone from cream to pink. She jumped right into playing peacekeeper like an old pro. Needing to put her at ease, I open my mouth intending to drop the subject, but she keeps going before I get the chance.

“I-I mentioned I needed some time away from Charleston and I meant it. I’m sure it sounds awfully trite, but I’m here to…well, discover what I’m made of, I guess you could say.” She’s talking directly to Birdie now and that’s fine, but I need her attention back soon so I’ll know I didn’t scare her or something. “I’ve never been out on my own and I wanted to try it. To see if I even knew how. Isn’t that something a woman should know about herself?” She waves a hand. “I kept busy while you were in school today, Birdie, walking around St. Augustine and figuring out what to do while I’m in town. Speaking of beer, did you know there’s a brewery in town? They teach a beer making course and I’m taking our little contest tonight as a sign that I should go.” She rearranges herself in her chair with a nod. “I’m sure they make beers that won’t make me want to buy a new mouth.”

“So, you’re here for, like, an adventure?” Birdie asks slowly.

“Yes.” Naomi reaches over to squeeze Birdie’s arm. “Coaching you will be part of the adventure.” She winks at my sister, who gives her a genuine but grudging one back. “It’s just exciting to spend my free time how I choose.”

I’d like to explore that last comment, unfortunately I’m still stuck on the beer-making course. “Where is this brewery? Who’s teaching this class?”

“I don’t know.” She turns and digs around in the purse she left hanging on the back of the chair. “There’s a group of young men with adorable mustaches on the flyer—”

A grunt comes straight from my chest. “Let me see it.”

Her back straightens at my command and I already know what that means. “No.”

“Heard of Google? It won’t be hard to find out the information.”

“Then I suggest you Google it, Mr. Bristow,” she fires back, celebrating the final word with a sip of wine. “Let’s talk evening gowns, Birdie…”

If you’d told me six months ago I’d be sitting at a table listening to women debate the merits of strapless versus halter dresses, I would have called you a liar. But hell if the time doesn’t fly by while I’m watching Naomi grow more and more animated over the top of my beer, her giggle making my kitchen comfortable instead of functional. A place to dwell instead of a place to eat and get the hell out. An hour passes before I know I’ve blinked.

I worried she’d be a distraction.

As she deigns to look over at me, though, pursing her beautiful lips to find me studying her probably way too closely, I start to think distraction might have been an understatement.

CHAPTER SIX

ColdCaseCrushers.com

Username: StopJustStop

Question: Are you all off of your NUT? She’s probably at a friend’s house.

Or having a nice long think. Try it sometime!!!

This is how rumors start and trails go cold, people. Diversions provided by nincompoops like you. I’m taking a break. I’ll be offline until further notice. Good. Riddance.

Naomi

I tap the quarter against the payphone and play a game with fate. If the coin goes into the slot by itself, I’ll call my mother. If it doesn’t go in, I can wait until tomorrow. Tap, tap, tap.

When I returned to the motel last night, I used the phone in my room to contact the brewery and sign up for the beer making class. It took me fifteen minutes to walk here from the motel this afternoon, but since I’d allotted a half an hour, now seemed a good a time as any to get this dreaded phone call out of the way. I really don’t want to make it. So much so that I’m hopping around like I need to visit the little girls’ room. Until this moment, it’s been possible to pretend my whole disaster of a wedding day never took place. That it was all a cream-and-navy-colored dream. But it wasn’t. And the fallout is probably pacing by the golden-mouthed, ivory-handled antique phone in our grand salon back in Charleston.