“But you don’t even know me!” Frustrated beyond belief, Alex raked her hand through her loose hair. “You don’t even know if we’re actually related! I’m just a stranger to you!”
Alexa stared when Ellie chuckled, a reaction she hadn’t expected.
“Come here.” Placing a hand on Alexa’s spine, Ellie guided her over to the cooler. In the reflection in the glass, Alexa watched as the other woman tucked her face in close to her own.
Side by side, the familial resemblance was undeniable, even watered down as the reflection was in the glass. Different hair color, different noses and mouths… but the eyes. The curve of the chin, and something about the tilt of the head.
It could have been coincidence, Alexa supposed. But she knew, deep down she knew, that this woman was truly her sister.
It made her all the more desperate not to be left here, alone. She wanted answers. She wanted them now.
“Are you really going to try to tell me that you don’t believe we’re sisters?” The habitual irritation that Ellie carried melted into a hint of a smile in the translucent reflection. Then flesh and blood Ellie pulled back, turned, and looked Alexa right in the face.
“I’m not sure what I believe anymore.” Looking away quickly, Alexa tried to calm herself, even though she was feeling incredibly overwhelmed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
Her entire body clenched, waiting for Ellie’s disapproval—but though she had a hard time speaking her mind, there it was. Alexa didn’t know enough about herself anymore, to be able to place trust in anyone else. While her gut was telling her that Ellie was family… well, she just wasn’t quite ready to accept that yet.
“Well, I believe it.” Ellie didn’t sound mad. No, instead there was a definite trace of sympathy in the voice that, if Alexa listened hard enough, was definitely similar to her own. “We’re sisters. We’re blood, and that means something to me.”
“Maybe. But I still really can’t— ”
“This shop belonged to our grandmother, and so did the apartment upstairs. It’s only right that you’re the one to watch it.”
“Ready to go, babe?” The man who entered, cutting off Alexa’s retort, was tall and lean, but there was still no disguising the strength in his body—or the way that he held himself. Rigid, like a military man. Or, Alexa noted, catching sight of the police cruiser outside, a cop.
He reached out an arm for Ellie who, despite that prickly exterior, cuddled right into it, then turned and pinned Alexa with bright green eyes. “You’d be Alexa, then.”
“I… yes.” Alexa wasn’t typically nervous around cops—she’d always been far too well behaved for that—but nothing about today was typical. And this man, with his deep eyes, looked like he knew things about Alexa that she herself did not.
But in the end, nothing prophetic came out of his mouth. He simply nodded and shook her hand, then herded Ellie out the door. Alexa followed, still protesting that she absolutely couldn’t do this, but Ellie talked right over her.
“Ellie. I don’t know a damn thing about flowers!” Finally Alexa shouted this as Ellie climbed into the passenger’s side of the sheriff’s vehicle and rolled down the window. By this point the other woman was distracted by her husband, and just nodded.
“Just sell things. You’ll be fine.” And then they were gone, the tires kicky up the dry, crumbling asphalt. Not sure what else to do, Alexa watched, speechless, as the car made its way down main street, then turned and drove out of sight.
Alexa wasn’t sure how long she stood there, watching as her last life line drove away, wondering what the hell had just happened. She’d arrived in Florence less than an hour ago with a suitcase, a hotel room and a head full of questions. Now she had a flower shop to run, an apartment that belonged to her supposed grandmother, and even fewer answers than she’d started with.
It was going to be a long few days.
Chapter Three
The small diner that lay across the street from Estelle’s Blooms was about as different from the Boxtree as it could possibly have been. While the restaurant where Alexa waitressed was identical to a thousand other locations across America and therefore rather soulless, the Chat ‘n Chew was a different story altogether, tiny and decorated exactly as it had been when it had opened in the mid-fifties.
Alexa was seated in a small booth upholstered in avocado green vinyl, nursing a mug of herbal tea that she didn’t particularly like. She was a coffee drinker, but caffeine hadn’t seemed like a good idea, not with nerves and anxiety and who knew what else skittering around underneath her skin.
Still somewhat shell shocked by the stunt that the steamroller masquerading as her sister had pulled, Alexa raked her fork through the piece of sweet potato pie that the perky waitress named Alice had brought her. Normally Alexa was hard pressed to meet a sweet that she didn’t like, and she’d ordered it thinking that some comfort food might perk her up.
But now it sat on its white plate, railroad tracks from her fork striping the orange goo. Her appetite was just gone.
Since arriving in Florence two hours ago, Alexa had felt a bit like she was walking underwater. She was forced to admit to herself that she’d expected to feel some sort of kinship with the town, some spark of recognition that told her, without a doubt, that this was where her roots were. That here was the place where she would find the answer—the puzzle piece that would fill that empty hole inside of her.
But other than that strange feeling outside of the prison, when she’d seen that barbed wire, there was just a disconcerting lack of… nothing. Just the disappointment that came with Ellie’s leaving right away.
There’s nothing for you there. Unbidden, her mother’s words rang through her mind, and Alexa winced. Truthfully, what had she expected? To stumble across a box that contained the answer to every question she’d ever had about her father, her background?
The nothingness made her panic, a little. What was she doing here, anyway? She was a celebrated artist, and this trip was just postponing her getting back to her life—the life she’d had before the accident.
There was nothing for her here. Her mother had been right. Now she was stuck, prolonging the agony until Ellie got back.
Scowling, she pulled a pen from her purse and, pulling a napkin from the metal dispenser on the table, started to sketch. After she’d inked the first few curves of the waitress’ face, she realized with a start that this was the most art that she’d done in a year.
Pausing, Alexa forked up a bite of the pie and scooped it into her mouth. The pure sweetness gave her a jolt, and when she squinted, looked around the small diner, the greyness of her previous thoughts turned to Technicolor brightness and everything suddenly clicked, a sense of rightness.
Maybe she was right where she was supposed to be. For now, anyway.
Grinning to herself, Alexa turned back to her drawing. She finished the sketch of the waitress, then moved on to an elderly woman in a long tie-dyed skirt who sat at the front counter, knitting something large and bright green. She outlined the sign for Estelle’s Blooms, visible through the large window of the diner that had yellowed slightly as the years had passed.
Lifting her head, she let her gaze roam the room, searching for her next target. Her eyes landed on a man about her own age, maybe a few years older, and when he lifted his head and looked at her right back, nodding once in acknowledgement, she felt the punch of attraction like a fist in the gut.
He nodded once more, just the slightest jerk of his head, then returned his attention to his meal, but Alexa was left with a surge of adrenaline.
Wow. She’d never felt that kind of instant… want before.
She was overcome with the urge to capture it in the only way she knew how.
Stealing surreptitious glances, she pulled a new napkin toward her and began to draw.
The man was seated, of course, but looked like he’d be tall when standing. He looked like he normally filled out his clothing pretty well too, but had
recently lost more weight than he could afford to. It stretched the skin a little too tightly over his cheekbones, emphasizing the sharpness of steel grey eyes.
He wore a uniform, navy blue and looking a little bit tired, just like the man. He’d unbuttoned the top two fastenings of the shirt, and had clearly run his fingers through hair that was brown in some lights, and had threads of red in another.
Despite the slight gauntness of his face, he seemed to fill a lot of space. Between that and the uniform, Alexa assumed that he was a prison guard.
As she feverishly sketched, she wondered why on earth she found that so incredibly fascinating.
She continued to draw, stealing glances as he ate what looked to be beans and rice rolled into a tortilla. When her fingers stopped moving, the image done, she found that she herself was starving, and attacked the remains of her pie with a hunger that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
She was swallowing the last bite when the napkin with her drawing suddenly moved, sliding across the table. Slapping a hand down to hold it in place, she jerked her head up and found those dark grey eyes regarding her with cool amusement.
“If you sell that, do I get a cut?”
“Excuse me?” Angry at the intrusion, more than a little embarrassed at being caught, Alexa felt her cheeks flush.
“Relax. I’m just kidding.” The man’s lips curved up just a hint, the beginnings of a smile. Looking her over carefully, he nodded. “Nice T-shirt.”
“Hmm?” Still not sure if she was irritated or not, Alexa looked down at her outfit. Ripped blue jeans, Converse sneakers that had seen better days, and a well-worn T-shirt. The shirt showed the well-known movie poster image from the old cult classic Jaws, but in place of the shark was a fluffy little kitten. “Um… thanks.”
She wasn’t entirely sure if he was making fun of her or not. Now that she was no longer waitressing, she could revert back to what she’d always worn while painting, which, to her mother’s dismay, meant jeans and shirts like these—she had an entire collection of them, with a particular fondness with ones for cats. Once in a while she’d even put a blue streak in her hair, just because it felt good.
Or at least, she used to. As she looked up at the stranger and saw that he seemed sincere, she thought that she just might be feeling the urge again.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” The man gave her that little smile again—it was almost as if he’d forgotten how to do a full one, the muscles there but atrophied. His body turned as if to go, and Alexa suddenly found herself pressing the napkin drawing into his hand.
“Here,” she blurted, her face flushing again. “You can have it.”
Something flickered in his eyes, as though he was puzzled by her actions—no, by being shown some small kindness. It made Alexa’s heart ache.
But then he folded the napkin up neatly and tucked it into his shirt pocket. When he looked at her again and this time managed what she’d judge was at least half of a smile, she was pretty sure that the attraction she was feeling was reciprocated.
“Thank you.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but didn’t, and Alexa found herself disappointed. Just this little bit of flirting—okay, of almost flirting—had made her feel alive. Still, she couldn’t help but smile to herself when he rubbed his hand over the pocket where he’d placed her drawing.
She thought he might ask for her number—and she knew she’d give it to him, never mind that romance had been the last thing on her mind for what seemed like forever. That it should probably remain that way until she got back to life as she knew it.
But he didn’t ask. He just smiled that strange, sad little smile and walked away—the second time that day that Alexa felt like she’d reached out to someone and they’d left.
Then he was gone, and she didn’t even know his name.
* * *
Alexa was not an early riser, but the next morning she woke with the sun, feeling as though she’d never fully been asleep, a side effect, she supposed, of the previous day’s strange events, coupled with the sounds of an unfamiliar place.
It took a moment for her to remember where she was, and once she did, she closed her eyes, then opened them again, wondering if it was all actually real.
The old-fashioned popcorn ceiling above her head remained the same, as did the pale sunlight filtering in through thin curtains, and the faint musty smell in the air that told her no one had lived in this apartment for some time. Florence. She was in Florence, and yesterday her plans had been turned upside down.
Blinking blearily, Alexa stretched, then tossed back the covers. Padding to the kitchen, she felt that strange sense of someone looking over her shoulder, of intruding someplace she wasn’t supposed to be that came with being in an unfamiliar place. Ignoring it, she poked around the small kitchen, looking for a coffee pot.
There wasn’t one. Just another fabulous thing to add to a trip that was already going so very well, sarcasm intended. For a long moment she was tempted to just go crawl back under the covers and stay there for the remainder of the day.
She couldn’t. She had a flower shop that she had no clue how to open or run.
Irritation settling over her, Alexa slammed a few more cupboard doors until she came across a very battered old metal teakettle. Remembering that she had a package of instant coffee in her purse, she set to work, and within moments had a cup of sweet, steaming caffeine clutched in her hands.
Holding the mug so tightly that it burned her palms, Alexa padded back across the kitchen, down the small hallway and back into the bedroom. There she threw open the curtains and looked out the window at what was early morning in Florence.
Instead of the irritation that she’d expected to double, as she sipped her drink and watched the quiet street, with only the occasional pedestrian or car passing by, Alexa felt a strange sort of peace settle over her, that same feeling she’d gotten the night before, in the diner.
Maybe right here, right now, was where she was supposed to be. If only, she thought wryly, that right now feeling had included the man from the diner the night before.
His face in her mind’s eye, her fingers itched for a canvas and her paints. She would love to try to capture those fascinating lines of his cheekbones, his jaw, the exact shade of that russet hair in vivid oil—and after she’d left the diner, she’d cancelled her reservation at the small hotel and retrieved her suitcase and paints, so she could.
If only she didn’t have to be downstairs in an hour to open a shop to which she didn’t even know how to turn on the cash register.
But as she drained her mug, and let the caffeine settle in her brain, Alexa found that, instead of dreading it, she was actually looking forward to the change in routine. It had been a long time since she’d woken up with any kind of feelings at all about her day—so anxiety, irritation, creativity all filled an emptiness that she she’d been aware of but hadn’t quite known how to fill.
The memory drifted in softly as she stepped away from the window, triggered by a flash of buttery yellow sunlight shining through the glass. Just the faintest wisp of knowing, a sense that she’d experienced it sometime before.
A red and white skirt swirled around her legs, which were short and chubby with youth. She sat on the floor here, in this very room, watching the sun as it played through the glass.
“We have to go now, Alexa.” Her mother, younger and straighter, face streaked with tears as she scooped Alexa up off the floor. “We have to go home.”
“No! Stay! I want to stay here!” Alexa kicked and screamed, reached out for an older woman who crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the floor.
That was it—that was all that she remembered. It left more questions than it answered.
But for Alexa, it was something—one small piece of the puzzle to which she didn’t know the design.
And for the moment, it was enough.
Smiling slightly to herself, she pulled a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a quote
from Star Wars out of her suitcase, then headed for the bathroom, which, as Ellie had promised, was clean, if a bit dusty.
Today… today she had work to do.
* * *
Nate Fury was at the diner again, seated in a booth by the window. Sipping at the thick coffee that was so much better than the sludge in the break room at the prison, he watched the sun rise and waited for his breakfast.
He ate most of his meals here—it was hard to cook on the hot plate at the hotel, not that he was much of a chef at any rate. It was lucky, in fact, that the diner was so close to the hotel, or he’d likely start to skip meals, giving in to the lack of appetite that came hand in hand with the dark cloud of depression that had surrounded him for so long.
It would have been so easy to slip back into that welcoming darkness, a battle he fought daily. But some small part of him, somewhere deep down, understood that this was important—going through the motions of life, even when you didn’t feel alive.
So he stopped at the Chat n’ Chew for a meal on his way to the prison, and again when he left. Not quite three square meals a day, but far better than he’d done in the days and months before he’d come to Florence.
As his breakfast was delivered, he settled back in the booth and looked through the pane of glass, happy that his shift was over. They’d gotten a new transfer in the night before, a young man who had managed to get under Nate’s skin in a way that few did. But even after years as a cop, this one… rather than denying his crime, as most did, he’d told Nate about it, first thing. Had been proud, as he’d recounted details that had made Nate sick.
Normally the inmates didn’t bother him—he’d seen it all, working the beat in Los Angeles. But this one? He’d made Nate think about true evil, had reminded Nate of the reasons that he’d left the force and taken the job in Florence in the first place. Reasons that had led him to stop eating and to start drinking.
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