Twist of Fate by Louise, Tia (free ebook reader for ipad .txt) 📗

then we left for two different colleges.” I take a sip of tea as she exhales a growl.

“You’re just being stubborn.”

“I’m not going to build it up bigger than it is, or I’ll be the one who gets hurt—just like the last time. Scout and I have a lot of ground to cover before we could ever consider anything more than being friends.”

“If you say so… I say it’s a volcano rumbling beneath the surface just waiting to erupt in red hot, sticky, molten lava.” She dramatizes the words, and I roll my eyes.

“Would you stop?”

“I saw that kiss at Aunt Regina’s. You might not have a long history, but you’ve got what counts.”

My cheeks burn when I remember kissing him. I remember his large hands touching me, stroking me, taking me.

“You’re thinking about it now, too.” My cousin’s voice is a dirty laugh.

“I’m going to bed. Love you, weirdo.”

“Sexy dreams!”

We disconnect, and I take a sip of tea. Hot memories, hot tea, a hot night… What am I doing? I’d hoped the tea would help me calm down and get some sleep tonight, which I’m now starting to doubt.

He was so handsome tonight, and when I saw him, I really did wonder if he was real. Then he spoke, and it all came back. He was one hundred percent the sex god of my dreams.

A low rumble outside signals the rain is coming. I watch the sky flicker with lightning through the sheer curtains covering the windows, and I wonder what it would’ve been like if we’d changed our plans and stayed together.

He could be sitting here right now, my legs across his lap. He would pull me to him, and I’d wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him slowly, tracing my lips along his, curling our tongues together as his cock grows harder against my thigh, as I straddle his lap…

A crash of thunder breaks my fantasy. If he had stayed, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have this apartment, and I wouldn’t have my store. I don’t know what my life would be like.

The choices we’ve made have brought us to this place, and now we’re facing new choices.

The soft hush of showers fills the air, and the metallic scent of rain drifts through the open windows of my loft. Standing, I walk to a shabby-chic white credenza with a picture of Melody and me sitting in the sand.

She was a chubby baby with a bright smile and white-blonde curls, and in the photo, my cheek is pressed to her head. I’m smiling with so much love for my funny little baby, so much like her dad.

I spent our first summer sanding and painting and transforming this old attic space into a one-bedroom, one-bathroom, open living area apartment. It has floor to ceiling French doors facing the street, and when they’re open, the sea breeze flows around us.

Naturally, I put my interior decorating skills to work, but instead of cozy farm like Aunt Regina’s place, ours has distressed white boards, and sea blue accents. I dug out an old, turquoise metal sign I’d found in Owen’s junkyard years ago. It’s a curved arrow that points to the door and reads, “Mermaids, Please Enter.”

I’ve created a beautiful life here, a comfortable life. I’ve got my daughter, I have plenty of money, and I’m doing well. Alone.

The light is gone, and only the reflections of the streetlights and the occasional sparkle of lightning fills the room.

Blinking several times against the darkness, I think about my dreams. I started out wanting to travel, to see the world. Then life threw me a little detour with Melody. Then I discovered having my own shop, helping people find lost treasures or discover new ones is deeply satisfying. It’s like my dad said, where the romance is.

“Dad,” I whisper to the quiet. “You were right about that part, but what about the rest? I don’t want to be alone like you.”

My eyes grow heavy, and I feel the sleep growing stronger. Crawling beneath the cool sheets in my room, the rumble of thunder and the hush of rain lull me to sleep, despite my anxiety.

The truth is finally coming out, and while I don’t know if it will lead to happiness, I do know it will make me free.

I can’t stop moving. It’s nine forty-five, and I pace around the store, rearranging figurines in the bookcase, adjusting a desk. My fingers tremble, and my heart beats so hard, I hope I don’t hyperventilate.

Digging in a box from Dad’s store, I take out a gilded plate with gold leaf design and The Blue Boy and Pinkie in a center wreath. I trace my finger over the girl’s straight nose and pointed gaze.

The portraits were done by different artists at different times, but they’re always sold as a set. They’re also a cliché from the mid-nineteenth century, “the Romeo and Juliet of Rococo portraiture,” appearing on everything from vases to lamps. Still, antiquers love them.

The bell over the door dings, and I jump, nearly dropping it. My heart is in my throat, and I hold a blink, willing myself to be calm.

“Working on a Sunday?” It’s Chad Tucker, and I exhale as the adrenaline rushes from my veins. “Sorry, did I startle you?”

“No, it’s okay.” I feel like a dishrag. “I’m meeting someone at ten. I thought you were him.”

“Him?” A curious smile is on his face.

“Just an old friend.”

He turns the page in an old book. “I heard Travis Walker was back in town. He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“He stopped by on Friday, but I didn’t encourage him.” I glance up and realize he’s watching me. “It’s not Travis.”

“That’s good.” He nods, seeming relieved. “Not that it’s any of my business. He doesn’t seem like the football type.”

“I don’t really want him around Melody either.”

We exchange an understanding smile, and he steps around the boxes, heading to the door. An old lamp with an elaborate feather and jeweled shade blocks his way,