Page 29 of Savage Keepsakes

Cleaning myself up, I walk down to the shop and pull out Miles’s skins, which are finished. I’ve been making a few purses, more stock to put away until Lucy can show me how to sell it.

I sit in the stillness as birds and insects sing their songs. The cool air flows through the open door and, as much as I am proud of the space I’ve made here.

I’m happy she offered those broken buildings to me. It was an idea I tossed around when I bought the place, but having it be from her makes it less suspicious.

The old barn, though…is what dreams are fucking made of. I’ll be able to hold more people. Hell, I’ll have enough room to mix the skins,andit’s private. Looking around, I realize just how much space I’ll have for my arts and crafts.

I bounce up from the stool and tuck away all the products I’ve made so far.

Tomorrow, I will work on her porch swing and bring some materials over to construct my vision of the barn.

Tidying up my workbench, I decide that tomorrow I’ll pick up someone new. The ever-present darkness clouds my thoughts and need prickles at my skin.

I check the live feed of the camera in Lucy’s bedroom and trace her sleeping form.

“Soon, darlin’,” I croon, slipping my phone in my pocket as I head upstairs.

Along the side of the dirt road walks a girl in a sundress, her long blonde hair whipping around in the wind. As the Cruze nears her, she stops and sticks out a thumb. Hell, I thought people were too scared to get into strangers’ cars anymore. I pull over.

“Hey, are you going to Kawartha Lakes?”

She leans against the passenger window, half her arm hanging in. Her gaze travels over my face as she adjusts the strap of her dress.

“Sure. Want a ride?” I grin.

She nods before opening the door and getting in. Her coconut shampoo is overwhelming. I tap the steering wheel until she closes the door.

I turn back onto the road. “What’s your story?”

“Don’t have one,” she says, buckling her seatbelt. “Just needed a ride.”

“Where we headed?” I turn down the volume of the music.

“5083 Cann Lane. Do you know it?”

“Sure. What’s your name?”

The breeze wafts through the windows before she answers. “Char.”

“Like for Charlene?”

“No, just Char.”

“Okay, I’m Miles.”

She says nothing. I’m usually not plagued by the silence, but today it drives me a little batty.

“Thanks for the ride,” she whispers.

She won’t be thankful soon, but the gesture is nice.

As I park behind the shop, she turns into a jumping bean, desperately trying to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“We need to stop at my place to snag my wallet. Chill the fuck out, dude,” I tell her, raising an eyebrow.

She gets free and hops out of the car.

“Where’re ya off to?”

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