Page 11 of Pictures in Blue
“We all do,” I say.
After she’s done with the cookies, she levels me with the look she gives when she’s about to tell me something she knows I don’t want to hear. “Don’t be stupid.”
Without another word, she brushes past me with a soft pat on my bicep and shuffles back up front.
I grab a latte and pastries for the road and get in my red pickup truck. I pull away from Fran’s, ignoring the woman walking down the sidewalk, hair tied up in a white ribbon with yellow polka dots that look like miniature suns.
Don’t be stupid.
I have a feeling those words are going to be the opposite of what I do.
My truck sputtersto a stop in front of my parents’ house, reminding me I need to take it to Axel’s to get it fixed.
Axel.A little on the nose for a mechanic, but his dad was adamant about it. He’s been my best friend since high school and we’re probably the most troublesome pair to ever go through Blue Grove. There usually wasn’t a time one of us wasn’t in detention. We grew up just down the street from each other and he’s been a pain in my ass since.
I gather the pastries and coffee, let out a long sigh and prepare myself as much as I can for the ribbing I know is coming. It’s Sunday, which means breakfast from Fran’s at my parents’ house with Elias and Ethan, and Sky if she ever decides to show up again. The whole family will be ready to gossip the moment they know there’s someone new in town, but it isn’t going to come from me. If it was up to me, they’d never even know about her, but this town is filled with way too many busybodies more invested in everyone else’s life.
Before I can get up the steps leading up to the porch, the front door flies open revealing my mother, dressed in her “Sunday best” as she calls it. A long, navy blue skirt that reaches just below her knees with a white and blue striped button up, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her blonde hair is held up by a small clip, a few strands of gray coming loose around her face. She wipes her hand on the apron tied around her waist and grabs the pastries from me.
“Tell me about her,” she says as she walks to the kitchen. I shake my head as I follow her. This town wastes no time. She moves a few ingredients for the cookies she makes on Sundays to make room for the box of pastries.
“I left Fran’s less than five minutes ago,” I tell her. “Which one called you?” It was either Fran or Cordie. Town gossipers. The whole town gossips, but those two are the worst. Or the best at it. I swear, the gossip fuels their souls in a way that is going to make them outlive us all.
Both widowed, they decided to live together after their husbands passed away to keep each other company. They didn’t see a point in living alone; didn’t like the idea of waking up to an empty house after having a partner for so long. I’m the opposite. I like solitude. I prefer my space and have never liked the idea of someone else in my house, taking it up.
Before she can answer, the door flies open again, followed by quick, thundering footsteps. Ethan appears around the corner and makes a beeline for mom. I’m convinced the day she became a grandmother was the best day of her life.
“Nana!” He yells, jumping into her arms like he doesn’t see her almost every day. When he and Elias don’t stay with me, they’re usually with my parents.
“Hi baby!” She wraps her arms around him and squeezes, planting a kiss to the top of his head. I swear that kid grows an inch every week. Not long ago, his arms hugged her around the thighs rather than the waist. He’s grown up a lot in the last three years. More than he should have.
“Grab the flour and help me finish these while your uncle tells me about this girl.” Ethan follows her directions and ignores the second half of what she said. So do I.
I grab a pastry from the box, another blueberry scone, and shove half of it in my mouth so I have an excuse not to answer.
A hand claps my back followed by a low chuckle. “You’re not getting out of it that easy,” says Elias. “You’re the only one here who’s met her, so spill.” My brother-in-law is just as bad as Fran and Cordie. Busybody. He sits on the stool next to me and perches his elbows on his knees, his chin on a closed fist and fans his eyelashes at me like he’s a Disney character begging for more chocolates.
“C’mon, what does she look like?” He’s baiting me. He knows I hate talking about anything to do with town news, town gossip, and new people. I can’t help it. I like the familiar. My cabin, my dogs, my parents, Ethan, sometimes Elias, definitely not right now though. At this particular moment, he is crossed off my list of people I like.
“No idea. I met her at Fran’s for two seconds. I didn’t pay attention,” I lie. I know exactly what she was wearing, the color and length of her hair—blonde ponytail reaching just below her shoulder blades—and the fact that she was talking to a friend on FaceTime. Hell, if he asked, I could tell him the color of shoes she was wearing. Navy, with bright white laces. I shake my head, emptying it of all thoughts of her. I don’t need someone new in my life. My family is my priority and I want to keep it that way.
“Liar,” Elias mutters back. He drops the conversation for now, but I know it won’t be the last I hear of it.
I bring the coffee and pastries to the long kitchen table where my dad is sitting, the Sunday paper spread open in front of him. One indication of the world coming to an end would be if Dad didn’t have the Sunday paper open to the crossword puzzle, sitting at the breakfast table, pencil in hand.
“What’s a wildflower species that is eight letters long?” He asks, zeroing in on me.
“Dad, the point of the crossword is to do it yourself,” I say. It never matters what clues are on the crossword, every Sunday he asks for help. Last Sunday, he asked me for the answer to a nine-letter dog breed. Wildflower species and dog breeds. Apparently that’s all the knowledge I’m good for. That, and the appearance of a new, beautiful face in town.Nope.Not going there. Not today.
“Ahh,” he groans, waving a hand in my direction. “Help your old man out.”
“Dad, one of these days, you need to finish a whole crossword by yourself.”
“Oh, c’mon,” he pleads.
“Nope, figure it out yourself.”
“But I don’t know any wildflower types,” he answers stubbornly.
