Page 40 of Golden Touch
His eyes practically bug out. And it’s not like I blame him. I don’t know whether to be surprised that they almost found me, or surprised that it took this long.
“A year,” he says slowly. “Can I assume that neither your ex nor his skanky friend are looking for you out of the kindness of their big, generous hearts?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “Do you think he saw you move the car?”
Nash grins suddenly, and the heat of his smile startles me like always. “He went for a little hike. I followed him down to the river then ran back and moved the car. He’s going to assume he missed you.”
“Theriver?How’d you get him to do that?”
“When he started asking for Ivy, I figured it was you. I told him a true story about how people often park here to walk along the river.”
“Oh,” I say, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
“Ivy, huh?” His brown eyes look appraising. “It suits you.”
“My legal name is Livia, it’s just that nobody ever called me that before I ran…”
Oops.
“Ranaway?” His eyes get feral again. “Let’s hear more about why you needed to run away from those pricks.”
“Let’s not,” I say quickly. “We just had a…difference of opinion.” I shrug with as much nonchalance as I can muster. “They wanted me to stay, and I wanted to go. Seems like they’re, uh, not over it yet.”
“Pussycat.” All the muscles in his upper body go tight. They’re almost popping out of his appealingly tight shirt. “Explain.”
I shake my head. “Listen, I appreciate your trick with the car. I really do. But you can’t help me with them. And you shouldn’t ask me any more about it. Trust me when I tell you that ignorance is bliss.”
He lifts a hand to rub his eyes. “Then how come I don’t feel so much bliss right now, with you turning white and cowering in the brewhouse?”
Once again, the breath leaves my lungs. I’m not used to anyone noticing all the strange things I do to stay invisible. Living in the margins is a skill I’ve perfected. It keeps me alive.
Nash sees through me, and it’s entirely unsettling. And then it gets even worse when his gaze turns warm and patient. It’stempting to just step into his arms and spill the whole story. I’m so tired of hiding. Tired of running. It would be a relief to share my burden for a minute.
But I can’t do that, for at least two reasons. One, my past isn’t his problem. It’s mine. I brought my troubles upon myself. And two, if Nash knew the whole story, he’d be obligated to call the police and turn me in.
Those are very good reasons, so I bite back my impulse and cross my arms. “Connor needs you in the tasting room,” I say. “And the beer needs restocking. I, uh, can’t do it myself right now.” Not with Rotty wandering the property looking for me.
Nash glances towards the front of the building, realizes I’m right, and curses under his breath. “Okay, pussycat. We’ll talk about this later,” he says. Then he strides away, while I try not to admire his ass in those jeans.
For the rest of the workday, I hide beside the fireplace in the office like Cinderella. I crouch against the stones, seated on the floor, my laptop on my knees. It’s the only way I can concentrate, because in this spot there aren’t any sight lines through the windows.
This morning, when Nash brought me my ringing phone, the caller was Rory, a guy who did some bartending for the Giltmakers this past summer. He’s got a new bartending gig in town, and he called to say that a customer showed up flashing a photo of me, and asking him if I looked familiar.
“I said no, Livia. But I dunno if I’m a good liar. And this guy was a real piece of work.”
Rotty must have figured out that he was getting close. So he drove all around Colebury today, looking for my car. Then he found it. I’m so screwed.
Not until six o’clock rolls around am I brave enough to get up and stretch out my sore limbs. Then—after a careful glance out the window—I slide the ladder to my favorite location on thebookshelf, and I climb up. I grab a cigar box from the highest shelf. After removing the lid, I hastily count the bundles of money inside. Four thousand one hundred twenty-five dollars.
It’s my entire net worth at the moment. It sounds like a wad of cash, but when your car is practically dead, and you need to start your life over in another state, it’s not really enough. And I’ve made things worse with frequent handouts to my cousin and my brother. Because they need the money more than I do.
Or so I’d thought, until about three hours ago.
Feeling defeated, I tuck my money back into its hiding place, climb down off the ladder, and gather up my things. Then I head for the back door and scan the parking area.
Late-day sunshine washes over the gravel lot. The property backs up to a stand of fir trees. Beyond that, there’s a path to the river, where the grassy slope runs down to the water’s edge.
Unfortunately, there are lots of shadowy places to hide, and I can’t see in every direction. So I feel horribly exposed as I close the brewery door, check the lock, and then hustle across the open ground to the pumphouse, where I unlock the door before shutting myself quickly inside.
