Sutton

"SHHH," I WHISPER-SHOUT TO VIVI, crushing my finger over her lips as she giggles hysterically, hiccups accentuating each burst of her laughter.

The headlights from our sober cab pull away, leaving us stranded just inside our open doorway, the space now dark. We crash into the back of the couch as we make our way through our living room. "Ow," she grumbles but then bursts into hiccup-laughs again.

"Vivi," I groan when we run into another piece of furniture. "Why did you let us get so drunk?"

This isn't our typical Friday night at Roxy's behavior. We have a few drinks, dance a bit, and then come home fairly level-headed. Tonight, though? Tonight, we went hard. I blame it on JJ showing up unexpectedly. My cousin rarely hangs out with us anymore. We partied like we were making up for lost time.

Plus, there was a certain someone who turned my mood sour from the moment I stepped into the bar. The way his eyes soaked me up, though? Yeah, that might have been worth it. I knew the dress would get a reaction. I was counting on it, hoping for it, wanting it desperately. What I hadn't considered was that he'd cover me up, though. The scent of him on his shirt followed me around all night, haunting me, teasing me, tempting me. I wanted to tear it off almost as much as I wanted to curl into it.

Instead, I tied the ends of the shirt snug at my hip, unbuttoning the buttons to let my best assets out, effectively counteracting the shirt's purpose. I ignored his scowls and glares all night, instead sticking to my girls as we did three too many shots and got lost in the sea of bodies on the dance floor.

Vivi grabs my hand and leads me through the living room to the kitchen, where the warm glow of the light above the sink illuminates our path. I fill up two glasses of water from the tap while Vivi roots around in the cupboard until she pulls out an opened box of Chicken in a Biscuit crackers and a tin can of Easy Cheese. She squeezes a glob of the cheese onto a cracker before shoving it into her mouth. I steal the can from her, tilting my head back to spray the cheese directly into my mouth.

"Eww," she says, cracker chunks flying out of her mouth. "That's disgusting. Be more dignified and put the cheese on a cracker."

I watch as she does a swirly design on a cracker with the cheese and hands it over to me. "See?"

I snatch the cracker out of her hand with my mouth and chew it partway before mumbling my thanks. We both hop onto the island, sharing the snack in silence, gulping water between bites. My head spins, and I know I need to soak up some of this alcohol before passing out or I'll be paying for it in the morning.

Hopping off the counter, I grab a loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter from the pantry. "Want one?" I ask my sister as I glob peanut butter on the white bread and fold it in half. When she declines my offer, I rip off a huge bite and struggle to chew when it gets lodged on the roof of my mouth. I realize my error in food choices too late, but finish the sandwich in record time, guzzling the rest of my water.

I offer my hand to Vivi, helping her off the island, and we retreat through the living room on our way to our bedrooms. "Night, sis," I say as she disappears into her room. She grumbles her good night before closing the door behind her.

I don't bother with the light in my room, using the faint light from the streetlights streaming in through the window to guide me. I pause before the full-length mirror, my eyes taking in Kelly's shirt and its poor attempt to cover my body. A smirk tugs at my lips, an idea popping into my head.

I strip off my clothes and then dress in only his shirt, the ends wrinkled where they were tied all night. I try to smooth out the wrinkles but give up quickly when I realize it's pointless. I button the shirt only enough to cover all my bits and pieces and then practice different stances to get my best angles. When I'm satisfied, I pull out my phone and snap a mirror selfie, examining the picture after. The mirror sits in the pool of light filtering in through the window, casting the rest into shadows, so the only thing that's visible in the photo is my reflection.

I fall onto my bed, my phone pressed to my chest as I consider what I want to do with the picture. Biting my lip to suppress the squeal bubbling up in me, I do it quickly before I lose my nerve.

ME: You forgot something. I guess it's mine now.

ME: *mirror selfie picture*

I discard the phone next to me on the bed, butterflies instantly taking flight in my stomach. Kicking my feet against the mattress, I let out a little squeal, waiting in anticipation of his reaction. When a few minutes pass with no text, I grab my phone to check if my messages sent. I see the bubbles indicating he's typing, and I suck in a breath. I don't release it until my phone finally buzzes in response. Then it gushes out in big whoosh.

KELLY: It looks better on you anyway.

This game we play together is both exhilarating and exhausting. I sometimes find myself wondering what it'd be like if we met at college or if he wasn't so closely intertwined with my family. Would we still be drawn to each other? Or is it the thrill of the forbidden that excites us the most?

ME: It still smells like you.

KELLY: Is that a good thing?

ME: Depends who you ask.

KELLY: I'm asking you.

YOU: I like it.

I bring the collar of his shirt to my nose, breathing in the all too familiar smell of Kelly. Yeah, I like it. I like it a lot. Too much.

KELLY: Were you being serious? What you said at Roxy's. About the shirt.

My cheeks heat. We flirt. We toe the lie. Sometimes we dip our toe over that line a bit too far. But we've never completely crossed it. This feels a bit too close to the danger zone. I shouldn't have made the comment about enjoying my solo sexy time while wearing his shirt, but now how do I walk it back? Do I want to?

I must hesitate too long because his next text effectively shuts it down.

KELLY: It's late. You should get to bed. Don't skip water and Tylenol. You'll be hurting in the morning. Someone partied hard tonight.

ME: You almost seem like you care.

KELLY: Pretty sure I've made that clear by now.

KELLY: Sleep tight, baby girl.

-

I PULL MY SUNGLASSES OVER MY EYES to shield them from the bright midday sun, my head pounding in a low thrum with the aftermaths of the lingering hangover. I down the rest of the coffee in the to-go cup before tossing it in a nearby trash can, taking a minute to survey my surroundings.

I drove to Maybury after crawling out of bed late this morning. The 30-minute drive helped revive me. I rolled the windows down, cranked the music and guzzled the biggest coffee I could find as I drove to the city I've been visiting every chance I get.

Across the street are the big letters of the sign I've stared at for weeks now. Stiffelman, Ellis & Latham. My eyes settle on Stiffelman, glaring at the surname. My months of research have led me here, to this city, to this law firm, to this particular lawyer. Yet I haven't mustered up the courage to take it any further than staring at the building. The building where my mother once worked. The building that could possibly hold answers to all the questions swirling in my brain.

A man walking a chihuahua brushes past me on the sidewalk, and I take a few steps back. Blowing out a breath, I duck inside the nearby café and ask to be seated outside. Once I'm settled on the front patio under the shade of a large umbrella, I find myself once again staring at the large letters on the front of the brick building.

I blame my Uncle Don for this. After his death, my family and I were pulled into a law office in Lake Hope where we discovered he left us the keys to a safety deposit box in his will. The contents of the safety deposit box were puzzling, creating more questions than answers. A birth certificate for a baby girl with all the pertinent information blacked out. A newspaper clipping of a missing girl from nearly two decades ago. And a single post-it note with only a question marked scribbled on it.

No one else in my family seems to care, but I'm oddly stuck on it. Why would my uncle keep these things locked in a box at a bank and then only disclose the information upon his death? The identity of the baby and how it ties to the mysterious missing girl niggles my brain. I spent many hours at the public library trying to dig up information on the missing girl case, which again led to more questions than answers. One day the story was all over the news; and the next the story seemed to vanish as if it never blasted into our small-town community like wildfire, igniting mass paranoia.

I was only seven when the girl went missing, but I remember the panic, how parents suddenly tightened the reins on their children's whereabouts. But as quickly as it came, the mystery faded until everything returned to normal life.

My siblings have told me to let it go, and maybe I would have if Jensen hadn't wandered upon some information a few months ago that reignited my curiosity. He learned of our father's affair, which then led to an honest conversation with him unveiling even more upsetting information on our parents. In the early days of their marriage, after a series of failed pregnancies that ended in heartbreaking miscarriages, the experience tore them apart instead of bringing them together. They both sought comfort elsewhere, separating from each other for about a year before reuniting for a happier, healthier marriage.

It's the year of separation that brings me back to Maybury and this law office, my mind fixated on that timeframe where my mom existed separate from my dad.

A waitress comes over to take my order, interrupting my thoughts; and before I can return to the building across the street, my phone buzzes. I move my sunglasses to the top of my head before picking up my phone to read the new text, a smile turning my lips up.

KELLY: Where are you?

ME: Why? Is it your turn to babysit me?

KELLY: Something like that.

ME: You'll have to find me first.

KELLY: I bet it's not too hard.

ME: Tag, you're it then.

KELLY: What are you wearing?

ME: Why? Will that clue you in to my whereabouts?

KELLY: I bet I can guess.

ME: I doubt it but go ahead and try.

KELLY: A light green one-piece thingy.

I look down at the mint romper I'm wearing and then back to the text.

KELLY: Admit it. I'm right.

ME: Since I wear this just about every weekend, it really isn't that impressive. It's called a romper, by the way, and it's mint, not green.

KELLY: Fine. But I bet you're doing that thing where you pull your hair up like you're going to put it in a ponytail but you're really just airing your neck. You hate wearing your hair up because it gives you a headache, but you also hate how hot your hair is on your neck in the summer.

I drop my hand that holds my hair up and the strands fall back haphazardly around my face and shoulders. Before I can respond, he sends another text.

KELLY: Now you're biting your bottom lip. Probably wondering how the fuck I knew any of that.

I release my lip from my teeth and narrow my eyes at the phone. What is going on? It's like he's watching me. My head darts around, searching for the man.

KELLY: You're looking for me now, right? Wondering if I'm lurking around behind some bush.

Now I do look at the nearby bush suspiciously, and I hear his laugh before I see him. He saunters up to the low iron gate that sections off the café's patio. "Hey, baby girl." His smirk is obnoxious as he slips through an opening in the fence and crosses the few feet to me. His hand cups my bare shoulder, skimming down my arm before he removes it and sinks into the chair next to me. Leaning over the table, he whispers, "Tag, you're it."

I remove the sunglasses from the top of my head and place them back on my face, suddenly needing a shield against the man in front of me.

"Hungover still?" he asks, relaxing into the chair.

I'm glad for the dark shades blocking my eyes so I can get my fill of him. He's wearing a faded red t-shirt and fitted jeans and that damn hat he's never without. When I don't answer, he leans over and removes my sunglasses, setting them on the table between us. In turn, I steal the hat from his head, plopping it on mine instead. It's only fair to disarm him if he disarms me.

He sits back in the chair again, studying me. "You can't keep that, but it probably looks better on you than me, too."

"I don't know. I'd say that's a tough call. Looks pretty good on you."

"Wait a minute. Did Sutton Anderson just say something nice to me?"

I kick him under the table. "Shut up. You're such a dork."

With a laugh, he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "Did you order yet?"

"You mean you didn't glean that information from your stalking?"

He smirks, looking around for the waitress. "No, I just saw you. I was running errands, getting stuff for my current project."

When he flags down a waitress, I ask, "So you're staying? Eating with me?"

"Why not? I'm hungry. You're obviously hungry. Why? Would you rather I sit over there?" He points to an empty table near us.

"You can stay, but I already ordered."

"You ordered chicken strips, didn't you? Did they bring you the kids' menu to order off?"

I kick him again. "It wouldn't kill you to be nice for five whole minutes, you know?"

When the waitress walks over and sets my food in front of me, Kelly bursts out laughing. "I knew it!"

Rolling my eyes, I ignore him, tearing a chicken strip apart, steam billowing out. I dunk it into the cup of honey mustard and take a big bite, glaring at him. I regret it immediately when the heat of the meat burns my mouth. I quickly take a sip of my water, coughing.

"Easy, baby girl. Want me to cut it into bite-sized pieces?"

The waitress giggles, and I aim my glare at her, but she isn't paying me any attention. She's staring at my lunch guest. "What can I get you?" she asks, her head tilted, eyes roaming over him.

Wow, I mouth before shoving another chunk of chicken into my mouth to silence myself.

The waitress leaves once Kelly orders, and he steals one of my fries. I smack his hand away. "Don't be a brat. You'll never eat all those."

"You think you know me so well."

"I know plenty but not all. Like what are you doing here?" He motions his hand around him.

My eyes go back to the building across the street, the taunting letters of the law firm's name. When I don't answer, he follows my gaze, scrunching his forehead.

"You do know I can't really guess your every thought, right? Sometimes it requires words. Like now."

He steals a few more fries, waiting for me to fill him in. I contemplate it while I take another bite, chewing slowly. Finally, I nod toward the building. "My mom worked there. During the year she was separated from my dad, I mean."

Kelly studies the building and then brings his gaze back to me. He's silent a few moments as he considers this. Then he reaches out, stealing his hat from my head and discarding it on the table. He smooths down my hair, tucking it behind my ear, his hand lingering on my shoulder before he pulls away and sits back in the chair.

Finally, he asks, "What are you doing, Sutton?"

I shrug under his scrutiny. I've stopped talking to my family about this since they've made it clear that they want me to give it up; that it's not worth my time. But I just can't seem to shake it.

"I know everyone wants me to drop it, but I can't. I'm bothered by my parents' affairs, their separation, the secret lives they lived." I glance up at him but close my eyes and shake my head when I see his confusion. "I barely remember her, Kelly. My mom. I was only two when she died. I have the barest of memories of her. Like little whispers of moments that I could be remembering or maybe just fabricating from bits and pieces of things people have told me about her. I mean, I know she loved me. I can feel that when I think of her. I know I was wanted and cherished, and we shared a special bond. I can feel that. But now I feel like the idea I had of my mom is tainted somehow, like this perfect picture I had of her in my head my whole life is now a lie, and I want to figure it out. I want to know what her life was like that year she left Lake Hope and came here."

Silently, he reaches out to take my hand in his. He rubs his thumb along my palm, waiting for me to continue.

"Maybe that doesn't make sense to you since your parents are alive and still married. But..."

"I might not understand it in the way you do, Sutton. And my parents may be alive and married, but that isn't to say my family life was perfect. I spent most of my time at your house for a reason. Even after your mom's death and the years before your dad remarried and then the adjustment years after he got married and your new stepsiblings moved in, I still preferred to be at your house."

He squeezes my hand and I study his face. "So you remember my mom?"

"Yeah, a little. I remember thinking how cool she was for having the best snacks for after school. And she made these cozy forts for sleepovers. I'm pretty sure I had a crush on her actually."

This makes me laugh. "What? You had a crush on my mom?"

"I mean, I was young. But, yeah, I remember thinking I wanted to marry someone like her someday and have a family like that."

He's smiling, but the sentiment doesn't quite reach his eyes. I flip our hands on the table so mine is on top and I trace the lines of his palm. "So your home life wasn't like ours?"

Kelly rarely shares about his life. I know next to nothing about his family. I'm curious to know everything there is to know about this man.

He shakes his head, pulling his hand away to fetch the discarded hat and plop it back on his head. I sigh, returning to my food, thinking the conversation has ended, but then he quietly admits, "My parents weren't outwardly mean or anything. They just weren't warm and fuzzy people. They kept to themselves. It was a quiet house. Kind of lonely. I preferred the craziness of your house where there was never a single moment of quiet."

I laugh softly, but my thoughts are concentrated on a young Kelly in a quiet house yearning for his parents' attention and affection.

The waitress comes then, effectively breaking the intimacy of the moment, and she sets Kelly's food in front of him. We're quiet as we eat, my gaze continuing to fall on the building across the street. Kelly throws his napkin on his plate, shoving it away.

"How do you know that's where she worked anyway?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"My mom's best friend. She's been the only one willing to talk to me. But she only knows a little since my mom basically cut ties with everyone in Lake Hope once she moved here."

"Let me guess," Kelly says with a smirk. "You interrogated her until she finally gave up all the intel."

"Shut up. I'm not that bad. She willingly talked to me. You might be surprised by this, but most people find me delightful."

He grunts out a laugh. "That's not how I'd describe you."

"No shit. You've never hidden the fact that you find me an annoying brat."

He tilts his head, his face a shuttered mask. "If that's what you really think, you haven't been paying very close attention, baby girl."

My eyes widen. "What are you talking about? You call me a brat every chance you get."

"Because you are a brat." I chuck my napkin at him, and he swipes it away. "But that doesn't mean I think you're annoying."

"So, what, brat is a term of endearment now?"

"To some people maybe."

"And to you? Are you those people?"

A smirk crosses his lips. Instead of answering, he removes his hat, running his hands through his hair before settling the hat back on his head. He fiddles with the screen on the table, paying the bill, and then looks at me. "Ready to go or did you want to stare down the sign some more?"

Scooting my chair back, I rise and grab my purse. He follows me to the exit, his hand lightly skimming my lower back. "Where are you parked?" I turn my head to look at him, finding his eyes cast downward. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was staring at my ass.

His eyes find mine and he nods across the street. "Right behind you." I look to where he nodded to see his truck behind my car on the street.

"Convenient," I say, stepping onto the crosswalk, but before I can take another step, I'm yanked back into his hard body, a horn blaring as a car flies by. Kelly turns me so my body is facing him, and he wraps his arms around me. I can feel his heart beating fast against my cheek. He rubs a hand up and down my back, resting his chin atop my head. When I try to pull away, he tugs me back, securing me in his arms.

"Jesus, Sutton." His voice is low and gruff. "I swear you're trying to kill me."

I fist his shirt at his back, giving in to the embrace. After a few moments, he releases me, putting some space between us. I look up at him, the gold of his eyes dark, his lips set in a hard line. His rough hands cup my face. "You need to be more careful, baby girl."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I didn't see the car."

Shaking his head, he takes my hand and walks me across the street. Instead of feeling like a child, though, I feel cherished. It's in the way his fingers intertwine with mine, his thumb caressing my skin. The way he tucks me into his body. The way he looks both ways to make sure it's safe. The way his jaw clenches like he's resisting the urge to do or say something.

When we get to the sidewalk across the street, I wait for him to drop my hand since we're safe. Instead, he pauses by our cars. He scratches his neck with his free hand, blowing out a breath. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was nervous. But what would he be nervous about?

He leans against the side of his truck, our hands still linked. He tugs me closer, and I rest my hip next to him.

"So you never did tell me what this big idea is that you're trying to trick Jensen into agreeing to."

The change of subject is jarring, and I scrunch my forehead as I try to pivot with him. "Umm," I hedge, glancing at my feet as I kick at some pebbles on the sidewalk.

With a finger under my chin, he lifts my face to look at him. "Second guessing your idea now?"

"No, it's a great idea. I guess I'm still a bit rattled." I nod toward the road where I was nearly run down.

"No shit, I think ten years were taken off my life just watching that." He squeezes my hand, smirking at me. "But let's switch gears. Tell me about your idea."

I nod, blowing out a breath. "Yoga on the Farm. That's my idea. I wanted goat yoga, but J shot that down right away." I pause when Kelly openly laughs. "Shut up. You're an ass. You don't need to be exactly like my brother at all times, you know?"

"I'm not laughing at you," he promises, sealing his words with a soft kiss on the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist. "I'm imagining Jensen's reaction to goat yoga. Come on, you have to admit that was a hard sell."

I roll my eyes but laugh despite myself. "Yeah, I figured that was a hard no. So then I changed it to just regular yoga and he still wouldn't listen to it. He's so stubborn sometimes. It's a great idea. I know there's a huge community for it, especially with the stay-at-home-moms. I want to offer a separate class for kids so the moms can come and enjoy a relaxing yoga session while their kids are safe and entertained. Plus, yoga is good for kids. There is plenty of research—"

My words are cut off by Kelly's fingers to my lips. "You don't have to convince me, Sutton. I'm sure it's a great idea that you've put a lot of thought into. But I'm guessing you didn't present it in a way that your brother would take you seriously. How'd you ask him? At Roxy's? A group text?"

"Uh...group text. But—"

He shushes me again. "Sutton, if you want to be taken seriously, you have to be serious. He will always see you as his baby sister unless you show him a different version. If your brother wasn't your boss and you had an idea, how would you present it?"

I take my bottom lip between my teeth as I think. "I'd go to his office with a plan in place. I'd be professional and serious."

"Right. So do that. Show him the idea is so good he'd be dumb to refuse."

"He would be dumb to refuse. He'd be a stupid idiot. It's a great idea." Kelly throws his head back and laughs, and I can't help but join in.

"I have all the confidence that you'll convince him, baby girl. You could probably convince a nun to go to a strip club."

I kick his foot. "Whatever. I'm not that persuasive."

He pushes off his truck, tugging me with him. "I'll follow you back to town."

"Try to keep up, old man," I say with a grin before unlocking my car and crawling in. I see him in my rearview mirror, a wide smile on his face, and I can't help but smile in return as our eyes meet.