Page 23 of The Runaway

“Vanilla latte?” the barista offers as she approaches our table.

“Oh, that’s me, thanks.” She takes Chase’s seat across from me. “Sit. We’ll go in a minute. You in a rush?”

I sit back down, tapping my fingernail on the wooden table.

She smirks. “This isn’t the city, Pepper. You can breathe and enjoy the coffee sitting down.”

“Look, you don’t have to babysit me. I know where everything in this town is. I can get around. For some reason, he thinks I need a buddy and he’s no longer interested in the position.”

She snorts. “No kidding. Chase is not a damsel-in-distress-seeking kind of guy.”

“I’m no damsel! I’m in distress. But I can figure it out.”

She shrugs and waves a hand at me as she takes a sip. “Why go it alone?”

I look at her. “I didn’t realize Chase was going to call someone I knew—or who knew me. The last thing I want is a continuation of Pepper-pity.”

Her brows knit. “You think people pitied you here?”

I shrug. “How could they not?”

“No one pitied you. We all just wanted to help.” She glances down. “You know, I tried talking to you after…it happened.”

“You did? Oh, you should have. That might have been nice,” I say genuinely. A lot of my friends abandoned me after my father’s scandal—and whoever remained didn’t know what to say after my parents died.

“It wasn’t. You didn’t seem very interested in what I had to say.”

My eyes widen. “I didn’t?”

She nods, scrunching her nose. “I always said one day I’ll have the courage to talk to Pepper Woods and I thought, no better time than to pass on your condolences and let her know you’re there for her if she needs anything. Maybe even a slumber party or something.”

“I’m… so sorry.”

She waves me off. “No biggie. I don’t hold a grudge. It’s good to see you again. You look amazing. You look tired, but amazing.”

“Thanks.”

“Come on. The boutiques here don’t stay open long on Sundays.” She takes her sunglasses off her head. “Here. Put these on.”

I take them from her cautiously. “Okay, why?”

She lifts a brow. “Unless you want to be recognized, Penelope.”

5

Charlie, which is what she insists I call her now since no one has called her Charlotte since freshman year of college, is quiet on the drive to the boutiques on Crest Lane. I remember the street well. I spent too many school nights hanging out with the popular kids outside the ice cream parlor and movie theatre on this strip.

Of course we never shopped the boutiques here. Too expensive for us high school kids, but they always had the best window dressings.

My right leg starts to twitch.

“You alright there?” Charlie asks, keeping her head above the steering wheel.

“I get nervous when people are quiet around me.”

“Ah. Alright then, carry on,” she says casually. “Who am I to interfere with your insecurities?”

“I’m not insecure, just wondering what you’re thinking.”

---