Page 26 of The Thought of You

I drop my tote onto the floor on the inside of my door and kick off my shoes, my feet giddy over their freedom. The bag of goodies crinkles in my tight grasp as I leap onto the couch. While I basically inhale my dinner, I rack my brain for something appropriate to meet the magnitude of this generous display of kindness.

But I don’t recall any of my ideas as I awake the next morning with a piece of bacon on my chin.

chapter

eight

ADDIE

“I cannot believe I wore my party jeans for this,” I grumble under my breath as I sling my wet hair to the side, thankful to have finally reached the shelter of an awning.

Thunder cracks, and a strike of lightning slices the evening sky in half.

My attempt to squeeze the excess water from my hair is painfully futile as I join the growing crowd inside the school lobby, scanning each face for a familiar one.

With the parade complete and wildly successful, I’d planned to enjoy the homecoming football game with my friends and a salty bag of popcorn, my level of cares nosediving into the negatives.

But Mother Nature had other plans.

We got ten minutes into the game before the storm reigned its terror on our town. In record time, mass chaos ensued as we scrambled toward shelter.

I take one step into the school lobby when Principal Weathers hands off a shivering Birdie to me like a football, calling over another clap of thunder, plus the echoing chatter, “I need to find my wife!”

I fold the cat into my chest, holding her tightly as I search for DeDe, but everyone’s merely a blur. My clothes cling to me as I shuffle into the cafeteria and shake out my long hair, flinging even more drops of water onto my shoulders.

I’m soaked from head to toe.

My bones ache.

The arches of my feet cry for the relief of a hot bath.

And the twitch in my eye works double-time as my gaze immediately falls onto Owen Conrad.

On the other side of the crowded cafeteria, past the rows of long tables that stretch between us, I find the bane of my existence with very little effort or desire. He hands napkins to someone I don’t recognize, which she uses to dab at her running mascara. It’s like he’s a gentleman. Does this woman know who she’s dealing with?

An arrow of kindness and thoughtfulness could spear him in his perfect ass and stick like a tick, but he still wouldn’t grasp such concepts.

Maren sidles up next to me. “I lost you out there. You okay?”

I drag my focus away from he-who-doesn’t-matter and squeeze my friend’s arm. “Fine. You?”

“Almost sprained my ankle trying to get inside, but I had help.” She rises onto her tiptoes and glances over my shoulder.

“Who are you looking for?”

Maren plummets back onto the heels of her feet and snaps her gaze to mine. “No one. Just… taking all this in.” She shimmies out of her drenched shacket and ties it around her waist, her dark hair falling in stringy tendrils around her face.

“If we get totally rained out, this might be the first homecoming game to do so in the history of this school.” I pet Birdie in hopes of comforting her, but her trembles don’t subside.

Through the window, another streak of lightning pierces the sky, and I jolt as if it strikes me personally. Birdie practically shoots out of my arms, and Maren helps me calm her down, which is proving difficult with our surroundings.

Everyone is scattered about the cafeteria with more chaos than every lunch during a school day put together. Parents chase their little ones, young couples and groups of friends dip their heads with high-pitched laughter, and Alonso plays his harmonica in one corner, drawing a small crowd like this is the subway in New York. I’ve visited Caroline up north a couple of times over the years, and the scene in front of me resembles several of the ones I’ve witnessed while waiting for the train.

“I didn’t think the storms were supposed to be here until Monday,” Maren says with a groan as she twists the ends of her hair to rid it of excess rain. It’s no use, though. We’d need seven blow dryers aimed at us to really make a difference. “The radar showed clear skies for tonight.”

“I just hope this is it for the weekend, because I do not have the energy to drag all the tables and the bar from the courtyard inside. There’s no room for them all unless they go into the sitting room, but then that would leave zero space for us to move around,” I ramble, but it’s mostly for my own benefit as I mentally run through my checklist for tomorrow night.

“Not following, babe.”

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