Page 20 of Lost in the Moonlight

“Your mom?” I asked, and she nodded. “Where is she?”

“She teaches science at the high school.”

It was a brief answer, and it caused a wary look to slip over her face, which only increased my desire to unlock all her secrets. I wanted to find out everything there was to know about Willow. Not just the why of the cemetery or what had her scared enough to not call the police. I wanted to know where she’d grown up, and why they’d moved here, and where her father was. I wanted to know how she ended up baking scones at three in the morning when she looked like she should have been shouldering a backpack onto the Bonnin campus and sitting through boring lectures.

“You said you’d lived here for six years. What brought you to Cherry Bay?” I asked.

She curled a finger around the edge of the cloth and then said, “After my dad passed away, we needed a fresh start.” Her eyes darted up and away as she spoke, as if what she said was only a partial truth, but it also gave me a glimpse of the pain that shot through her eyes at the mention of her father.

“Losing someone you love is hard,” I said carefully. I wouldn’t say sorry. I wouldn’t offer some half-assed condolence, because nothing could curb the pain of real loss. The grief was always with you, some days burning like a flaming sword, other days a soft flicker of a sputtering candle.

Her head tilted sideways, taking me in, and I wondered if she was thinking of the old news articles on me. How I’d been close to death multiple times. How too many women I’d loved had violence impact their lives. Accidents. Gunshots. Stalkers chasing them.

“Is that why you were up at two in the morning?” she asked. “Your losses haunting you?”

It skimmed closer to the truth than I normally cared to acknowledge, and yet I was surprised by the urge to spew allmysecrets toher. I clamped my lips together. I’d already given her more than I could afford. I felt oddly soothed by her presence. Comfortable in her space.

Comfortable and yearning for more. A taste of her sugary sweetness.

When was the last time I’d craved someone like this? Hungered for anything other than my art? Maybe not since Sienna and my wild teen infatuation. I certainly hadn’t felt this way with Lyrica. That had simply been pleasure in finding someone who loved the same things you did. Dance. Art. Escape.

The T-shirt Willow wore clung to her slim frame. The muscles I’d seen earlier as she’d lifted the tray at The Tea Spot were more obvious now without the apron that had hidden her earlier. She had small breasts, lifted high, and full hips I wanted to explore. The layers of her chiffon skirt flowed down to her feet, giving me only shadowy glimpses of the toned legs I’d noticed earlier. I wanted to uncover all of her. See all of her. Splash her on canvas. Cut her from stone.

While I hadn’t been prepared to let a woman into my life again, now that Willow had thundered in, temptation was knocking at the doors I’d sealed shut, tapping loudly and insisting I open up to the possibility of letting someone new inside my walls.

Ask her out.The voice in my head startled me, sounding decidedly Sienna-like. It had me glancing both ways for a translucent figure I hadn’t seen in years. The back of my neck prickled before I assured myself it was only Katerina’s voice. After all, my sister was the one badgering me to put Felicity behind me.

Willow shifted, drawing my eyes to her hand tugging at her necklace and her teeth biting her lower lip. I’d been staring at her for way too long. What had she said? Something about my losses haunting me?

“More like a new house keeping me up,” I told her. “New sounds. Or rather a lack of sounds? I’m still getting used to the quiet.”

It wasn’t a full lie any more than I imagined her response about her dad had been. But I think she knew, just as I had, that neither of us had been completely honest.

“So, the cemetery?” I asked.

She played a shell game with the colorful jars on the counter, avoiding my eyes as she said, “It’s peaceful there at night.”

Another half-truth.

“And?” I pushed.

Her fingers stilled, and when she looked up, I got a glimpse of sadness again. “They deserve to be remembered.”

Those words lodged deep in my soul. I’d spent over a decade ensuring that Sienna would never be forgotten.

“Who?” I breathed out.

“Any of them. All of them.” She tugged on her chain again.

Confusion drew my brows together.

She chuckled softly. “I sound dark and broody, don’t I?” She paused, as if debating saying more, and then shrugged. “My dad is buried…in our old town. I don’t get to visit his grave. I guess I just hope someone will do for him what I’m doing here. Seeing them. Thinking about them. Acknowledging they had a life. Saying their name aloud so they aren’t lost.”

It was beautiful and tragic. It made me want to add another layer to the charcoal drawing I’d started of her and the cemetery,blending names onto the gravestones so they faded away and yet still stood out.

“Is there a reason you have to do that at two in the morning?” I asked.

Her eyes sparkled with humor as she replied, “There’s nothing gothic or dark about the timing. I don’t go because it’s the middle of the night. It’s simply the time I get up. If I went to work at eight, I’d be there at seven.”

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