Page 24 of Lost in the Moonlight

I shook my head, shoving the cap on my head and striding toward downtown. If I continued down this path, investigating her online and standing moodily outside her door, fixated on who was at her house, I’d cross over into the stalker category that Felicity had entered.

It wasn’t until I’d broken up with her and refused to answer her calls that the Secret Service had found the cloning software on my phone placed there by a private investigator she’d hired to investigate me. She’d dug into my past as well as my present, trying to uncover all my secrets. She’d downloaded messages between me and my family and tried to use them to reel me back in. She’d cried large crocodile tears, saying she’d hired the PI because she had a stalker when we had proof that she’d asked the PI to follow me rather than any obsessed fan of hers.

When the Secret Service showed up at her door, she’d retaliated by releasing a twisted compilation of my private messages with my family to the media. She’d cut and spliced them with the secrets I’d given her, the truths about my ghosts and the guilty conscience I carried, hanging it out for all to see. She’d used her sad, baby-blue eyes, shiny auburn hair, and fragile air to convince them I was a heartless deranged sadist who’d tossed her aside after I’d promised her a lifetime.

The fury and disgust I felt every time I thought of her betrayals fueled my steps. It stayed with me until I hit Main Street where the sun setting on the cozy village sucked my breath away just as it had when I’d stayed there late last summer. The peaceful haven eased the boiling in my blood, shoulders relaxing. If anything good had come out of my time with Felicity, it was this—the fact that it had led me to Cherry Bay.

I scanned the buildings, eyeing the handful of restaurants tucked into the gingerbread façades. I’d eaten multiple times at the Italian restaurant while staying at a bed-and-breakfast down the street. Remi’s had decent lasagna and a killer chicken parmesan, but I wasn’t in the mood for red sauce laden with garlic. A wry grin hit my lips. Maybe I really was turning into a vampire.

I strode past the restaurant, and the bar next door tempted me. The stained-glass window showing a prince and a princess bursting into light added another layer of magic to the downtown. I stared at it for a moment, something wavering at the back of my mind—an idea for the gallery that wouldn’t quite take hold.

I started toward the bar’s door, but a loud burst of laughter traveled out and halted me. Even if I didn’t take my hat off indoors like my mother had instilled in me, I might be recognized while eating a meal. I needed takeout.

I turned, intending to head toward the Chinese restaurant at the far end of the street and ran straight into a man standing directly behind me. He had dark hair and angry eyes behind thick-framed glasses. His face was so white it bordered on pasty. He wasn’t as tall as me, but his frame was stocky, and his clothes hung off him in a disheveled sort of way. Not quite dirty and torn as someone living on the streets might wear, but more a look of being worn down by drugs or life.

“My apologies,” I said, moving around him and away.

“You should be sorry.”

The fury of his tone had me glancing over my shoulder. His fisted hands, clenched eyebrows, and scowl screamed an aggression that startled me. I’d barely bumped into him.

Attempting to ignore it, I strode down the street only to have him follow me. I groaned internally. I couldn’t afford a confrontation. Not here. Not now. If he attacked, and I had to use my years of martial arts training to defend myself, it would make the news. I could see the headline:Lincoln Matherton Attacks Man on Streets of Cherry Bay. My parents would have to deal with the fallout. The town I’d escaped to would be flooded.

I crossed the street, and the man did the same. As I neared the doors of the yoga studio, a group of twenty-somethings with rolled mats under their arms emerged, laughing and jostling each other.

The man was forced to step to the side to let them go by, and I ducked into the studio.

The man glared through the window at me but didn’t venture in.

I approached the desk where a petite blond woman in yoga pants and a sports bra sat. Her stomach was round with pregnancy, and she had a hand resting on top of it. She turned a serene smile to me as she asked, “Can I help you?”

“Just looking for a schedule of your classes,” I answered.

She stared at me for a long moment.

“Have you been in here before?”

My jaw tightened, hoping I could get out of the place before she recognized me. I tugged at the brim of the baseball cap before saying, “No. I’m new to town.”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out where she knew me from. I held my breath, waiting for the aha moment. When it didn’t come, she turned and pulled a brochure from a stand behind her, handing it to me. I thanked her and walked out.

I glanced both ways down the street, the tension in my back easing when I didn’t see the angry man. The crisis had been averted. But for how long? How long would I be able to remain anonymous in this tiny town, especially after opening the gallery? And once word spread I was here, what would the locals think? What would the press do?

I adjusted the baseball cap again as I strode down the sidewalk, continuing to scan for the man just in case. An engine revved, and a beat-up Civic sedan sped by. I wasn’t sure if it was the same man behind the wheel, but I had a distinct impression it was.

Unease crept over me, the entire exchange leaving a bad taste in my mouth. The Secret Service had instilled in me the importance of listening to my gut, but in this case, I had no idea what it was trying to tell me.

What I did know was that my appetite was gone. So instead of heading toward any of the restaurants dotting the street, I made my way to a tiny shop that was little more than a convenience store. The prices were high and the stock low, but I grabbed a basket and dropped in a few essentials and microwave meals that would tide me over for a day or two.

The sun had drifted even lower over the buildings, all but fading away by the time I’d paid and exited the store. Shadows blended in with the pink blossoms scattered across every available surface. I’d found peace here when I’d visited last August, and I’d hoped it would surround me permanently once I’d moved here. But now, within a matter of hours, my peace had been disturbed by a stranger and Poco. Even more so by Willow.

As I left the slow hum of downtown behind and ventured along the quiet of my street, I glanced one more time at Willow’s cottage. A warm light leaped from the antique windows, pirouetting over the roses and shrubs in the delightful garden.

More painting ideas swept through me. The continued twirls of dark and light I’d already started but also images of her flitting along the canvas like a butterfly dancing through marigolds. Fragile and yet incredibly strong as long as the oils of humanity didn’t touch her wings.

My fingers itched to capture the image, long strokes transitioning from black and white into color. The urge was so strong, so intense, I almost dropped my bags and headed straight for the studio. Instead, I finished carrying them home, knowing I’d be getting very little sleep again tonight.

Chapter Nine

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