Page 13 of The Way We Were(wolf)

Lucy took a step back, but not far enough that he felt like he had to let go. And the same must have been true for her, because he delighted in the fact that her hands didn’t leave his waist. “Is there anything even left on the shelves at the grocery store?”

“Well…” He bit the side of his lip, deciding how many details he wanted to share. How many hecouldshare. “I went door-to-door last night, and it seems your town is more than generous. In fact…” He paused for a minute as he dug into the pocket of his jeans.

She gasped as he handed her a wad of cash, her eyes immediately shimmering with a veil of unshed tears. He knew the bills were mostly twenties, but there were also a few fifties and even a hundred or two in the mix. “I only gave you a handful of tickets to sell. What is—”

“It’s a donation. You mentioned the money for the raffle was going to help with your aunt’s medical expenses, and I so wanted to sell every ticket I had. But the truth is, I’m a terrible salesperson. Didn’t sell a single ticket. When I mentioned I was collecting canned goods but also had tickets for the raffle, every single home just gave a straight up donation. Seems everyone in town wanted to help your aunt as much as I did.”

“Eric,” she whispered. Her voice was thick, and her hands trembled as they counted the cash. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I was happy to do it.” And not just because many of the ladies in town invited him inside their homes to feed him cookies and milk. Maybe he really was Santa Claus. Well…there was that one woman’s house—Renee, was it?—the peppy elderly woman with a mischievous grin. The one who asked if he’d help get the canned goods for her—all of which were on the bottom shelf. He wouldn’t have been suspicious if she hadn’t stood there like that, staring at him like something she’d like to sink (and possibly lose) her teeth into. It was a lot better when he’d caught Lucy looking at him the other night.

“Need us to give you a hand?” a firefighter asked as he approached them. He signaled to three of his colleagues, and the four of them hauled away what Eric had carried over a mile by himself. Luckily, Lucy was still staring at the money in her hands and didn’t notice.

“Thank you doesn’t seem like enough,” she spoke as her red-rimmed eyes met his. “But…wow. This will mean so much to my aunt and her family. Would you like to meet my uncle? He’s around here somewhere.”

“I’d love that,” he said, though he hoped she wouldn’t introduce him like the hero her earlier reaction made him out to be. It really was nothing for him. It wasn’t like he slept that much leading up to the full moon anyway. So, when it became too late to knock on people's doors for food, he hit up a few of the local—and not so local—grocery stores that were open all night.

As they walked from the parking lot to the side of the building, Eric froze. Before him was a brightly painted mural that spread across the entire side of the firehouse. His eyes bounced from corner to corner, scene to scene, piecing together the story of the community as told by intricate brushstrokes and bold hues. Splashes of vibrant colors brought to life the otherwise inanimate mountainsides and valleys, making them pop off the cinderblock wall and pull him into the setting. He’d never imagined something so powerful could be accomplished with so little. But that wasn’t true. Whoever had painted this had talent in spades.

L. Hunt.

Eric took a step closer, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him.

“L. Hunt,” he repeated, only this time aloud. “Lucy?” he asked to himself.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning back to him, her smile falling faster than a boulder off a cliff when she saw what he was looking at.

“Is that you?” he asked, nodding at the mural. “Did you paint that?”

She shrugged and then wrapped her hands around her middle, the tips of her ears matching the red plaid shirt she wore. “Yeah,” she responded, her voice much weaker than it had been when she revered him as the hero of the food drive. But why? If he’d painted something this amazing, he would have set up permanent residence right there on the corner of the street, saying, “I painted that,” to anyone who would listen—at least until the cops showed up and told him to move along.

“But I thought…” He shook his head, thinking about what he knew about her and realizing something didn’t add up. “You said you weren’t creative.”

“I’m not. Not really.”

“Are you kidding me?!” he blurted and then stood against the mural, arms spread wide like he was presenting a prize in the Showcase Showdown. Because this is exactly what this was—a prize. So, why wasn’t Lucy claiming it?

“Look, it’s just… I did this a long time ago. If I’ve learned anything over the last couple of years, it’s that I just don’t have it anymore.” She turned to walk away from him, but Eric wasn’t letting her get away.

“Who taught you that?”

“What?” she asked as she turned around.

“Who taught you that you don’t haveit?”

“People,” she muttered, like it didn’t matter.

“Well, they’re not people worth listening to.”

“It’s kinda hard not to.” She shuffled her feet, her toe pushing a large piece of gravel back and forth. “The other night, I told you I’m no longer a designer—which is true. But it’s not the whole truth.” Pausing, she cleared her throat like what she was about to say wasn’t easy. Like it was a loose tooth not quite ready to be pulled—not without pain, anyway.

“Lucy, you don’t owe me an explanation. We’ve all got secrets, things in our past we don’t talk about. Even me.”

“But do you let those secrets run your life?”

Yes.But he couldn’t tell her that. Not without telling his biggest secret, one that would send her running in the opposite direction.

Lucy blew out a breath, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “The short story is that I got let go. The long story is that my mentor at the firm stole my concept for a huge campaign and pitched it as his own. And then I was laid off because I wasn’t needed anymore. Of course, they put a much better spin on it than that, but…I kind of lost my creative spark after that.”

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