Page 41 of No More Secrets

“Everything okay?” Her gaze flicks behind him, worried Ivy’s figured who she is.

“All good.” He leaves the door open so he can see her but turns to Ivy. They talk in hushed voices. Shiloh knows it’s about her. He told her he’d tell Ivy the story they made up.

Her stomach growls.

Ravenous, Shiloh takes Lucas up on his offer and slices open a sourdough roll. She starts piling on an assortment of meats and cheeses. If anything, she’ll eat better today than she has in weeks, and for that she’s grateful.

After she devours the largest sandwich she’s ever made, and after she’s swept the aisles and straightened inventory on the shelves, Shiloh receives her first sandwich order. A woman walks in, stopping just inside the glass door. She looks around the minimart until her gaze falls on Shiloh, who’s standing behind the deli counter, wiping down the stainless-steel surface for the third time in an hour because she’s run out of things to do.

The woman approaches the counter, smiles at Shiloh, then lifts her face to read the list of sandwich selections posted on the wall above Shiloh’s head. She’s tall and skinny, with narrow hips and a flat chest. And here Shiloh thought her own boobs were small. Large reddish-brown freckles dot the woman’s nose and cheekbones, which make her more intriguing than attractive, if freckles are your thing. A graybeanie caps her head, and her hair is an auburn-tinted cloud hugging her neck. Both ears are pierced, and Shiloh notices studs run up each lobe before they disappear into her hair under the cap, making her way cooler than anyone Shiloh’s run into so far in this lame town.

She leans forward, catching a peek at the woman’s Dr.Martens. She’s always wanted a pair.

When she lifts her face, the woman is watching her, more than mildly curious. Her smile spreads wide. “Hi.”

Shiloh tucks her hair behind her ear, forgetting she was using it to shield her black eye and the other scratches on her cheek, and clears her throat. “What can I get you?”

The woman’s smile fades. She touches her own face where Shiloh’s shiner is the darkest on hers. “What happened?”

Lucas chooses that moment to pop his head in from where he’s been working in the back, sorting stock. “All good?” His eyes dart from Shiloh to the woman before falling back on Shiloh.

“Yep,” she answers. She knows their story. She won’t screw it up. As for the sandwich, how difficult can one be to make?

Lucas hesitates, his eyes meeting the woman’s before landing back on Shiloh.

“I got this,” she says.

He grunts and returns to the back.

The woman watches the door for eons before swinging back to Shiloh. “Who was that?”

“My uncle. I’m staying with him for a bit.” She slaps on a smile. “What sandwich do you want?” she asks so she doesn’t overshare, something she has the tendency to do when she’s nervous, and it gets her into trouble. But she might have already said too much—done too much. Damn. Why is she always touching her face? She shouldn’t have moved her hair. Because now the woman’s looking at her like one of those abused dogs in a Dodo video. She also keeps glancing at the door where Lucas went.

The woman tucks her fingertips into her front pockets. “Turkey and cheddar on sourdough.” Then she drops her voice to a whisper. “Did he do that to you?”

Shiloh stills as she’s reaching for the bread. “Lucas?” She shakes her head, unable to help looking at the door to the storeroom. She pulls down a bread bag and removes a roll, slices it open. “Girl fight at school. Totally lame, but Mom’s making me stay with him. Mustard, mayo?”

“Both.” The woman leans on the display counter. She studies Shiloh as if she can see right through the lie.

Nerves skitter down her arms. She dips her head, and her gaze burns holes into the bread. She smears on the mustard, feeling every move of hers watched. Every twitch in her demeanor analyzed. This woman isn’t someone who’d turn the other way if she saw a young Shiloh tending to her mom, high on fentanyl, doing what she can to keep her mom from overdosing. No, this woman is observant. She gets involved. She’d confront her mom. Then she’d call the cops and child protective services. The cops would arrest her mom for possession and child endangerment, and CPS would put her in foster care.

Part of her wishes the cops would arrest Harmony. Payback for bringing Ellis into their lives. For putting his needs over her own daughter’s. For believing him over her when she told her mom he’d assaulted her in the kitchen while she was making mac ’n’ cheese. He put his hand up Shiloh’s shirt. A bold and senseless risk, the prick.

The only thing that stopped Ellis from going further that night was the steak knife she grabbed from the drawer. He laughed at her threat to slice and dice him, but he valued his looks and backed off.

“Lettuce and tomato?”

The woman’s gaze darts across Shiloh’s face. “Sure.”

“Onions and pickles?”

“Yes. Wait.” She lifts a hand.

The storeroom door swings open, and in walks Lucas with a box full of cleaning supplies. He looks at them both before he moves downan aisle. The woman watches him as Shiloh watches her, breath held. She waits for her to say something to Lucas. Maybe she won’t bother and will call the police instead. Ruin everything.

“Onions and pickles?” Shiloh repeats.

The woman turns back. She smiles, and Shiloh can tell it’s forced for her benefit. “Put pickles on the sandwich, and I’ll know to get help,” she whispers, then louder, “Hold the onions.”

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