Page 17 of Slow Burn
A sister who was a stranger.
Circumstances had made it impossible to have a relationship before, but it hadn’t stopped her daydreaming as a kid. Connection had always been something she’d longed for and feared in equal measure, and this was no exception. This time, the stakes were higher, and she was just waiting for it all to come crashing down.
“I can get you a dressing room to start,” Natasha said, walking back with a couple of pairs of beige colored pants draped over her arm. “I guessed on size since I forgot to ask, but I’d imagine it’s close to mine.”
Jocelyn nodded as Natasha led her to the dressing rooms. She slipped inside wordlessly, closing the door, and changed slowly, letting the fabric slide over her skin, airy and soft. The pants fit perfectly, and with that came the sharp pang of recognition—same body type, same bloodline. She stared at her reflection, unsettled, feeling both invaded and exposed.
By the time she stepped back out, Natasha had drifted behind the counter, busying herself with hangers.
Jocelyn held up the pants. “I’ll take these.”
Natasha beamed. “Great. I’ll give you the employee discount.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jocelyn protested. “Won’t you get in trouble with your boss?”
Natasha’s laugh was light, real. “I am my boss.”
The revelation knocked the breath out of Jocelyn for a moment. “You own the shop?”
Her shoulders scrunched in a self-deprecating shrug, but her smile was quiet pride.
“That’s… amazing,” Jocelyn said softly, meaning it.
Natasha beamed at her again.
Jocelyn paid quickly, too aware of her own awkwardness.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a hold of the bag as Natasha passed it over. Her fingers wrapped tight around the shopping bag as if it could anchor her.
“Anytime,” her sister said, the sincerity plain in her steady gaze.
Uncertainty pirouetted through her like an untrained dancer, but she headed for the door. The bell jingled again as she stepped outside, and she nearly dropped the bag.
Lydia Abbott stood in front of her.
The other woman’s surprise smoothed in an instant into a practiced grace, that mask of southern poise Jocelyn had hated as a child. Behind it, though, Jocelyn saw the flicker—the same one she’d seen years ago, every time Lydia had looked at her like a problem that wouldn’t disappear.
For one breath, Jocelyn thought she might crumble under the collision of past and present. But then she lifted her chin, bracing herself like she always had.
“Hello, Lydia.”
eight
“Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires.” - William Shakespeare
Cole grunted as he hauled a case of liquor bottles off the edge of the delivery truck, carrying it in through the front door. The alley between his place and the next was too narrow for the lumbering vehicle to squeeze through, so the front was the only way in.
He didn’t mind the work. It gave his hands something to do, especially after Daniel Abbott had already stopped by that morning to bug him about selling his land—a familiar song and dance—and soured his mood. Luckily, Terra had backed him in sending Abbott on his way by demanding he help bring the morning load in. Not that she needed Cole’s help to get inventory shelved; the delivery guy was doing most of the heavy lifting with his hand truck anyway.
When Cole stepped back onto the sidewalk, he stopped dead. Jocelyn was across the street, walking away from Natasha’s boutique with quick, clipped strides.
Every time he saw her, it was a sucker punch to the gut—enough to rile his already short temper.
Until he caught the glint of her tears.
That had his boots moving before his brain decided anything. He crossed the street in two long strides.
“Hey,” he called, jogging to close the gap. “You alright?”
