Page 46 of Panty Dropper

CHAPTER 22

Reagan

“So, how are things going?” I asked as I pulled a sweater dress off the rack.

Cheyenne had asked me to go shopping with her to find something to wear for the funeral that was scheduled for the following day. We were currently making our way through the racks at Firefly Boutique. She seemed a little on edge and I didn’t want to pry, but I figured it was a good time to check in with her and see how she was dealing with the unusual and intense circumstances.

She began to twist a piece of hair that fell over her shoulder but stayed silent. Already in the short time I’d known her, I recognized that as one of her emotional tells. When she was feeling overwhelmed, that was her go to move.

Instead of changing the subject, I remained quiet. I wanted to give her space to figure out what she wanted to say, or if she wanted to say anything at all.

We looked at dresses for a few moments, the only sound around us in the near-empty boutique was the scratch of hangers sliding along rods and the soft rock playing through the sound system as we perused one after the other.

Finally, she spoke, her voice so soft I could barely hear her. “I don’t know. I have so many different feelings. Contradictory feelings, when it comes down to it. Part of me is really sad that my father passed away. Obviously. But another part of me finds it hard to feel anything at all about it. Yes he was my father, but I barely remember him. He was more of a figure in my life than anything. I knew him because of the role he held, but I didn’t really know him as a human being. And he didn’t even fight when my grandparents took me. I mean…I know he just lost his wife, my mom, but I was his daughter. And I’d just lost my mom, and then my brothers and dad, too. My grandparents forbid any talk of my life before I went to live with them. So, after all these years, it’s hard for me to know what was real and what I’d imagined.”

“That must be really difficult.”

She tilted her head. “I guess. I’d say confusing, more than anything. And then there’s my brothers.”

A spark flared in my belly at the mention of her brothers. Of course, my mind went immediately to one particular brother, and my cheeks heated. I turned away to the rack behind me to keep Cheyenne from seeing—although she was so immersed in the difficult emotions she was talking through, I doubted she would’ve noticed if my entire head caught on fire. A little blush was nowhere near her radar.

I hadn’t been able to get Billy Comfort out of my mind. He was the last thing I’d thought about before I fell asleep the night before, and the first thing I’d thought about when my eyes opened that morning. I missed him. Which made exactly zero sense.

The only person I’d ever missed in my life had been Hal, and that was only after he passed away. I’d never missed someone that was alive and breathing. But now, I was doing just that. I didn’t just miss Billy, I ached for him.

“What about them?” I encouraged gently.

“I’m so thrilled to have them back in my life. To be back in theirs. They’re really making an effort to include me and accept me. Especially Billy. But…”

She trailed off, and I had to exercise every bit of willpower I possessed not to nudge her to expand on the “especially Billy” part. The truth was, I wanted to hear anything and everything about Billy, despite myself. He was quickly turning into both my strongest temptation and biggest weakness.

But this was about Cheyenne, not me.

“But what?” I encouraged her.

She shrugged. “But I wouldn’t have them right now if my father were still alive. You would’ve never called me. I would’ve never come here. Being glad about it is kind of like being glad he’s dead. What kind of horrible person feels that?”

I let go of the dress I was looking at and it fell back into place on the rack. Turning to Cheyenne, I stared directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. You are not a horrible person. Far from it. Just the fact that your feelings are conflicted show how much you care. You had no control over the reality that you didn’t get to know your father. That wasn’t your decision. And yet, you still came down here as soon as you found out he’d died. You’re shopping for a dress to wear to his funeral. You could’ve easily written him off and wanted nothing to do with him. A lot of people in your situation would have.

“I’m a really good judge of character, and I can honestly say that you are one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met.”

She smiled and squeezed my hands before letting them go and turning back to the racks of clothes. She shot me a mischievous glance. “So does this mean you’re not just hanging out with me because of my brother?” she said lightly.

Damn. I could feel the telltale blush light my cheeks again like Fourth of July fireworks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, trying to appear casual and clueless. And failing miserably.

“The fire engine-colored glow on your face tells a different story,” she teased. “And so does the fact that you snuck out of Billy’s like a cat burglar the other morning. But, hey. I’m not judging.”

I lowered my head. Between her knowing that I’d stayed at Billy’s house, Nadia suspecting as much, and the entire town weighing in on whether or not I did in FB comments, this whole situation with Billy Comfort was becoming a lot more complicated than I’d ever intended it to. And so were my feelings for him. I knew that I should stay away from him, but that was the last thing I wanted to do.

And that was the rub—I’d spent so much time in the past doing what I was supposed to do. With Blaine, I’d followed all the rules. Literally. I practically memorized that book The Rules and I followed each of them to a tee.

There weren’t feelings involved, unless you counted the “feeling” of wanting to be nothing like my mother. I’d given it a lot of thought over the past ten days, and I’d come to the conclusion that Blaine had been a blank slate that I could write my future on.

A good career—check. A stable fiancé from a good family—check. Marriage and children and a decent social standing—well on my way to putting nice, neat checkmarks in front of those, as well.

And even when I’d walked in on him, it had been quite civilized. There was no big, emotional scene. I’d seen what I’d seen, then turned around and left—which should’ve been my first clue that it wasn’t exactly the romance of the century.

I’d been shocked, of course, but I was beginning to think it was mostly at him doing what he was doing in his office. If I’d walked in on him in our home, I’m not sure that I would’ve been surprised at all.

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