Page 71 of South of The Skyway

“I’m not entirely sure, maybe…fourteen?”

“Did Noel keep writing?”

“A bit,” I admitted sheepishly. “She won a few competitions and published some short stories in magazines. Her manuscripts might be collecting a whole ecosystem of dust bunnies, but at least she wrote them. I just…stopped.”

He nodded as if he’d expected the answer. “When did your dad stop coming home?”

I blinked. Once. Twice. My lips parted as I realized what he’d so deftly figured out. Eyes stabbing through the RV counter into my past—the grandeur of our last empty family house, the unanswered calls, the notes for holidays, and the rotating door of agency-loyal nannies—as what he’d just insinuated struck home like a punch to the gut.

“Your dad didn’t break you, Brexley. He did the best he could with what he knew. But you’ve made one hell of a name for yourself in a big ass pond. Sometimes it’s easy to feel like life happens to us. Only, what if it happensforus?”

“You’re saying I was abandoned on purpose?”

“Nah. I’m saying, what if only you can write your lightning girl saving herself, because you’ve already done it?”

Royal chose that precise moment to unceremoniously belch as she stretched out by the front door, her need for her morning adventure more pressing than the fact that this man who’d known me for less than a month had seen more of my soul than people who’d watched me survive all the ups and downs in real-time.

Hours later, as we walked through all the closing work in the shop, my mind spun with that old story. It sounded too Young Adult to bring it into my own demographic. Having dedicated my life to curating shelves full of smut so women had a safe space to explore their own sexuality and live a thousand adventures from the security of their slippers, it felt a little counterintuitive to go back to my old stomping grounds. Yet, stuffed in that closet we called an office, I sat down with pen and paper and outlined the damn thing. Brought it up to speed. Played with the idea of aging up the characters so adults could have an adventure too.

And it sounded damn good.

THIRTY-TWO

RHYETT

I wasn’t surprised to see the light on at the bookstore when I arrived with the last of the paint prep supplies. What I was surprised to find was Brexley on the floor of her office, Royal so lazily sprawled out that she just lolled her head in my direction. Evidently, I’d lost my novelty pretty damn fast.

“Hey,” I said softly, but it was a fight not to laugh as her hand flew to her chest.

“Jesus,” she blew out on a tense breath, shaking her head.

“No, ma’am. Rhyett Rhodes.” I chuckled as she rolled her eyes, returning to where she’d dropped her pen. Leaning on the doorframe, bracing my arm as I tried to peek over her shoulder, I asked, “Whatcha doing?”

“It could work,” she breathed, eyes round and a little bloodshot, her blonde locks a little too close to sex hair for my comfort, as though she’d run her hands through it compulsively while she worked. “You were right.”

“Always.”

Her pointed glare only brought on warmth to my chest.

“I outlined it.”

“What?”

The intensity on her face drew me into the tiny cubby. Knelt beside her. Royal immediately demanded her good girl tax, tail wagging when I complied. Brexley seemed not to notice, her entire demeanor pointing to being wildly out of this world. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was high.

“The book, I outlined the whole thing. Made a cast list with character traits. They’re all still in there.” She didn’t look up as she tapped the pen against her temple.

“Damn," I breathed, rocking back to settle on my ass beside her. She held up a handful of loose-leaf pages, some corners already dog-eared, others tabbed. I spotted patches of highlights and an outline worksheet. Where the hell had she gotten all of that so quickly? When I reached for the worksheets, she smacked my knuckles with her pen, eyes hardening to daggers before looking back at the page she’d been filling in when I arrived.

A little more than amused, I peeked around her again. Drunk Brexley had been adorable. Boss Brexley was a little bit intimidating. Bedroom Brex was downright sexier than sin. Men had happilydiedfor less. The image of her eyes watering as she sucked me deeper into her throat was permanently embossed in my brain.

But focused Brexley? She was instantly my favorite. Humidified flyaway frizz gave her an air of wildness, vs. her usual polished, purposely presented persona. Focus carved two lines between her brows, her pout revealing that flat spot on her bottom lip. The stain had long since rubbed off on her mug; it was just that natural pale pink. I ached to run my thumb along the length but wasn’t brave or stupid enough to attempt it.

The scratch of her pen over paper filled the small space. Royal settled her head on my lap, then rolled over for scratches. I took the unguarded moment to study my girl. Her space. Brexley’s desk was precisely organized, filing cabinets on either end acting as the base for the topper. The mug containing a cacophony of colored pens read, ‘just one more chapter’.Only two photographs adorned the surface—both of her and Noel, one with Royal happily between them. Family. That was her family.

Found family, she’d called it. No wonder she loved that theme in her stories.

A stack of books was neatly organized in the corner, each with a sticky note adhered to the spine with ‘yes’, ‘no’, or ‘Noel’ scrawled in tight handwriting. I had a feeling everything Brexley did was firm and precise. The shop’s affinity for floral arrangements and potted plants had spilled into her space, and I wondered if that was her touch or Noel’s. Deep purple blooms—the same tropical kind we had on the property—sat in a little fishbowl in the corner.

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