Page 3 of Beautiful Crazy
Gemma gives me her soft hand to shake one more time before she’s gone. I shift on the bench, turning enough to allow myself the ability to watch her walk down the pier. Never once does she look back at me, but that’s probably for the best, since otherwise she’d catch me staring.
It’s not much longer until it’s too dark out to see anything. Only then do I get up from the wooden bench and make my way back to my car, plugging in the address tomy temporary home. As I make the short drive there, all I can think about is if I’ll ever run into the stranger from the pier again. Itisa small town… I’m bound to run into her again, right?
God, I hope so.
Two
Gemma
“Sutton, let’s go! We’re going to be late!”
Standing at the base of the staircase, I check the time on my wrist, noting we have maybe ten minutes to leave before we really do risk being late.
“Hang on, Mom,” he calls out from his room upstairs. “I’m almost done. I’m just looking for a pair of socks.”
Ugh, what is it with ten-year-olds and their inability to keep track of their clean socks? “Hurry up,” I holler up to him one last time before I push off the banister and make my way to the kitchen.
Grabbing the laptop sitting on the counter, I shove it into the leather bag, double-checking to make sure I have my charger. Then do a quick look in the front pouch, confirming my pad of paper and pen are still in there. I don’t know why I bother checking that every single morning, when I know good and well I never take it out, but it’s part of my morning routine, and if there’s anything toknow about me, it’s that I’m nothing if not a creature of habit.
I fish through the glass dish on my counter that holds my coffee pods while I wait for Sutton to get down here, plucking out a roasted hazelnut one and popping it into the Nespresso. Reaching up, I grab the sleeve of to-go cups off the top of my fridge, setting it under the nozzle on the machine before hitting start. In no time at all, the sweet, rich, nutty aroma fills the kitchen. At about the same time, the sound of footsteps trudging down the stairs reaches my ears, letting me know my son isfinallyready.
He rounds the corner, backpack slung over one of his shoulders, hair a mess atop his head, and sleep lines still pressed across one side of his face from his pillow. “Morning,” he murmurs as he leans against the entryway to the kitchen.
“Morning,” I reply as I take him in. “Did you even brush your hair?”
Raking a hand through the strands, his brows scrunch as he says, “Yeah, why?”
I pin him with a look. “Because it doesn’t look like it.”
“I did!” he insists, a smirk tugging on his lips, letting me know that he probablydid not.“Can’t I stay home by myself? I’m old enough.”
“You absolutely are not old enough,” I press, brow arched at him as he rolls his eyes. “Besides, you’ll have fun today. They’re doing an end-of-summer field day type thing, right?”
“Yes,” he grumbles.
“See,fun.”
Annoyance is written all over his face as he leaves the kitchen. “Are you ready? I’m going to be late.”
Topping the to-go cup with its lid, I laugh as I grab my purse and laptop case. “Oh, now he cares,” I tease.
The sun is already bright in the sky as I ease out of my driveway. I pull out my sunglasses from the center console and slide them on before cranking the dial on the AC because, while it may still be early in the morning, it’s still hot as hell outside.
After I drop Sutton off at the day camp facility, I head to the coffee shop that’s on the beach, where I plan to sit and write all day because I’m on a major deadline, and I got behind last week when he was sick with the stomach bug. Laura Beth, the morning barista, is setting up the patio tables as I pull into the spot directly in front of the coffee shop. She waves as she spots me.
With my purse and laptop case in tow, I climb out of the car before locking it. “Morning, Laura Beth. How’s it going?”
“Morning, Gem.” She smiles, placing a hand on her hip. “Things are good. Is Sutton feeling better?”
“Yes, he is, thank goodness. He was down for the count for three whole days. He finally started feeling a bit better Sunday. Thank you for the soup. Grace dropped it off to me Thursday evening on her way home from work. Sutton loved it. It was about the only thing he could stomach there for a while.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.” Waving me off like it’s no big deal, she adds, “It’s the recipe my mama makes whenever me and my sister get sick, and it always makes us feel better, so I figured it was worth a shot.”
“Well,thank you again,” I murmur. “Is it okay if I go in and grab a table?”
“Of course. I’ll be in there in a few minutes, once I’m done out here, and then I can ring you up.”
“No rush.”