Page 47 of Craving Consequences

“No. No! Okay, listen...” but she’s laughing too hard to actually make any sense.

“There was a guy ... listen!” she blurts, cackling like a maniacal villain when I blow out a growl through my teeth.

“There was this guy who used to live in a tent a few miles away from the cabin. No! Hold on!” She puts her hands up when Lachlan starts to take a step towards her like he’s ready to put her over his knee.

“Lauren was convinced he was a serial killer on the run.”

We both wait for her to finish, but ... that’s it.

“And?” Lachlan snaps.

Snuffling and wiping her eyes, Everly shrugs. “That’s it. His name was Harold, and he joined a commune in Vermont last year.”

Lachlan drags both hands down his face. “How are you still alive?”

“What do you mean? He was a really nice guy,” she protests.

“I don’t know how to feel right now,” I begin slowly, attempting to process. “You were on a first name basis with a woodland cryptid.”

“Oh, Harold wasn’t his actual name. He said it was better if no one knew it ... for legal reasons.”

“Jesus, it just keeps getting worse,” Lachlan chokes out like he needs divine intervention just to survive this conversation .

“I haven’t even told you about the time I woke up to him smelling my feet because it helped relax him.”

I’m about to explode when she glances between us and bursts into a fit of hysterical giggles.

“You’re fucking with us,” Lachlan grumbles.

Grinning like a little brat, she shrugs smartly, twirls on her heels and skips further down the aisle, calling back over her shoulder, “That’s what you get for thinking I’m that stupid.”

Neither Lach, nor I move for several long seconds. Long enough that Everly has vanished around the corner and the only sound is the rain pounding against the roof and the soft whistle of music coming from the speakers.

It’s a very slow decision that we turn to face each other.

“Why do I feel both incredibly amused and homicidal?” Lachlan asks.

“Because we let a pintsized demon into our lives and now she’s fucking with our heads before taking our souls.”

My friend exhales deeply. “We better go find her before she buys a wheel of cheese and we’re stuck in a flooded cabin with constipated assholes.”

We don’t have to go far before we find her scanning a row of batteries.

Even from a distance, she’s so small. So sweet.

My jacket is a parachute draped around her shoulders, brushing her knees and falling over her fingers.

It makes me want to go over, pull her up into my arms and nuzzle into her cozy warmth, but Thelma Walker and Florence Page are shuffling up in the opposite direction.

Their shrewd gazes spot Everly and make an immediate beeline for her.

“Everly.”

Lost in her thoughts, Everly visibly jumps at the sound of her name. She turns to face the pair and her mask drops into place.

“Good morning,” she says through her warm, toothy smile. “Where are we headed today?”

“We were just heading to Maisie’s for our usual scone and tea when we heard the news.”

Lachlan and I exchange glances and we’re moving before either of our thoughts are finished processing.

“There you are,” Lachlan interrupts. “We need to hit the road if we’re going to beat this rain.” He spares the two watchful busybodies a courtesy inclination of his head. “Morning.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Everly says quickly, already edging away from the two in our direction. “I deeply apologize, but we need to get preparations in order for the party. I hope you both enjoy the rest of your day.”

I don’t say anything to either of them as I turn the cart around and follow the pair back in the direction we’d come from at a clipped pace.

“Thank you,” Everly breathes once we’re in the clear. “I know how fast word travels and still it surprises me every time. ”

Lachlan settles a gentle palm on her lower back, a quick one that he promptly removes before anyone can see it. “Let’s get what we need and head out.”

No one mentions the way we’re shopping like we’re beating a clock.

We move through the store fast, aisle by aisle, checking each one before ducking through. We have a nice pile by the time we round to the registers and the watchful green eyes of Olive Holland.

When it’s our turn at the register, Olive’s smile tightens. Not rude. Just strained, like she’s holding her breath and hasn’t decided whether to let it out yet. Her gaze flicks over the contents on the belt, then to Everly, her expression unreadable.

I don’t know the Holland family very well. I did some work on their kitchen fixtures last year, but I spoke mainly to Darren, Olive’s dad. But Olive and her mom Ilsa seem to be the only two who run the grocery store. At least, the only two who man the registers.

“Having a fancy dinner?” she asks, tone light but prodding.

Everly smiles as she helps unload the cart. “Things for the party.”

Olive scans a bag of trail mix and makes a small, thoughtful sound. “Must be nice,” she says quietly, placing the bag into a paper sack, “to have someone you care about enough to do all that for. Take the time and energy.”

There’s no sarcasm in her voice, but something else rides beneath it — wistfulness, maybe. Possibly regret. Or just plain weariness. Maybe she’s as exhausted and done with Jefferson as I am.

Everly doesn’t answer right away. She glances at me, then at Lachlan, then back to Olive. “Yeah,” she says softly. “It is.” She clears her throat and pulls her Jefferson smile into place. “You’re coming right?”

Creases line the other woman’s brows as she cocks her head and pushes through a bag of gummy worms that Lachlan definitely snuck in at some point. “Um...” she trails off a long moment as if not wholly certain how to respond. “Yeah. I guess.”

Everly nods slowly. Still smiling. “Great. Excited to see you there.”

There’s a fault line beneath our feet, a winding crack splintering with every second we remain there under the scrutinizing eyes of the town people.

already, there’s a line behind us, bobbing heads weaving over racks, trying to catch glimpses of Everly like she’s responsible for murdering her family.

It’s hilarious because she’s the victim.

She’s the one who should be getting sympathy and the backing of the people she grew up with.

Instead, they watch her like they expect her to snap and kill everyone.

Like somehow, this experience has tainted her in their eyes.

A few of them, I note, don’t even have anything in their hands.

They’re simply standing there, waiting for Everly to fall apart.

Not an assumption. Not my paranoia getting the better of me. Even with their pathetic attempts to keep their voices below a whisper, I pick up their thoughts.

“Just this morning. He’s still at the sheriff’s office.”

“What do you think she did?”

“Obviously there’s a bigger picture. No one behaves like that for no reason.”

“She should have just talked to him.”

“She must have misunderstood.”

I shift. One hand settles on the lip of the counter as I turn my weight to face the crowd. It slightly conceals Everly from their eyes, but it’s more for me to stare them down, dare them to continue their bullshit.

A handful are wise enough to drop their gazes and hurry back to finish their shopping. The rest meet my focused attention with even more curiosity and speculations.

Fucking hell.

This is what Lachlan was talking about, I muse, thinking back on our conversation that night after the bar, after we’d put Everly to bed.

Jefferson will never let her live in peace.

Even if she were just a regular person and not the mayor’s secretary, they will make her life hell.

For someone like Everly with no family and a prominent position in town at a young age, her every move is scrutinized.

In some cases, some even itch to watch her fall so they can pick at her carcass.

Vultures.

If Everly notices their attempts to gain her attention, she never shows it.

The total rings up and I pull out my wallet, beating Lach and Everly to it. Olive gives me a brief glance, lets me swipe my card, and wishes us a safe trip. Her gaze lingers on Everly as we head for the door with that same nonplussed expression, only I know she’s as rabid as the rest of them.

At the truck, Lachlan yanks open Everly’s door and lets her climb in on her own as he helps me load the bags into the backseat with all our duffels.

She’s sitting slightly slumped with her head back against the seat when we join her.

Her eyes are closed, but there are lines drawing down the corners of her mouth.

Lips I ache to kiss but can’t when a million eyes are watching from the window of the grocery store.

Waiting. Speculating. Already I wonder if we haven’t created even more chaos for her just by being with her.

I can only imagine the wheels spinning over the sight we make getting into the truck with her and driving off into the woods.

The thought of Everly returning to a town chewing up the rumors and churning their own has my fingers fisting in my lap.

It has me staring straight at the gawking faces making no attempt at discretion when watching Lachlan pull free of our parking spot.

They’re barely blinking, like we were already caught fucking.

Not that Everly’s ex showed up at her house at the crack of dawn and tried to beat her door down.

Not that he’s currently sitting behind bars for his behavior.

Their prey is Everly and why Bron did what he did and how it’s her fault.