Page 5 of Deception & Daylight (Oak Ridge #3)

Mags

? Sign of the Times - Harry Styles

“ A re you sure about speed dating?” Paige asks, her apprehensive voice echoing through the cavernous bathroom as I apply a thin coat of gloss over my favorite dusty pink lipstick, rubbing my lips together with a pop. “Why not try the app? It worked out great for me.”

I arch a brow at my bestie through the propped up phone screen as I give myself one last perusal in the mirror. I look damn good in a black floral midi skirt and a vintage Fleetwood Mac tee knotted near my hip. “Your experience isn’t exactly the blueprint, babe. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Murder, Mags. The answer is murder.”

“You’re so dramatic. I promise I’ll check in every thirty minutes. Does that help?”

“Fine.” I catch the tail end of her dramatic eye roll as she bounces Sofia on her lap. “But you’re paying for my therapy bill if this shit backfires.”

“If what backfires?” My heart stutters in my chest at the sound of a voice I recognize all too well.

“None of your business, asshole.”

I flick my gaze to the phone as I secure the tail of my braid with a clear band before pinning it to the back of my head, repeating the process on the other side.

His stupid face creeps into frame, and I’m disappointed to see he’s still just as gorgeous as ever.

His tousled blonde hair is brushed back off his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes stare back at me with reminders of empty words and broken promises.

It’s unfortunate the gods wasted that face on such an irredeemable dipshit.

“Language, Mags. There’s a child in the room.”

“Miles is used to my colorful language,” I retort.

Ever the drama king, Miles frowns into the phone. “That hurts, Wildcat.”

“If the shoe fits, lace that bitch up,” I quip, slipping my feet into my chunky platform sandals near the front door. “Paige, I gotta go. I don’t wanna miss the subway. I’ll text you when I get there.”

“Be safe. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

As I’m about to hang up, a third voice chimes in with a condescending “love you the most” and I toss up one last middle finger before tapping to end the call, praying to whatever gods exist that they’ll send me someone to end my dick drought and get Miles fucking Barlow out of my head for good.

I stare across the two-seater table at the dark-haired man with the ill-fitting polo shirt and slacks as he drones on and on about stocks and bonds, my foot tapping out a steady rhythm as I force a smile.

Discreetly, so as not to draw his attention away from his one-sided conversation, I flip my phone in my lap, checking the time to see how much longer this speed dating event is supposed to last.

Not one of your finest ideas, Mags.

I’ve been through a string of finance bros, a guy with an obvious Oedipus complex, and a gym rat who took one look at my tits, or lack thereof, and immediately recoiled. It can’t possibly get worse, right? There has to be at least one decent man in the bunch. Or maybe that’s the problem: men.

The bell chimes signaling the end of another round, and finance bro swaps with a handsome blonde whose startling blue eyes hold a hint of depravity.

Before he can even utter a word, I’m out of my seat and darting towards the exit, away from the man who reminds me so much of the man I’m trying to forget.

The warm spring air envelopes me as I step out onto Queen Street, the bright city lights guiding my way towards the beach.

I’ve always felt drawn to the lake — maybe that’s why I convinced dad to buy a house in this neighborhood.

The vastness of it called to me, whispering promises of freedom and endless possibility.

Toeing off my shoes, I hook them on my fingers and sink my toes into the sand along the edge of the water.

The sun is dipping below the horizon, casting a soft pink glow over the surface as I meander down the shore, lost in thoughts of another lake 800 miles away where my best friend is likely sipping tea on her back deck with an adorable eight-month-old baby in her lap.

After graduation, I briefly considered following Paige to Oak Ridge, but that would’ve placed me solidly in his orbit, and I’d rather s hit in my hands and clap.

Once upon a time, I thought Miles Barlow was someone I could give myself to, wholeheartedly and without pretense.

Boy, was I wrong on every planet and in every language.

As though I summoned her with my thoughts, my phone chimes with a text message.

Paige: Still alive?

Fuck — I missed the last check-in. I laugh, recalling our earlier conversation. I hold up my phone and snap a photo, then send it off to our text thread.

Mags: Selfie for proof of life.

Paige: Thank fuck. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to fly to Toronto and go all Sherlock Holmes.

Mags: Watson is still alive, I fear.

Paige: How did it go?

Mags: Fucking nightmare. It’s like the entire cast of Wolf of Wall Street was there.

Paige: Could’ve found yourself a sugar daddy.

Mags: Fuck no. They all eyed me up like a piece of meat then spent their 5 minutes talking the size of their bank accounts. I need to get out of the city.

Paige: You could always move to Oak Ridge.

Mags: You know I can’t do that.

Paige: Dramatic sigh.

With the last bit of light sinking behind the lake, I decide to make my way back to the house.

My manuscript is waiting, and if I’m not getting laid, at least the characters in the next M.W.

Hartley novel can. The path from the beach to my house is so familiar, I could do it in my sleep, and maybe that’s why I’m not paying attention.

Maybe that’s why I completely miss the shadow following in my wake until it’s too late.

A breeze ruffles my hair moments before a shrill cry pierces the air — my cry — before everything goes black.

1 week later

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Nashville, Tennessee. Local time is 10:52am. It’s a beautiful spring day here, with temperatures around 73 degrees. We’ve reached our destination, and on behalf of the entire crew, thank you for flying with us today.”

My body is operating on autopilot as I descend the stairs towards baggage claim, scanning my surroundings for any signs of danger, hyperaware of everything going on around me.

You’re okay, Maggie. You’re in a crowded airport. Nobody can hurt you.

There’s a phantom pain in my head where the weapon struck me. Most of my wounds are healing now, save for a few bruises along my cheek, several broken ribs, and the psychological damage left behind by the attack. As soon as I was released from the hospital, I knew it was time to go.

The lake, what I’d once thought of as a peaceful haven, has been forever tainted by what happened that night — though I still can’t recall any of the details. The police and doctors threw around words like assault and victim, but all I felt was numb — like my body no longer belonged to me.

“Mags?” Paige’s sullen voice pulls me back to the present as she comes into focus. Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she wraps me in her arms, sending a jolt of pain through my ribs — I yelp at the contact and she instantly releases me.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes scan my body, lingering on the deep purple bruise that mars my cheek, a single tear tracing a hot path down her face, her silence broken only by a sharp gasp.

I pull her back in for another hug, murmuring words of reassurance. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” They lack conviction, and when I pull back, I see the pity in her eyes, a confirmation of my brokenness.

“Come on, let’s get your bags. Cade is waiting outside,” she says, her voice softening as she reaches for my hand, her touch a balm to my fragile emotions, reminding me I’m not alone anymore.

Cade’s concerned gaze meets mine in the rearview as I slide into the backseat of their SUV. Ignoring the twinge of pain I feel from the sympathy I see there, I quickly divert my attention to the smiling face of my niece tucked away in her car seat.

“Hey sweet girl,” I whisper, reaching in to stroke a hand over her curls. Sofia’s tiny fist finds my finger and grips it. “You look just like your mama.”

“Damn right she does,” Cade says, with immeasurable pride in his voice.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the cabin?

” Paige asks as we pull out of the massive parking garage.

I can’t blame her for wanting to keep me close.

She didn’t handle the news well when she found out what happened.

If it weren’t for Cade, she would’ve been on the first flight to Toronto the very next day.

“I love you, babe, but I’ve heard the screams from this little one when she gets hungry, and I need my beauty sleep.

” Sofia babbles in her car seat as though she understood my insult.

“Sorry, sweetie. You know I love you.” Her sweet brown eyes sparkle as she looks up at me, and I just know she’s going to have me wrapped around her little finger while I’m here.

“Fine, but the offer stands. If you get tired of the inn, you’re welcome to stay in the guest room.” I won’t take her up on it, but I don’t have it in me to argue with her.

“Noted. Now, can we talk about the Blossom Festival? You said you’re the official photographer, right?”

“Funny you should mention that. The local paper needs a writer to cover it. Patty McNeely is retiring, and she hasn’t found a replacement yet. She needs someone to write the article to go along with my photos.”

“Who the hell is Patty McNeely? Sounds like a detective in a spy novel.”

“A reporter for the local paper — keep up, Mags.” I laugh for the first time since that night, as we revert back to our usual banter, slipping effortlessly into old habits like I haven’t been irrevocably changed.

“She mentioned taking on a temp until they can find someone to fill the position in a more permanent capacity.”

She doesn’t outright tell me to apply for the position, but Paige has never been very direct in that way.

Truth be told, I’m not entirely against the idea, but staying in Oak Ridge long term isn’t part of the plan.

I’m just here to piece myself back together; to find comfort in a place that always felt like it belonged to me in some fleeting way, however temporarily.

I give a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll think about it. ”

Sometime between the airport and the welcome to Kentucky sign, I must have dozed off.

When I come to, we’re pulling up outside of a large Victorian house that looks like it’s been plucked straight out of an episode of Charmed.

The weathered hanging sign on the plush front lawn says “Willow Creek Inn”.

Cade carries my luggage up the creaky porch steps and pulls me in for a brief side hug that somehow feels monumental.

“We’re here for you,” he whispers before stepping away to give me a moment alone with my best friend.

I swallow around the lump in my throat as she squeezes both of my hands in hers. “Call me if you need anything, ok?”

“I will.”

“Breakfast at Rosie’s soon?” she asks.

“Hell yeah. You know I'd never miss out on those pancakes.” I infuse my voice with as much enthusiasm as I can muster despite the steady pulsing in my temples reminding me why I’m here in the first place.

She glances towards the truck, then back to me as she lingers on the stoop, opening her mouth to speak but thinking better of it.

“I’ll be fine. Go home with your family. ”

“You’re my family too, Mags. Promise you’ll call me. Even if you only need me to sit quietly at your side.”

“I promise. I just need some time to decompress. I love you.”

“Love you, too.” She leaves me with a much gentler hug this time, and one last glance out the window before Cade pulls away from the curb. Resolved to make the most of my time here, I head inside with my bags.

As I step into the inn, the faint scent of cedar lingers in the air.

Its walls are covered in a warm floral wallpaper, surrounded by rich wood interiors and intricate details.

It’s clear that the space has been updated, but it still holds onto its antique charm.

I approach the front desk, its polished surface gleaming under the soft light of a nearby antique lamp as I ring the small brass bell at the center.

Moments later, a figure emerges from a doorway to the side.

She’s short and curvy, with bright blonde hair that frames her heart-shaped face.

If I had to guess, I’d say she’s in her early fifties.

Her eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue and her smile is warm and inviting.

There’s something about her that seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t seem to place her.

I’ve probably seen her in Oak Ridge a time or two given how often I’ve visited over the years.

“Hi there! Welcome to the Willow Creek Inn! I’m Lucy Barlow. How can I assist you today?”

Barlow. As the name registers, my eyes nearly bug out of my head. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Miles?”

She practically beams when I mention the name, and I instantly regret even bringing it up. “Yes, dear! Miles is my oldest son. He’s around here somewhere. Would you like to say hello?”

My face pulls into an involuntary grimace. “Oh, no. Nope. That definitely won’t be necessary.”

She raises an inquisitive brow at me before she bursts into a fit of giggles, her shoulders shaking with the force of her laughter. “Oh dear. You’re one of those girls.”

“I’m sorry. One of — huh?”

“Mom, are you teasing the gue —” his words are cut off as he stalks into the room, scanning me from head to toe, and the calculating way his gaze roams over my body leaves me feeling exposed. His eyes are like a brand as they stop on the partially healed cut above my eyebrow.

“Maggie.”

If his gaze is a brand, my name on his lips is a claim.