Autumn in the City of Angels (27 page)
“Nothing special about today, Shad,” I warned, turning to flee. “Just another day.”
“Sounds like someone needs a birthday kiss,” Shad teased, wagging his eyebrows at me, and his handsome face broke into a wide grin. His teeth shone brightly against his tan face, and his brown hair had grown shaggy and sun-kissed over the last several weeks. It was obvious why he was so popular with the female residents of the community.
I frowned, annoyed he’d brought up the subject of kissing in front of Grey. But Shad ignored my grimace and plucked a sequin-encrusted sombrero from a shelf and tried to put it on me. I dodged out of the way.
“Oh come on, Miss Winters, let’s pretend we’re at Rosie’s Taco Shack! I think I remember their birthday song,” he teased, trying again to get the sombrero on my head. I ducked a second time and noticed the amused expression on Grey’s face. I had to get out of here.
“Come on,” Shad said, laughing. “Don’t be such a stiff. Life’s too short.”
My temper flared. I knew he was intentionally teasing me in front of Grey. “Do you always have to be so inappropriate?” I said in my most offended voice. I fled, face burning.
I put two aisles between us before realizing I was going in the wrong direction and swerved toward the desk in the back. I was disappointed to see Royal, the more unpleasant of the two brothers, manning the desk.
“I need to pick up an order for Tess.”
“Right-o,” he said, twirling around on his stool to scan the crowded shelves behind him. He plucked a box off a shelf, checked his clipboard and glanced up at me expectantly. “Three boxes of produce?”
“Tess dropped them off – ” I began.
Royal interrupted me and yelled into a back room, “Manny! Did you receive three boxes of produce from Tess?” He waited, as if he already knew the answer, sharpened pencil hovering over his clipboard. There was a short pause and then a sleepy “yeah” from the back. Royal shook his head dramatically as he busily made a couple marks with his pencil.
I wished he would just give me the box so I could go. I wanted to get out of there.
Royal finally slid the clipboard across the desk and handed me his pencil. “Sign here.” He motioned to the paper and then added, “And don’t steal my pencil. I just sharpened it.”
I thought about telling him what to do with his pencil, but bit my lip and scrawled my name. I handed the pencil purposefully back to him, and he looked over my signature closely, as if determining its authenticity. It must have met with his approval, because he slid the box toward me.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the box. I turned around and promptly crashed into Grey, who stood directly behind me. He caught my shoulders to steady me. I felt the warmth of his hands through my t-shirt and quickly side-stepped around him, slipping from his grasp.
“You seem to be everywhere today,” I muttered, hoping he’d catch my meaning. I glanced sideways at Royal, who listened with interest.
“You could have gotten me in a lot of trouble this morning,” I said. “How am I supposed to explain… something like that?” I glared at Royal, who got the hint and disappeared.
“What if Connie had seen all those pictures?” I whispered angrily. “How am I supposed to explain how they got here? And I
don’t
want you coming into my house, or my
room
.” My voice got harsher with every word as I vented my frustration.
“You didn’t like them?”
“That’s beside the point. You’re not welcome in my house
or my room
without permission.” His pained face made me pause, and the wind left my sails. “Look, it’s fine. I’ve got the pictures hidden away. Just… don’t do anything like that again.”
He nodded, his face solemn.
“Happy eighteenth!” Ben exclaimed, appearing beside me. He gave me a one-armed hug against his side, then sensed the mood and paused awkwardly, looking between Grey and me. “Oh… um, sorry to interrupt. Uh, Shad and I have a present for you,” he said, forging ahead.
Shad appeared behind Ben, wearing the sombrero from earlier. “It’s outside,” he said.
“Why did you have to leave it outside?” I asked wearily.
“Well, it
is
kind of smelly,” Ben said. He and Shad looked at each other, laughing.
“You’re gonna love it!” Shad exclaimed. “We got you a big, smelly bag of shi –,”
“Happy birthday!” Ben exclaimed, drowning out the rest of Shad’s sentence.
Confused, I looked between the two of them. “Huh?”
“A bag of shi –” Shad began again.
“Shad! Seriously!” Ben interrupted. “I knew Rissi was learning those words from somewhere… watch it.”
“Ease up, big brother. She’s not around now. She’s at school… teaching the other kids what she knows...”
I sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall behind the desk. “If I’m late to work, Tess’s going to make me work late again.”
“You can’t miss the dance tonight. Everyone’s coming... you’re coming, right?” Ben adjusted his glasses as he stared down at me, looking concerned all of a sudden, and I was reminded of a night lit by distant wildfires last fall when Ben kissed me, and I pushed him away. I’d been unsure of his feelings for me since then.
“No, I’m not going,” I said. “I have to put in forty hours a week at the gardens if I want seed and tool privileges on the weekends.”
“There’s gonna be fireworks and everything. The mayor’s had everyone keep an eye out for the past two months,” Shad said, then paused for dramatic effect. “As I’m sure you recall, I was the one who finally found some in a garage in North Henderson.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “When are you gonna drop it? It’s not like you found a cure for The Plague. And I still don’t understand how you got to North Henderson and back in a day. That’s gotta be twenty miles one way.”
Shad wagged his eyebrows. “Nothing faster than greased thunder.”
“
Lightning
, Shad. The expression is ‘greased
lightning
,’” Ben said, sighing heavily.
“I know, but my horse’s name is
Thunder
. So you see what I mean? See how that works?”
“But it doesn’t work,” Ben argued, and I saw we were in for a short lecture on the origin of the expression. “It doesn’t make sense-”
“Guys,” I interrupted.
“You have to come to the dance, Winters. My fireworks are going to light up the sky like it’s the Fourth of July.”
“Connie’ll get her there,” Ben said to Shad.
“I don’t know. Connie might have to bind and gag her,” Shad added.
“I’d like to see that,” Ben said.
“I’d
pay
to see that,” Shad countered and nodded, the sombrero wobbling on his head.
I sighed and glanced sideways at Grey, who leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. His usually composed face appeared sad.
“You know, fertilizer?” I heard Ben say and refocused my attention. “You said you’ve been wanting some for your garden at home.”
“Took us a week to collect that much. Hope you appreciate the shi–”
“Joke’s getting old, Shad!” Ben rolled his eyes.
“I was just going to say I hoped she appreciated
what
we went through,” Shad said, crooking an eyebrow at me. “Cause you know, not all fertilizer is created equal. We scooped only the best for you, Autumn.” He batted his eyelashes.
“Thanks guys. It’s a weirdly useful gift,” I said. “I really should go.” I smiled at them, then glanced at Grey and started to the front of the store.
I only went two steps when a siren pierced the air, wailing loudly over the howl of the wind outside. I froze, my eyes darting to the store’s dusty windows.
Footsteps thumped loudly from behind me, and Shad flew by, flicking the sombrero onto a shelf as he flung open the door and ran into swirling dust outside. He paused just outside the door, looking toward the nearest guard tower. The wind pressed his shirt against his torso, and he protected his eyes with cupped hands. I saw him mouth what could only be a curse but couldn’t hear anything over the wind. He rushed back to the doorway.
“They lit the beacon!” he shouted. “It’s not a drill!”
Dana Melton and Jessica Alexander, who write under the name Kirby Howell, have been writing together since 2000 when they met as freshman in their first scriptwriting class at the University of Alabama. Dana, a native Southerner, quickly showed Jessica the ropes and the joys of living below the Mason Dixon Line. Having lived in nearly every other part of the country, it didn’t take Jessica long to acclimate to sweet tea, grits and football. Four years later, with a couple film degrees under their belts, they moved to Los Angeles to pursue their professional writing careers.
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This book would not have been possible if it weren’t for the love, advice, talent, and support of many people.
We’d like to first thank our lovely beta readers: Amanda, Anna, Ashley, Beth, Brian, Cara, Connie, Courtney, Dan, Debbie, Izza, James, Jen E, Jen K, JR, Judy, June, Karen, Katie D, Katie G, Kristin, Laura, Lush, Matt, Megan, Morgan, Sarah, Todd, Wendy, Yuya, and last but not least, Momma Howell and Momma Kirby. You all provided the steam that we were empowered by (and some names for the book, too).
This book was ingeniously edited by Kristin Walters. Your speed with grammer still amazes us. We owe you one.
Judy Bogdonove taught us the difference between lay and lie. Though, I’m sure we’ll need another lesson soon.
Raine McNeil... you make us look good, girl. Your cover art is second to none. Thank you for your spectacular talent.
Beta # Zero and “Autumn” modeling services generously provided by A.Z.P. You read the first treatment back when Autumn was engaged and in her twenties and Ben was a single dad. Thank you for allowing us to take really close pictures of your face. You rock for dying your hair red for us... again.
Thank you for taking 1,127 pretty pictures for us to use for our book covers, Brian Alexander (aka the original “Mister”). We owe you a Scotch.
Cudos to Heather Whidden, owner of “Reflections Of” Photography, for taking our brilliant author picture while enduring a day long “Autumn” tour of Los Angeles.
Grey would not have had such intelligent things to say if it weren’t for our astrophysics and aeronautics advisor, Eric Melton. Thanks for keeping the tv turned down while we worked at the kitchen table.
Thank you, Anne Alexander, for proofing our Gaelic, and to the gentlemen of Clan MacAlister for pointing us in the right direction.
Fortiter!
Fellow author, Katie Alender, gave us our first advice about writing a novel. Chris Loveall gave us more priceless advice on developing our story. Jen Pooley gave us our last advice, setting us out on the brave adventure of independent publishing. Thank you for helping us get from ‘there’ to ‘here’.
Thank you to Mike Everleth for the patient tutorial on ebook formatting, Brice Shultz for the awesome marketing graphic design, and Bob Everland for the tech support when our website took a nosedive.
Finally, we’d like to thank Glenda Williams for introducing us in Scriptwriting 101. Roll Tide, ya’ll.
