Beauty (A Midsummer Suspense Tale) (9 page)

“I know, I know.” He
had
known, after all. Debated it just standing outside, knew that trouble would follow him if he didn’t just hide in the house like he’d planned. He was asking for it.

“I was going to go to the grocery store today,” she continued.

“Wear a hat.”

She smacked his leg. “Haha.” Then she pulled out her phone, idly scrolling through before giving a low whistle. “So I guess that’s why you were less broody this morning. She’s pretty.”

Sawyer cringed. God, Bryar. She really didn’t know who he was—he was sure of it. He’d thought himself so anonymous and even though he was certain at the time no one knew him, of course in under a day someone had figured it out. Now he’d fucked things up for her.

Everyone got messed up around him, caught in the storm that was his life. Just a few hours with him did that to Bryar.

He rubbed at his head. “Is the picture bad?”

“The picture’s nothing—it’s cute, really, the two of you talking by the fire. Adorable. It could be on Valentine’s Day Hallmark cards with a silly caption. But the video...”

“Video?”

Val cleared her throat. “In the water.”

Oh,
ouch
. It hadn’t gone far, though—there couldn’t be more than a minute of footage. “Please tell me it cuts off before we get out of the water.”

“It does. Well, swings back to another girl stripping down to go in. Not like your bits haven’t hit the internet before.”

“Not mine I’m worried about.”

Val watched him in silence for a moment, stuffing her phone back in her pocket.

He shifted under her steady, probing gaze. “Stop.”

“What do you know about this girl?”

“Um, she’s a girl. Lives in town. Named Bryar.” He smiled vaguely in recollection. “Still listens to records.”

“Pretentious hipster?”

He gave her rear a little kick. “She’s not like that.”

“And you formed this opinion in the five minutes you spent naked with her?”

It was more like a couple of hours and not nudity the whole time, but he didn’t correct her. “She’s...different.”

“Did it occur to you she was planted there?”

He looked sharply at his sister. “No, she wasn’t.”

“She could’ve figured out who you were with her friends there. Played you. They got a video.”

He frowned at the thought but didn’t believe it for a second. “She wouldn’t do that—”

“Sean—”

“I know I’m a little...fucked in the head right now, things are messed up. I’m not always thinking clearly. But I know when I’m getting setup by groupies, Val.” He shook his head, no idea how to explain it to her. There was a genuineness to Bryar, something refreshing after all the years he spent around the opposite. He’d made plenty of mistakes believing others’ bullshit when he was younger but he’d been around long enough not to do so now.

“Well, now you’ve made your little clueless hipster girlfriend famous and we have probably a day or two at most until someone tracks down the beach house and paparazzi find you, and we’re right back where we started. We should leave, get out of here before dark.”

“I’ll stay out of town.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll find some reason to go
in
town, just like you found some reason to go to a party last night—”

“It wasn’t really a party—”

“Honestly, Sean, I don’t know why the hell you’re goddamn self-destructive.”

She was right. Even when he knew he shouldn’t be doing something, he did it anyway. Like right now when he wanted to head into town and find Bryar right after telling Val he’d stay in.

“The girl,” Val said. “Bryar. Any way you can contact her? Run damage control?”

He shook his head. “She has my number, though.” His number that she was
sure
to call now that she’d probably heard who he was. Right. And he was torn thinking about it, wanting her to call—wanting to see her again—and afraid of what that would mean if she did, now that she knew. What kind of person would sign up for that?

“I’ll stay in,” he promised his sister. And meant it, or so he hoped. “You and Scott should still be able to go out. I’ll make some calls about finding local security—there’s gotta be something around here that someone can recommend. We’ve got time still.”

“You fail at vacations, you know,” Val said with a smirk, and he knew that he’d won for now.

“I know.”

He stared out at the water in the distance after Val left. By now, someone must’ve notified Bryar even if she didn’t keep up with social media herself. Someone would tell her. And if she was as genuine as he thought, she’d definitely want nothing to do with him and his fucked up life.

****

Sunday was quiet. Except for the odd phone call—which Bryar intercepted before the aunts could so she could ensure it wasn’t anyone calling about Sawyer—the day went by without incident.

The night before, she’d watched for people heading to the beach, but saw no one. She wasn’t sure she’d head out if there were—surely Sawyer wouldn’t be there, not after Friday night. He had to know he was recognized, that his face was plastered on the web. That
hers
was. Without him there, it would just be the usual people—the ones who had made her face go viral anyway.

So she stayed in and moped a bit, didn’t sleep well, and tried to act normal on Sunday. By evening, she’d stared at the phone enough to burn a hole through it, Sawyer’s number etched in her head.

It might not even be a real number
. She felt stupid for even thinking it was.
Why
would some famous guy give her a real number? Even if he just wanted a local fuck buddy while he was in town, there were plenty of willing women.

And if he did want that? And wanted you? Would that be so bad?

No, no it would not. Because he’d ignited desire in her she’d never really felt for anyone before and he was damn good with his hands—she’d like to know what else he was good with. But it was still too surreal to even contemplate. He probably left town already anyway.

Her aunts were silent over dinner, not even a disapproving look from Donna—or no more so than usual—so Bryar was confident they didn’t know anything. Brennen was hopefully right and everything would blow over in a few days. Her aunts none the wiser.

As night rolled around, she was itching to get out again, though. She felt it right down to the soles of her feet and couldn’t sit around any longer, eventually slipping on her jeans and sneakers, then a thick hoodie in place of her leather jacket. Once again she slipped out the back door, this time as the clock rolled past eleven and her aunts would be sound asleep, and made her way through the dark toward the moonlit beach.

She paused among the tall grass and glanced around. To her left was where the bonfire had burned two nights ago. Sawyer had already been sitting there—he clearly didn’t know anyone. So what brought him there in the first place? Would he have taken a drive, gone for a walk, and just ended up there? He didn’t mention a car—he specifically offered to walk her home. And there was his lack of a coat. So he’d walked too.

Walking distance meant he was staying around there rather than one of the hotels in town. Private beach house, then.

She walked unsteadily over sand that seemed to glow white in the moonlight, finding rough trails here and there from other walkers during the day. There were at most half a dozen total beach houses on this side of the lake, probably fewer, but acres stretched between them. Her guess said his had to be a house near the bonfire—without knowing the precise property lines, it was impossible to say which direction to go, but she kept her gaze trained on the sloping hills and looked for light.

Several minutes later, she found it.

A handful of lights shone in the windows. And there were many of them—the massive multilevel beach house had huge bay windows, floor to ceiling ones around the side, mostly unobstructed by blinds. It would be gorgeous with the full sun. Bryar stood on the beach and from there she had a view of a wide balcony on the upper floor and part of the lower deck. A high fence ran along one side of the deck with a hot tub tucked in the corner. The porch light was on but no one was out there.

Around part of the house ran a fence, and she suspected it continued on through the woods as well. It cut around back, barring entry to the main property, but with the house on the hill, it didn’t obscure much of the view.

This had to be where Sawyer was staying, at least for now.

She wandered around the beach a bit, glancing back at the house frequently. Even if she wanted to knock, there wasn’t really a place to do so. Probably some kind of intercom or buzzer at the gate, maybe even security, and she wasn’t going calling near midnight.

Even if I would, what would I say? Hey, I just found out you’re famous. That’s cool. Wanna hang? We can maybe have some totally hot sex.
She’d look like a fame-whore. Never mind that she’d liked him just fine without knowing the truth; now any encounter would be awkward and weighted with the baggage of the truth.

And then there was still the question of the articles she’d read on Brennen’s tablet.

With a heavy sigh and one more look back at the beach house, Bryar turned and retraced her steps down the beach, heading for her tiny dark little house that might as well have been on another planet from Sawyer’s.

Chapter Six

Monday afternoon, Bryar ended up confined mostly to the kitchen.

An actual lineup of people hung around the front of the bakery when she got downtown, and she ducked around the back of the building before they saw her, heading for the kitchen instead. A quick check in with Gina revealed that the shop had been like that all day—seventy percent of the customers were total strangers, people she was certain didn’t live in Midsummer. Probably out of towners, but her expression suggested doubt.

Media people, she must’ve thought. It wasn’t just the bakery, either, but various shops had been descended upon. Trying to get confirmation that Sean Philip Sawyer was indeed in town.

At least, Bryar thought, they weren’t really looking for
her
. Just her connection to him, and pretty quickly people would figure out that no such thing existed.

Still, it didn’t seem wise to work the main part of the shop yet, so Gina kept her busy in the back. Plenty of the goods were pre-made and just required thawing, so Bryar took out dough and easily prepared basic cookies to keep the front well-stocked. Brennen even hung around to play bodyguard at the doorway between the kitchen and storefront so no one could slip through while the shop was busy, and manned things while Bryar shadowed Gina during a stock delivery.

Bryar was reviewing supplies and jotting down notes about stock on a clipboard when Gina entered the back room with a yawn. “I think we’ve done more business today than the entire time we’ve been open.”

Bryar glanced at the clock on the wall—it was four-thirty in the afternoon. The place stayed open until six. “Standing room only still?”

Gina pulled a chair out from against the wall and plopped herself down, slipping off her shoes to massage her feet. “I had to put a sign on the door, no more than six at a time. Not that anyone really steals—so much is under the counter, it’s hard to—but I can’t keep an eye on everyone. Brennen’s running cash for a few minutes to give me a break.”

“I’m sorry—”

Gina waved her off before she could continue. “It’s not your fault. It’ll die down. In the meantime, we’re making damn good money because I don’t allow loitering in the store so they have to buy
something
. Have you talked to him?”

Bryar gave her a skeptical look. She set down the clipboard and leaned against the counter. “He’s probably not still in town.”
Even though the lights were on last night
. She didn’t mention that, though, didn’t think she should tell even Gina about it. Sawyer had clearly come to Midsummer for some privacy. She wouldn’t risk any more of it.

“You’re doing a good job, you know. Here.”

“I’ve barely done anything,” Bryar said with a roll of her eyes.

“This is total insanity you’ve been thrown into and you’re keeping up with everything I’m tossing at you. You’re doing great.” Her gaze trailed to the floor and she sighed, setting one foot down and raising the other across her knee to massage the heel. “I just thought you should know that. Remember, I worked for someone who never said a word of praise about anything I did.”

“From what I hear, you didn’t ‘work’—you were a slave,” Bryar blurted out. She braced for Gina to correct her or tell her that was out of line, but Gina only nodded instead.

“Pretty much. And, you know,
all
I wanted was a kind word from that woman. I didn’t remember my mom. I didn’t have anyone. And if she’d just said, ‘Good job, Gina’, that would’ve meant so much to me.”

At least I always had that much
, Bryar thought. Sure, Aunt Donna always found something critical to say. But Merry and Lora tried over the years, no matter how badly Bryar screwed up. And she was loved, she knew that much. And never abused or neglected.

“I hope your stepmother rots in prison for like ever,” Bryar said.

“Cheers to that,” Gina replied with a small smile. “Some days I wake up and I...” A shrug. “It’s like I think I’m going to wake up there, in the attic, and everything else was just a dream. And I’m afraid to open my eyes, like I can’t believe she’s really away for good.”

“They won’t let her out? Not ever?”

“Not after untangling all the fraud, plus the attempted murder. Never mind me—don’t try to burn alive the beloved lawyer son of one of Midsummer’s prominent families.”

“It shouldn’t have taken so long,” Bryar muttered. “I mean,
I
don’t live in town and didn’t really know, but Christ, everyone else should’ve.”

Gina shrugged and whatever anger she likely felt was well-tucked away—she clearly didn’t have a temper like Bryar did. “That’s how this town works, you know? Ignore what you don’t want to see. Of course the pretty, wealthy white lady wouldn’t do such a thing.”