I exited The Mystic Willow with a flourish, oblivious to the impending catastrophe ahead.
My feet moved faster than my brain, which failed to activate my natural reflexes.
In an instant, I went from being focused on the task at hand to plummeting towards the ground.
Fortunately, before I could make contact with the floor, a pair of strong arms encircled my waist and saved my fall.
I knew without looking that my saviour was Royce. I had that same tingling sensation in my stomach whenever he was near.
Royce's arm tightened around my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me upright. "Careful," he rasped in my ear, and the fluttering sensation of butterflies came alive in my chest. "I'm starting to think that this penchant for falling in the dirt is a ploy to get attention."
Goosebumps.
In my peripheral vision, I could see Drew eyeing us suspiciously. His searching gaze went to Royce's hand splayed across my tummy, lingering there, then slowly drifted upward to obtain eye contact.
"I am so glad you are here," I said, a little too enthusiastically. "There is something I must show you."
When I twisted in Royce's arms to face him, he took that as his cue to release me, to step back once and give me some space.
"It's just down there..." My finger pointed blindly down the alleyway. "Please, I would not ask if it was not of the utmost importance."
Royce frowned at me, his dark brows drawn together in concern. I could sense his scepticism, his awareness that I was not being entirely truthful.
He glanced at Drew, and they exchanged a wordless message. Then, he nodded curtly, giving me his tacit permission to proceed.
"Great." Before second thoughts could take over, I seized Royce's hand and, ignoring his friend's inquisitive gaze, dragged him down the alley, hoping the new, handmade cosmetics store was open. "You are going to love this place. I saw it and immediately thought of you."
"Liv..." He snatched his hand out of my hold like the innocuous touch was some form of allergen to his skin. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
The quirky little corner store, with its brightly coloured awning and whimsical window display, was thankfully open for business.
I had passed it many times during my travels, but I had never stopped to go inside.
That was about to change.
A cheerful chime greeted me as I entered the shop, and a melody of aromas immediately assailed my senses: the earthy musk of patchouli, the sweet citrus of orange peel and the warm spice of cinnamon.
The shop was a quaint, cosy haven, its shelves lined with jars and bottles of all shapes and sizes, like a miniature version of the Ross' mystical apothecary.
The walls, adorned with colourful tapestries and artwork, depicted the eccentric scenes of nature and fantasy, and the floor, covered in soft, plush rugs, invited visitors to linger and explore.
In the centre of the room stood a large, sturdy wooden table worn smooth by years of use. A woman stood behind the table, her hands deftly mixing ingredients in a mortar and pestle. She wore a simple white apron over a long, flowing dress, her hair in a neat bun. Her face was serene and focused, her eyes sparkling with passion.
I hurried to the back of the store, unsure of the reason for my actions but instinctively feeling that it was the safest place to be. I quickly and discreetly scanned the shelves for an item that might appeal to him.
"Here it is!" I snatched up a lip scrub emblazoned with Blueberry Sugar and brandished it in front of him. "You just scoop it out with your finger and buff your lips." My finger did a little demonstration by my mouth. "It makes you want to taste it, right?"
Royce's eyes were cold and dead, devoid of any emotion. "What the fuck have you been smoking?"
"I-what?" My fingers trembled as I toyed with the miniature tin pot. "I do not smoke, ever, thank you very much. Also, if you like the lip scrub, I think you will love the bath bombs, too. Let's take a look."
When I reached the next aisle to show him the trio of miniature bath bombs, I expected him to follow, but he remained rooted to the spot. He stood motionless at the back of the store, contemplating whether to sneak away while I was distracted.
"Royce?" I mused, and to my great surprise, after giving the aisle a quick once-over, he walked closer and stopped shoulder-to-shoulder with me. "I know it might not be your thing, but I would like to get you a little something as a token of my appreciation for last night...and this morning. You saved me a lot of trouble by agreeing to let me accompany you on that road trip to your father's house."
He regarded the trio of bath bombs in my hands with a thoughtful expression. "I don't want your money, Liv."
"Why do you keep saying that?" A semi-permanent frown crept onto my face. "I am not giving you money. I am offering you a present as a humble expression of my deepest appreciation."
His fingers curled around the packet of bath bombs, ripping it from my grasp. With a swift, dismissive motion, he hurled them onto the shelf. "Then, I don't want you to waste money on pointless gifts."
To be honest, I was not surprised by the man's indifference to handcrafted cosmetics. He did not appear to be the type of individual who luxuriated in foamy baths.
Royce's eyes, gleaming with mischief, darted across the shelf and landed on a tub of cream. "Edible body butter." Oh, that got his attention. He reached out and picked it up, turned it over in his hands and read the label carefully. "Watermelon."
I love watermelon, but I am not buying edible cream that he can use to lick off Jules' unmentionables. "If you want that, you can pay for it yourself. I offered to treat you, not the female friends you do not sleep with."
He popped open the lid and inhaled deeply, his eyes closing in satisfaction as he savoured the delicious aroma.
I gave him a filthy look. "Do you want me to leave you and the cream alone?"
"Liv..." His dark eyes, like pools of longing, held mine captive. "I want it."
My mind conjured a vivid image of Jules and him, intertwined on the sheets and tongues stained with chocolate. I could almost taste the decadent sweetness as they explored each other's bodies with sensual abandon. "This does not portend well for me...."
"Why not?" His stare was always so calculating when he assessed me. "You don't like watermelon?"
Yes, I could devour it every day of the week for the rest of my life because it is mouth-wateringly delicious, but I would rather never eat it again than tell him that.
"What kinda store is this, anyway?" He refocused on the palatable body butter exhibition and picked up a spray bottle of raspberry-flavoured oral delight. "Would Daniel eat candy underwear off your body?"
My face was getting hotter by the second.
"A milk chocolate pen? Eat a jar of dicks?" He was piling all these boxes into his arms, reading the descriptions. "What the fuck is this place?" He swiped three cocktail-flavoured cock suckers and forced them into my hands. "Okay, I'm sold. Let's check out the adult section."
"No." My hand shot out and clamped down on his arm, halting his progress toward the X-rated section, which I had never noticed before. "Could we depart before someone sees us here and begins to spread rumours of our apparent promiscuousness?"
A cheeky smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at me. "Hey, I never asked to come here." He had a cute look about him when he was pretending to be shy and coy. "You forced me to consider lickable body paint when you dragged me through the aisles against my will."
Shaking my head in dismay, I brought the tub of Blubbery Sugar to the counter, intending to purchase nothing else.
Royce had other ideas, however. Everything that had caught his attention earlier was placed next to the cash register, along with his debit card, as he was determined to pay.
Truth be told, I regretted bringing him here, even though it was spur-of-the-moment. The thought of him using those items on another woman made my skin crawl, which is ridiculous because he is not my man. I should not care who he licks glitter off.
Once Royce had paid the bill, the cashier handed him a carrier bag containing the items he had purchased and wished him an enjoyable evening.
A mischievous wink in my direction suggested that she believed I, too, was in for a wild and eventful evening.
"You are impossible," I muttered whilst exiting the shop, listening to the crinkle of plastic as he unwrapped two willy-shaped lollies. "I hope you choke on that."
"That's your job." He thrust one of the lollipops into my mouth before I could object, and I started coughing, having been caught off guard by the sudden intrusion of flavour. "Chill, it's not that big."
I watched him suck on a lime-flavoured lolly in fascination. "Is there something you are not telling me?"
"Like what?" He later understood the question. "Don't be so stupid. Just because a man is comfortable with his sexuality, it does not make him gay for enjoying a phallus object, especially when it tastes this good."
He is right. There is a profound distinction between a man's sexual identity and his capacity to relish in the delectable flavour of a phallus-shaped item. The latter, in particular, offers an exceptionally satisfying taste.
Drew stood with his back pressed against the cold brick of the shop. He was typing on his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. He heard footsteps and looked up, eyeing us suspiciously. He did not ask any questions, not when his friend slapped a penis-shaped lollipop onto his palm.
"Took you long enough," Drew groused, eying up the bag in Royce's hand whilst stepping over the aluminium extension ladders one left on the floor. "What did you get?"
"Edible G-string." Royce bit into the lollipop with gusto until it was nothing more than a white stick. "Liv is a closeted nymphomaniac."
I shoved him in the chest, expecting him to stagger if nothing else, but the muscular brute did not budge. "I offered to buy him a bath bomb. He purchased naughty products instead."
Drew grinned as he snatched the bag from Royce and sifted through the contents. "I like naughty products."
My gaze darted to the window to make sure Mrs Stewart was gone. A shiver slithered down my spine as I saw her standing there, talking animatedly to Mr Ross. I thought I had given her plenty of time to skedaddle.
Panic clawed at my insides, the sweet flavour of the lolly turning to ash on my tongue. "Royce," I whispered urgently, my voice hoarse with panic. He was too busy talking to Drew to pay me attention, so I tugged on his arm with increasing desperation. "Peggy Stewart is talking to Jack..."
"What?" Royce's eyes, piercing and focused, snapped toward me. "The fuck do you know about Pegs?"
"Not much," I said, the lie hovering on my tongue. I knew that if I kept up the charade, he would see through it and call me out. I decided to be candid with him in the hope that he would not be displeased with me. "I know you were the police's prime suspect in the investigation of her daughter's murder. And I think that if she sees you, it might trigger a traumatic emotional response. That's why I distracted you earlier, to save you both from what could be a painful encounter."
Royce's gaze drifted past my head to Drew, who stood silently behind me. He hummed in contemplation as if he was unsure of how to proceed. Then, he scratched his jaw, dipped his head towards my ear, and whispered, "You failed to mention that information last night."
I was lost. "What do you mean?"
"All this time, you thought I was my ex-girlfriend's killer," he growled, his voice low and angry. "And what? You never thought to mention it to me during one of our many lockdowns together?"
Yes, I kept the truth from Royce on purpose because I did not wish for him to know that I was secretly investigating him
"I never said I believed those rumours," I lied, and he snorted contemptuously. "And it's not the sort of conversation you have with someone you barely even know."
"But you do know me." His eyes burned with anger and disillusionment. "You know me enough to show up at my house uninvited and snoop through my shit. Guess I don't need to ask why anymore."
I felt a modicum of embarrassment. "That sounded like an accusation."
"It was an accusation," he said, clipped and curt. "I was right about you. You have an ulterior motive."
I came out here to help him, not incriminate myself. "An ulterior motive about what?"
"How can I respond to questions that only you know the answers to, Liv?" He pulled a wisp of air into his lungs. "But what I am certain of is it has something to do with Natasha."
Listening to him talk about his ex-girlfriend with such vivid emotion and fervour felt strange. It made me wonder if he still carried a torch for her.
"I have no ulterior motive, Royce," I murmured, and strangely enough, at that specific moment, I was being honest and genuine. We had bonded recently, and it upset me to think that I had ruined it so hastily. "Yes, I am aware of the rumours surrounding you, just as everyone in the village is aware of the rumours surrounding me."
Drew watched our interaction quietly, puffing on a cigarette.
"However," I added with a hint of weariness, "I do not see either of us questioning unverified information when we are together, so how can I be accused of deception if you are not? That calls for a debate about double standards."
"Touché." Royce gave me a barely-there nod. "I've heard some pretty nasty shit about you." He glanced at Drew. "We all have."
Right, I am aware.
"Chill, Royce." Drew placed an arm around my shoulders, a gesture he often performed when he was near me. He pulled me close to his side, his embrace comforting and reassuring. "The woman only came out here to give you the heads up. No need to go to town on her ass."
I had never been so relieved for Hannah's brother to be the voice of reasoning.
"Anyway, we can talk about this later." Drew pointed toward the store, his finger entering my peripheral vision. "Pegs is on her way out. Let's just get this shit over and done with and talk about this later when there ain't no nosy bastards around."
The shop door creaked open, and Peggy Stewart stepped onto the cobbled walkway, her bag of purchases jostling against her hip.
She paused momentarily, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight, and then set off down the street, her footsteps echoing on the stones.
Relieved that Peggy overlooked Royce, I cast him a glance. He was motionless, his eyes fixed on mine in a defiant and stubborn manner, as if to say, I have nothing to hide or fear, so I will not leave because she is nearby.
"Go ahead." Drew gave me a light push toward the door, a silent order for me to make myself scarce. "Let the big boys take it from here. You run along inside now and make yourself useful."
Although reluctant, I left them in the alley, feeling that Royce and I had a conversation to finish and immediate matters to address.
Typically, I would sense Royce's eyes on me as I walked away, but not this time.
When I glanced over my shoulder, Royce had turned his back to me while Drew secured the ladder to the wall, preparing to ascend and inspect the roof.
Honestly, I was unsure how to interpret my emotions. I felt a strange mixture of disappointment, sadness, and apologeticness.
I had unintentionally let him down by keeping my concerns from him, which was understandable given the circumstances, but he perceived it as a betrayal.
I had essentially lied by omission.
Royce knew that I had remained silent because I was investigating his ex-girlfriend's murder. He is probably never going to speak to me again.
Jack was waiting for me on the other side of the door. He looked from me to the window, which offered a clear view of Royce and Drew. "Are those carpenters here to inspect the roof?'"
I nodded, unable to speak.
"Oh, that's a relief." He was exhausted, his eyelids heavy and his breathing shallow. "And how much is the work going to cost me? I need a rough idea before I go and lie down."
Mr Ross trembled again, his frail body wracked with illness. I knew little about his heart condition, but I had observed that he was often plagued by physical symptoms.
"You may rest assured," I said, giving his arm a light, friendly pat. "There will be no invoice for some time, so do not trouble yourself."
Additionally, if Royce and Drew were to require financial assistance for labour and materials, I would be the one to cover the cost, not Mr and Mrs Ross, for I have sufficient funds to aid those in need.
"You can go lie down." I playfully shooed him towards the door. "I can handle everything from here."
"Thank you, Mrs Lewis." Jack let out a sigh, his breath escaping his lips in ragged puffs. "If you need anything while I am gone, do not hesitate to come upstairs and wake me. I am a relatively light sleeper."
I smiled, watching his retreating figure.
He disappeared into the back, and the sound of creaking floorboards echoed through the air as he slowly ascended the stairs to the next level.
While Mr Ross was upstairs taking his afternoon nap, I cleared the altar of dirty dishes and mugs, then placed them in the dishwasher in the kitchen.
I continued the rest of my day stacking shelves, taking inventory, and dealing with the occasional customer.
It was unsurprising that when darkness began to set on the horizon, Jack had not yet emerged from his restful slumber, for he was known to sleep for hours once he retired.
Turning the sign on the shop door to indicate that the business was now closed, I quickly finished restocking the jewellery aisle, as this would free up more time for me the next day.
Fifteen minutes later, I heard someone enter from inside. It was Royce, wet from the rain again, which drew my attention to the bucket that had accumulated a significant amount of water in the past hour.
Royce noticed my cross-legged position on the floor. With slow, casual steps, he approached the aisle I occupied and leaned his shoulder against the shelving unit. He stared down at me in thoughtful silence, then tucked a key into the back pocket of his jeans.
"So," he said, inventorying the stock on the shelves. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"
Thankful that he was still talking to me, I downplayed my relief and placed a row of crystal-embellished earrings onto the rack. "Give me the good news."
"The good news is I have identified the problem," he said, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. "The bad news is it's not my area of expertise. The entire roof is fucked. Large holes, structural damage, sagging and rot. Your boss is gonna need to hire a professional roofing company to replace it."
"Oh?" Right, okay, that is definitely the worst-case scenario. "Do you know of any reputable companies?"
"Sure," he spoke laconically. "You wanted to fork the bill, right?"
I nodded.
"I'll send them your way then," he said, and I nodded again, not wanting to add to Jack's stress with this unfortunate news. "In the meantime, he'll have to close up shop until further notice."
My shoulders slumped in devastation. I enjoyed coming here, for it gave me a reason to rise in the morning and to contribute to others. I enjoyed Mr Ross's company, and Sabina's also, when she was in a good mood. If the store is closed until further notice, I shall be confined to the cliff house once again, seven days a week, with nothing to do.
Royce's gaze lingered on me. He wanted to say something but decided against it. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away. He was not going to say goodbye.
"Royce," I called, pushing to my feet, and he froze in his tracks, his back to me, his head turned slightly to listen. "Please, can we talk?"
"What's there to say?" He faced me then, disappointment pooling in his eyes. "I hate people that bullshit me, Liv."
"I never..." My lips pressed tightly together. "Can we start again? Maybe we can talk openly this time."
He thought about it. "Do you think I killed her, Liv?"
"I don't know," I answered honestly, which he did not appreciate. "I have my doubts. You were called in for questioning, so all the fingers point at you."
"But I wasn't charged," he reminded me, and I nodded sullenly. "Natasha's death is not on my hands."
I should not have trusted him, but strangely enough, I did. Or perhaps I desired to trust him. In either case, he sounded sincere, as if he genuinely had no idea what had happened to her and wished to keep it that way. "Are you sad?"
"That she's dead?" he asked, glancing around the shop. "I mean, yeah. I don't wish death on anyone. But am I lost without her? No, Liv." His eyes came back to me. "I got over her and onto someone else. That's life."
"I understand." My subdued voice was barely above a whisper. "I think she is haunting me."
His brows lifted. "What?"
"Natasha," I confessed, expecting the mocking laughter that never came. He was actually taking me seriously. "I dream about her constantly. Nightmares, primarily. And Royce, she is so angry with me. I think I am frustrating her because I am not doing what she desires..." It was time to be brutally honest. "That is why I came to Mac's Bar that night. I was convinced that she was trying to lead me to you, to make you pay for her death, but I have come to realise that even if I find her killer, she will not leave me alone."
His eyes squinted as he tried to understand what was happening.
"I do not understand it either," I said, detecting his dubiousness. "But then, I do not understand much these days." A light laugh. "Just that she wants something from me."
"Do not give her any thought," he advised, with a slight tremor in his jaw. "She is not worth it. Trust me."
It was easier said than done, for she invaded my dreams. According to Daniel, post-traumatic stress is common for patients with amnesia. My brain is hypersensitive when I sleep, which is why she always appeared in the beguiling form of nightmares.
"Have you sought therapy?"
"Yes, not long after the accident."
"In bad cases where nightmares mess with your head and life, a doctor will prescribe meds. I'd do it if that bitch..." His cheeks hollowed as he forced himself not to badmouth the dead. "If Natasha were haunting me, I'd pop pills without a second thought."
Yes, I had considered medication. "Daniel would never agree..."
His eyes rolled.
I threw my hands up in frustration. "What?"
"There she goes again, letting her husband dictate what she can and can't do." He sneered at me, his words filled with derision. "Some things just never change, huh?"
The thought that Royce might see me as nothing more than Daniel's feeble-minded, submissive wife was more than embarrassing. It was soul-crushing.
I am not my husband's shadow.
There is more to me than my marital role.
"Do you believe that life would be easier if you were on medication?" His question hung in the air, piercing the silence with audacity. "If you do," he continued, "then as a grown woman, it is your choice to have them prescribed for you." His words were cold and clinical, like a slap in the face, jarring me out of my stupor, but I could hear the underlying challenge in his voice. "It is not for anyone else to decide, Liv."
Yes, he is right. I am in charge of my life. No one else should dictate or decide, not even my husband. "It's worth consideration."
Royce offered a thin smile, his eyes glittering with triumph. It was as if he were celebrating my newfound comprehension. "I'm hungry."
"You are always hungry." Repackaging the box on the floor, I carried it across the shop and left it behind the altar. "I would have offered you Kube Cake, but I ate it all."
He leaned against the altar, his arms folded across his chest, watching me with lazy interest as I scurried around, gathering my things for the night.
"Drew's having a barbecue later," he said somewhat hesitantly, and I sensed an invitation. "He said you should come."
I gave him a sidelong glance. "But you have work tonight."
"Yeah," he said with a rakish smile, "He invited you, not me."
I experienced a moment of chagrin when I realised that he would not be present this evening. I could not articulate my emotions, nor did I desire him to be aware of them.
"Wait." A frown pulled at my face. "A barbecue? But it's raining."
"The kitchen is our version of a compromise," he told me like it was a normal, everyday occurrence for them to get a grill out indoors, thanks to the unpredictable British weather and people never knowing whether to prepare for hot or cold temperatures. "You wanna come?"
I flung him a studied look, trying to gauge his reaction, but he was a master of disguise. It was impossible to tell whether he wanted me there or not. "What time does the barbeque finish?"
He blinked once, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.
"It's one of those late-night affairs where everyone falls asleep wherever they find themselves," I said as I emptied the cash register for Mr Ross in preparation for his Friday bank deposit. "What is the dress code? It seems that no matter what I wear to a gathering of your social circle, I always feel out of place."
"There is nothing wrong with your style." His eyes roved over my body with overt approval. "But you show up in thousand-pound shoes and Birkin bags, and people get jealous."
Either way, I did not want to be the cynosure of eyes all night because I rocked up to the beachfront, looking like I did not belong.
"Just leave the pearls and designer handbags at home," he offered a friendly piece of advice. "I'm sure you can find something daring at the back of your wardrobe."
I highly doubt it. "Okay, I guess I could show my face for a few hours. Do I need to bring anything? Food? Wine?"
"Just yourself." He pushed away from the altar, ready to leave. "You getting home safe?"
I nodded, knowing I would be fine. It might be dark out, but I lived close to the tourist centre, which means the village is teeming with people, and lights are on everywhere until midnight.
Royce hesitated, his lips slightly parting as if he was about to speak. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out into the cool night air, the door swinging shut behind him with a gentle click.
I listened as the engine of his motorcycle roared to life and then faded into the distance.
Grabbing a pen and a torn-out piece of paper, ready to leave on the sideboard in the hallway, I jotted down a note for Jack.
Mr Ross,
I trust this message finds you in improved health. It appears you may have been quite fatigued as you spent the entirety of the day in slumber. I sincerely hope that your condition has ameliorated by the morning.
I have diligently attended to the affairs of the shop during your rest. I have conducted an inventory assessment and made note of our stock levels.
Furthermore, I have documented suggestions for our forthcoming delivery, which you can reference in the notes on page fourteen of the ring binder beneath the altar.
Regrettably, I must convey some disheartening news. The roof has incurred severe damage, primarily attributed to wood rot and extensive water-related impairment. As a result, it presents an imminent risk of collapsing.
In light of this precarious situation, it is imperative that we promptly close the shop as a safety precaution while the necessary repairs are undertaken.
I wish to assuage any concerns by assuring you that the workers who shall be tasked with the restoration are known to me personally.
They have graciously offered their services without charge, as they are appreciative of a prior favour I had extended to them.
For your convenience, I have attached my contact number should you require any additional information or wish to discuss matters further.
Best,
Olivia.
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I will be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
—Olivia?
—Jack?
—Daniel?
—Sabina?
—Peggy?
—Natasha?
—Drew?
—Royce?
Are there any mentions I missed?
Thank you for reading. 💙
Please don't forget to vote. ⭐️