CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The contents of her stomach churned. Her body turned to stone. Her hands shook and she gripped the steering wheel to steady them, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.
Skye couldn’t be certain that the man who just strode into City Brew was Vance Sandler. For one thing, he never looked in her direction, so she didn’t see his face in full. She caught the salt-and-pepper hair and the stark cheekbone and the rounded chin from a three-quarter view, but she was also distracted by the sturdy hand around his female companion’s minuscule waist, and her long, silky dark hair, and the difference in height between them. Vance was six two, but judging from what she just saw, he didn’t seem to be as towering as she’d remembered him to be.
Would he have recognized her even had he been looking? Would he have cared?
Nausea seized her, and she swallowed hard to keep it down.
She had wondered how long it would take before she ran into Vance. Wondered what she’d do or say or how she’d feel or act. And even if it wasn’t Vance—she wasn’t inclined to go back into the coffee shop and find out for certain—she had been completely unprepared. She was wearing clothes from Walmart. She wore no makeup on her days off from work. Her bottled burgundy hair was unstyled, and her gray roots were showing—she couldn’t afford to get it professionally colored and hadn’t yet gotten around to buying a home-coloring kit. All the lightness and hope she had felt only moments ago had been sucked out of her and into the black hole that was Vance Sandler and all that he’d represented.
She had to move. She had to leave Billings. This city of one hundred thousand people and forty-something square miles was too small for her, too crowded. She wanted to go back to the anonymity of Rhode Island. The vastness of Montana suffocated her, whereas the tight corners of the East Coast allowed her to breathe.
She didn’t belong here.
But she liked it. The uniqueness of the rimrocks and Sacrifice Cliff, the sparse yet active downtown, and the sky—always the vast expanse of sky, even in tree-lined neighborhoods, with painted clouds and marvelous sunsets and blue that stretched as far as an ocean. Could she get such variety anywhere else? She still wanted such ubiquitous landmarks as a Target and a mall and a chain supermarket. But she also wanted the feeling of small-town friendliness and familiarity, like when the City Brew baristas already knew her order before she stepped up to the counter. How one of Nellie’s customers was also Harvey’s paint client and remembered her face, if not her name. She’d never felt anything but anonymity when she lived in Warwick. How much of that had been her doing? Had Warwick, or any Rhode Island town, possessed something unique and beautiful that she’d never before noticed?
Her enthusiasm completely deflated, Skye drove back to the condo. Upon entering, Harvey greeted her with, “How did your meeting with Flora go?”
“Fine,” said Skye.
Harvey pressed. “You OK?”
She sucked in a breath and let it out. “I think I saw Vance today.”
Harvey gasped. “Holy shit.”
“I don’t know for sure if it was him, but it’s absolutely wrecked me, and I hate that I let it,” she said, trembling, fighting off tears. Harvey rose from the couch, walked over to where she was standing, and put his arms around her. Every corpuscle in her body twittered with exhilaration as his touch traveled beneath her skin. What kind of hug was this? Was it a you’re-my-pal hug? Was it a solidarity-against-Vance-the-fuckface hug? Or was it a we’re-getting-closer-every-day hug?
As if he heard the voice, Harvey said, “Don’t beat yourself up, Skye. You’re doing so well. You’re working and meeting people and you’re making a life for yourself. Hell, you’re making a home for yourself.” He added, “Here, in this condo. It feels so much less like a bachelor pad and more like—” He stopped short.
Like it’s ours, Skye wanted to say.
Home. In this condo. Of course, whenever she’d mentioned her Warwick apartment, she’d called it home. But thinking back, it had been a residence. A place to sleep and eat and hang out. But here in the condo, Skye felt safe. Cuddled. Nurtured.
“Thank you, Harvey,” she said. She wanted to bury herself in the strength and warmth of his arms. She wanted to move even closer into him. She wanted to kiss him and run her fingers through his unruly hair and . . .
She pulled herself away from him, flushed and sweaty.
“Fuck Vance Sandler,” said Harvey.
“You can,” said Skye. “I’m done.”
Harvey laughed, causing Skye to laugh as well. She was laughing more and more since she’d arrived in Billings, and it felt good. In fact, laughing with Harvey was one of her favorite Billings pastimes.
“You’re so much more than he’ll ever be,” Harvey said, his eyes brimming with warmth. “Just remember that.”
I am so much more. Perhaps she would use that as her new mantra and replace I approve of myself. Harvey could see it. Patrick could see it. Flora could see it.
It was time for Skye to see it—to know it—as well.