Sunnie sat in the windowsill of her father’s office on Main, picking at her black nail polish. Usually she found some reason not to come watch him work on Sundays. Since he was already here six days a week, making it seven made no sense. But it was his habit, and her father was a man of habits.
He got up at six fifteen every morning. Drank coffee like it was the fuel that ran him. Never forgot anything on his schedule, or hers, or Gram’s or the town’s. He always fell asleep watching the news at ten. When she woke him, he’d swear he was simply listening with his eyes closed, and then Dad would wander off to bed. He might be only thirty-seven, but she had the feeling he’d be doing everything exactly the same when he was eighty.
If Sunnie didn’t know it was impossible, she’d swear her father was a robot.
He claimed Sunday afternoon was the only time he had to work on his books without being interrupted. She’d never thought to ask him how long he’d been writing. It was just something he did. He rarely talked about his work and never offered to let anyone read what he wrote. Which was fine with her. She couldn’t imagine it being interesting.
When she’d been thirteen, just after her mother died, she insisted on coming with him on Sunday afternoons. It was like she was afraid to let him out of her sight. She’d curl up in the window and do her homework or read. Then, when it was almost dark, he’d yell from his office in the back of the big empty room, Time to go!
“Already?” she’d say like she hadn’t been watching the clock for an hour. It occurred to her that when she grew old, she’d turn this place into a nursing home because time passed slower here in Dad’s office than it did anywhere in the world. She might not live forever, but it would feel like it.
Glancing at the huge clock beside the desk he called the mayor’s corner, Sunnie frowned, realizing it would be at least another hour, maybe more, before Dad would be ready to leave.
She could walk home. Only the clouds outside were dark, full of rain. Plus, there was nothing to do back at the house.
Staring out at the empty main street made her sad. She was in the center of town, the prettiest part of Laurel Springs some say, but today it looked barren, deserted, hollow.
Even Gram’s shop across the street was dark, uninviting now. On summer Sundays, the shops would open, but in winter the visitors were at the winery outside of town. Business on Main was so slow even Mamma Bee’s Pastries was closed.
It took her a few seconds to realize someone was standing in front of Gram’s shop staring right at her. He was so still she hadn’t even noticed him.
Derrick.
Sunnie leaned closer, putting her hand on the cold window, making sure. Tall, good-looking, worn leather jacket that looked like it came from a sci-fi movie, killer smile. Yep, it was him.
He straightened. Those blue eyes stared right at her.
Then, with a nod of his head, he turned and walked toward the end of the street where a path led down to the neglected park by a stream. Just before he stepped on the path, he glanced back as if to make sure she saw where he was going.
“I’m off for a walk,” Sunnie yelled toward her father.
He didn’t even look up from his work.
Pulling on her coat, she stepped outside.
Derrick had disappeared somewhere in the tall grass and cypress trees that were scattered along the creek. Reddish-brown leaves still hung on to branches as if refusing to admit that winter had arrived. The leaves were heavy, twisted, droopy, and making that sound only oak leaves seem to make.
Mourner’s cloth draped over the death of summer, she thought, moaning in a throaty rattle. She had a feeling the dead leaves wouldn’t fall until new ones pushed them off the branches.
Pulling her charcoal jacket closed over her black T-shirt and jeans, she decided she must look the same. The comparison bothered her so she ran. Ever since her mother died, she’d felt death stalking her and today it seemed closer than usual.
She couldn’t see Derrick, but she guessed he was waiting. He probably wanted to tell her off someplace where no one would hear.
Maybe they needed to settle things before tomorrow when rumors of their very public fight would spread. If they both agreed to claim they were just kidding around, maybe everyone would buy the story. After all, making a public scene for laughs sounded better then arguing with a guy you really hadn’t gone out with.
Turning her collar up, she walked down to the water. It always amazed her how the town seemed to disappear so quickly, as if stepping back and letting nature have this place.
The settlement of Laurel Springs had started here by the water. A campsite for Apache. A stopover for travelers when the wagon trains came. An early fort for a short time. All started because of the stream that ran year-round.
Almost at the water, she saw Derrick leaning against a pine whose branches started a few feet above his head and offered little shelter. In the dull light, he could have been a man from any time. A buffalo hunter. A soldier. An outlaw.
She walked closer and saw him more clearly. Nope. He wasn’t any of them. He was just the boy she almost dated. Nothing more.
“Hi,” she said as she tiptoed near the winding creek’s edge and stared at the stream, not him.
“Hi.” He was silent for a few minutes, then added, “I went by your house. When you weren’t home, I figured you’d either be at your dad’s office or at the quilt shop.”
“Good guess.” She wanted to ask why he’d come, but she knew he’d get around to telling her eventually.
They listened to the stream splashing over rocks for a while. When raindrops started plopping in the water like tiny bombs, she was tired of waiting. “Did you come to apologize? If so, it’s not necessary.”
He looked up and she saw surprise on his face. “No. I thought I’d give you the chance to. You’re the one who went ballistic on me.”
The possibility of “going ballistic” again seemed an option, but she thought it might be overkill. He wasn’t worth the effort. “Why’d you ask me out this weekend?”
He smiled that sexy smile he had. “I figured I’d give you a chance. Thought we’d have some fun. I don’t usually even talk to sophomores. But, Shorty, you’ve got something. Long legs and hair so light it almost glows. I even like the quirky way you dress. Not to mention your old man is the mayor. I’m thinking that makes you almost royalty in this town.”
Sunnie straightened. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Derrick.” She caught his grin, then continued, “I’m even sorry I said I’d go out with you. In fact, I’m sorry I even spoke to you that night at the game.” She turned and started back. Three apologies should do it.
“Wait. We’re not finished. It’s not over between you and me. Not by a long shot.”
She kept walking. “Yes, we are over. You’re right. Age does matter. You’re too young for me.”
She barely heard his words above the wind. “You’ll be sorry.”
“I already said that,” she called back. “Weren’t you listening?” It appeared her love affairs were destined to have the stability of tissues.
When she made it up the path to the sidewalk, he was still standing by the creek. Rain had made his hair flat and hanging in his eyes like a bowl cut. He no longer looked irresistible.
Silently she slipped back into her father’s offices and smiled. The place with its overabundance of mahogany bookshelves and mission desks with matching swivel chairs all seemed to welcome her back. If a stranger came in they’d think several people worked here, but it wasn’t that way. All the desks were her father’s. One for the news blog he still called a paper. One for official mayor’s work. One where he handled what he called the Larady accounts. And one where he wrote on Sundays for no reason at all.
“You all right?” Dad asked when she shook the rain off her coat.
She guessed he’d watched her follow Derrick. “Yeah. I count my wild encounters in minutes.”
He shrugged as if he understood. “So do I, Sunshine.”