Rekindling the Flame (Smoky Heights #1)

Chapter 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

AURORA

I wish I could say Alexis forgave me as easily as Wyatt did. It took a lot of wordsmithing, a lot of taking the jabs and cheap shots she had to lash out with before we finally got somewhere. Mom may have helped referee (who was, by the way, actually quick to forgive, just like Duke promised).

Maybe I can’t say Lexi’s forgiven me, but I think we’re on our way.

One stipulation she had was for me to not be “too good” for the Heights. I tried to argue that I’m not, but the looks I got from four eyes that look just like mine stopped me cold.

To help on all fronts, between Lex, Mom, and myself, we came up with the plan for Lexi and I to spend a girls’ day together, strolling through downtown and “getting back in touch with my roots” while our mother has more visitors at home today.

Apparently, me making a snippy comment about Lexi’s charger not fitting my phone as we drive downtown didn’t help my case, though.

“You’re so fucking judgy, Rory, God! This is what I mean when I say you’re too good for us.”

“She says judgingly ,” I say pointedly. “Besides, an Android isn’t synonymous with the Heights, just so you know.” I continue to lecture Lexi as we get out of her car in the parking lot off Main Street. “Wyatt has an iPhone. Mom is willing to get one. You could have one too, you’re choosing to have an inferior product at this point. Is it spite that keeps you on team green? You’re better than this, come on. Think of how much fun we could have in group chats if you upgraded.” Though, I guess the point is that she doesn’t know what she’s missing, so how could she imagine it?

“It’s not an upgrade, it’s conforming,” she says resolutely.

“Because a shitty phone is what differentiates you from the masses?” I roll my eyes at her. “It’s called convenience, Lex. Luxury. It’ll change your life, just let me—” But I don’t get to finish my sentence because she swats me into silence with both hands. A cat fight, if a cranky kitten hadn’t figured out how to use its claws yet. Nothing but fluff and padding, and a lot of attitude. It ends with the two of us cackling, laughing all the way into the lone coffee shop on the main strip downtown. It’s not Starbucks, but I’ve come to like it even more. Plus, the owner-operator learned how to make an apple crisp macchiato for me, and it’s absolutely everything.

I treat Lexi to the coffee she orders, but when she realizes it’s on me, she adds in three baked goods (one for now, two go in her purse, the wench), and all I can do is laugh at her and flip her off. We both say hi to Mrs. Dixon when we cross paths with her on the way to our table, as she’s headed to make the daily rounds and keep the town up to date on the latest. Which is probably the fact that Alexis and I were seen in public together, not pulling one another’s hair out. Unless she saw that catfight on the walk from the parking lot, in which case, she has a juicier tale to tell.

Our coats (hers a puffer, mine a trench) on the backs of our chairs, we sit at a small table near the windows that overlook Main Street, and watch more leaves float by the window than people as we sip our drinks and spend an afternoon together. Our first since high school, probably.

We discuss ways to give Mom more great experiences, more memories for us to cherish when that’s all that’s left of her, and I ask Lexi’s opinion on something I’ve been trying to plan for our mom the last few days. Her squeal of delight at being included, at what we’re now going to plan together, it spreads a balm of rightness over my insides and starts to repair the deeper cracks between us.

It’s not lost on me as we watch familiar faces drift in and out of the open shops along Main, how I used to wonder where the life was in the Heights. Now I see it everywhere, now that I know where to look. In every interaction, every hug, every smile that lights up someone’s face when they run into someone they adore. It might not be as busy as the city, but it’s got more genuine love sewn in the fabric of this small town than anything I’ve seen back in New York.

A fresh leaf shower greets us when we make our way back outside, and I stop to take it in, arms spread, face to the sky, soaking in what it feels like to be home, with my sister (!), on this gorgeous day.

“God, you’re such a nerd,” she teases me, shoving my shoulder as she passes me on the street. “I thought you were supposed to be the sophisticated one of us.”

I narrow my eyes at her and scowl. “I’m cerebral, not nerdy.”

“Wow, real fucking Ravenclaw of you to be standing there like Leo in Titanic right now.”

“I can be highbrow and also enjoy the simple things, you know. I’ll take that over being a Slytherin,” I shoot back at her.

“Whatever you say, nerd. Hey, let’s go visit Gracie!”

She doesn’t give me a chance to respond or object, Lexi is pushing through the glass door into the one salon we have in town, Mane on Main. The same place I’ve been having to get my nails done by the lone tech who favors neons and doesn’t seem to understand the concept of subtle elegance. Gracie is a hairstylist there, I can see her sweeping up some hair in the back corner, the furthest chair in the row for hairstylists. The row is two chairs long, by the way.

Lex holds the door open for me (progress), but before I can make it in the door, two girls I grew up with but haven’t seen since the bonfire months ago come through it, and we come face to face. Neither of us acknowledged the other at the bonfire, so I expect this to be awkward, but they both surprise me.

“Sophia,” I say dipping my head in greeting to the one on the right.

“Ro—Aurora!” Sophia says in a chipper—and not entirely false—voice. Then her face falls in realization, I can see it hit her when she remembers. “I’m so sorry about your mom. You too, Lexi.” She turns to look at Lexi, who nods in thanks, then she shifts back to me. “It’s so good to see you back home though, you look great, girl.” She pairs it with a touch to the arm, which surprises me. Last time I had the distinct impression nobody was willing to come too close and catch whatever I had. The smiles from both women are genuine, if not sympathetic, as they bid me farewell, pass me by, and walk down the street toward the other end of downtown.

“Well, if it isn’t the Weiss sisters!” Gracie, Ronnie’s wife and Lexi’s lifelong bestie, puts away the broom and dustpan and greets us at the door, the little bell on it jangling as it closes. “What brings you by, gorgeous?” She kisses Lexi’s cheek and gives me a bright smile.

“Would you believe that we were in the neighborhood? And I remembered how you texted me this morning that you had no clients booked this afternoon, and Aurora has just been begging me to help her get her in to get her hair done.” Lexi shoots me a lethal glare and it takes all of my hard-won composure to keep my face from showing my thoughts right now.

The hairstylist I go to in New York is booked for six months in advance and only accepts payment in crypto or potentially illegal favors from well-connected individuals. I once saw him take a poodle for a cut and color. Missing my last appointment with him put me on a blacklist I’m actually scared to find out the ramifications of. But I don’t trust these locks to just anyone. Even if she is Lexi’s best friend. I have touchy hair, perfecting the exact shade of blonde took a master in his craft. Most people turn me a brassy orange when they try. Whatever is going on with my hair, it’s as hard-headed as the rest of me, apparently.

I use every sisterly telepathy gift I’ve ever had and promise Lexi to kill her in her sleep, to kill her while she’s awake, or even be nice to her if she just doesn’t do what I think she’s about to do.

Lexi’s grin spreads wider, reaching both of her eyes, when she looks back at Gracie, and then to me once more. “Weren’t you just saying you wanted to be bleach blonde again? ‘Like the rays of the sun were painted onto your scalp,’ that’s what she said!” She nods effusively, selling the story.

I feel like Gracie should know me well enough to know there’s not a single snowflake’s chance in hell of ever wishing for such a look, not since 1997, at least. But that beatific smile on her face makes me think she bought every word Lexi was selling.

There’s no way for me to get out of this without acting like I’m “too good” for the town, as Lexi says. So that’s how I spend two hours in the second chair at Mane, my sister sitting next to me, happiest I’ve ever seen her yet as she watches the foils get applied in my hair, both my scalp and eyes on fire from the strong mixture. All Lexi needs is some popcorn for this scene to be complete.

I try not to think about what I’m going to look like walking out of here and let my mind wander to the talk with Wyatt to distract me.

You deserved better.

No, Aurora, you did.

His words keep replaying, but they still make no sense.

Fucking ridiculous. There is no one better for me than that man. He’s the one who deserves better. But if I’d said that out loud, he would’ve known I was lying when I agreed to continue our arrangement , as he called it. That I can’t keep my heart out of the equation, but I’m done trying. I just want as much to remember him by as I can get before I can’t have anything else from him again.

Taking Duke’s advice, letting them get to know the Aurora I am now doesn’t mean they deserve to be saddled with the selfish, difficult person I grew into. Make good memories, help Mom navigate this time period, and go back when it’s all over. Even if I no longer hate it here. Even if that future I saw with Wyatt for one whole day still glimmers in the corner of my mind’s eye when I recall that look on his face as we renewed the terms of our agreement.

I can appreciate this for what it is while I’m still here if you can.

I’m good with that.

For someone who deals in the fine print day in and day out, I left an awful lot of specificity out of my words. I wasn’t sure if I could lie to his face, tell him there’s no feelings involved on my end, but I can’t not make the most of these months I have left here. He didn’t seem to catch it, or maybe he just let me get away with it.

And speaking as that woman whose living relies heavily on keeping track of time, I’m embarrassed to say daydreaming of Wyatt Grady makes me lose all sense of it completely. Recalling the way we’d reconnected up in my apartment after that talk, the way he let me be on top, yet was still the one taking me, fucking me senseless even from below, it gets me hot all over again. How he commanded the entire night, even when I was the one riding him. His finger on my clit, cock spearing me, mouth on my breast, and my head thrown back as I came. My cheeks flush and thighs clench, and I realize this is a dangerous line of thought when I’m in public, next to my sister who won’t hesitate to call me out on it when she realizes the reactions I’m having. She’s well-accustomed to the faces I make when I’m thinking about Wyatt Andrew Grady when I shouldn’t be.

And let’s thank whatever guardian angel is looking out for me today, that’s the time Gracie is sweeping the cape off of me, a proud, “Take a look,” as she beams at me.

It’s all I can do not to squint when I take in my reflection. Lexi comes over to lean on my shoulder, the side Gracie isn’t standing on, and she looks tickled fuchsia at the me that’s staring back at her in the mirror.

It’s full skunk hair. My natural brown turned a highly unattractive rusty apricot color that I cannot pull off, streaked with thick, chunky highlights in a shade of platinum that should never be paired with my coloring or aesthetic.

I look like the cream cheese pumpkin roll in my sister’s purse right now.

“My God, you could be Ginger Spice, Ror,” Lexi says, delighted.

“You know I always wanted to be Posh,” I scowl at her.

“It was Baby for me,” says Gracie, diplomatically. “Is it blonde enough for you?” she asks me seriously, concern dripping from her features. “I didn’t expect it to go so … orange, but I think it’s really pretty for this time of year!”

“It does like to turn orange,” I say as politely as I can through clenched teeth, eyes searing into Lexi’s laughing face.

“It looks great, Gracie, you nailed it! I think it’s just blonde enough for Aurora, here,” Lexi says, before snapping her fingers and pointing at me. “No! You know who you look like? You look like 2002 Kelly Clarkson, that’s who!”

“That’s very specific,” I mutter. “What are you, falling asleep to American Idol reruns?”

But the insult doesn’t land, because hers was too spot on. She pulls up the Google search to show Gracie and me, and now that she’s said it, I’ll never unsee it. And I might love my sister, but, dammit, right now I hate her for what she’s done to my head.