Beth Ciotta - Out of Eden

A SLICE OF DRY TOAST, one banana, two cups of strong black tea and a hot shower later, Kylie felt rejuvenated enough to attempt gusto. Wanting to shake up her routine straight away, she raided her closet in search of anything bold. She passed over conservative ensembles and settled on a flared black skirt and a fitted black T-shirt featuring a sequined green-and-red dragon breathing sparkly gold fire. Bypassing a dozen pairs of sensible shoes, she snagged the flower-power combat boots she’d ordered and never worn. Whimsical and daring. “The new me.”

Feeding off nervous energy, she skipped morning meditation, although she did chant affirmations as she applied mascara and lip balm and tamed her thick hair into her signature ponytail. “I will act out of the ordinary in order to attract and promote change. Change is exciting. Change is good.”

She repeated that three times while staring at her reflection in the mirror, although her mind trailed off to the un-extraordinary. She considered her pale freckled cheeks, her juvenile ponytail, her poor vision. Maybe she should experiment with cosmetics and a stylish haircut. Investing in laser surgery seemed extreme, but she could definitely afford new glasses. Her body benefited from years of yoga, but typically she hid her toned form beneath loose clothing, choosing timeless classics over here-today-gone-tomorrow trends. She’d never fussed over style, choosing instead to focus on inner beauty. Thing was, men were visual creatures, stimulated by what they could see and touch.

She knew Jack’s type and she wasn’t it. That explained his lack of enthusiasm when she’d leaned in for a kiss. Plus, she’d been drunk and vulnerable, and wouldn’t that be so Jack—a gentlemen even when you ached to be ravished.

Been there. Lived through the embarrassment. Twice now.

She sighed and turned away from the mirror. There were other ways to shake up her life aside from burning up the sheets with Jack Reynolds. Not that she was tempted to do so. She was, thank goodness, over him. No, she was going to concentrate on her daring decision to renovate McGraw’s Shoe Store.

Sporting a devilish grin, she called Faye while tugging on a pair of thick green socks.

Her friend picked up after the second ring. Despising telemarketers, Faye always screened her calls. “You’re alive.”

“Rough around the edges, but a lesson learned. What about Sting?”

“Rough around the edges, but a lesson learned.”

Kylie frowned at Faye’s gruff tone. “What about Spice? Did she survive her first slumber party without getting her undies frozen?” Spice was Faye’s thirteen-year-old daughter. As quirky as her mom, but not as outgoing. Her first slumber party—the kid wasn’t exactly Miss Popular—had been a very big deal. Maybe it had been a disaster.

“She had a blast.”

Kylie waited for details. None came. She squirmed as the silence stretched. What the heck? “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Kylie pursed her lips and racked her fuzzy brain. “Because I made a spectacle of myself?”

Faye grunted. “Do you even remember last night?”

“Most of it. Okay. Parts of it.”

Another long stretch of silence.

Kylie bristled. So, she’d had too much to drink. So, she’d gotten a little loud, given away her shoes and taken a spill in Boone’s. It wasn’t like Faye to be so easily embarrassed. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Jack?” Kylie blurted, because normally that’s exactly what her friend would do. Faye knew all about Kylie’s longtime infatuation, although she didn’t know about the never-to-be-mentioned-ever episode. “He gave me a birthday kiss. Actually, I stole a kiss. He just sort of sat there. Disappointing.”

“You expected Jack to take advantage of you?”

“I expected fireworks.”

“You always expect fireworks,” Faye said. “And you’re always disappointed.”

“Yes, but this was Jack. It’s supposed to be different with him.”

“It’s supposed to be different with someone who sets your soul on fire. I thought you were over Jack.”

“I am.”

“Are you sure about that? For someone who’s having a hard time remembering parts of last night, you have a damn clear recollection of that kiss.”

“You are mad at me.” Kylie padded to her medicine cabinet and nabbed a bottle of aspirin. Between the hangover and Faye’s snippy mood, she felt queasy. To make matters worse, Stan shouted something in the background and Faye shouted back. Okay. So maybe she’d just caught her friend at a bad time. “Are you guys fighting about Sting and the ice cream fiasco?”

“Not exactly.” Faye blew out a breath and lowered her voice. “Just do me a favor, Kylie. Don’t drink any more cosmopolitans.”

“Trust me, it’s not on the agenda.” Stomach rolling, Kylie popped an antacid along with the aspirin.

“So what instigated that birthday meltdown, anyway?”

A change of subject and a softer tone. Sort of. She’d take it. “Spenser.”

“Let me guess,” Faye said. “He extended his shooting tour. Which means you have to postpone your trip. Again.”

So far Kylie had missed out on two opportunities to travel the Orient. Both times due to a family crisis. The latter had wiped out her bank account. Now, after years of living frugally and saving (again), she finally (almost) had enough money to fund her dream trip. Problem was, Spenser’s change of plans put a glitch in her plans. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

Faye snorted. “Maybe you should tell Spenser why you need him to come home and to take responsibility for the business he inherited.”

“I don’t want to step on his dream. Into the Wild is a huge hit. He’s in his fifth season and the ratings are consistently high.”

“What about your dream?”

Kylie faltered. Her gut said she needed to attack the here and now. The real world. Her world. “If I went to Asia now,” she said sensibly, “I’d still have to deal with my dull existence when I got back.”

“Meaning?”

Kylie shoved on her glasses, glanced at the shoe-order confirmation and the paint samples she’d printed off the Internet. She smiled. “Meet me at the hardware store in two hours.”

JACK STEERED HIS SUV into the chief of police’s designated parking space. He glanced at the black-and-white parked to his left—one of two department cruisers. Chief Curtis had used his own wheels. Jack opted to do the same. Small towns have small budgets. Police vehicles were costly. Better to allocate funds to staffing, programming and equipment. Besides, driving an unmarked vehicle suited his purpose as did his semicasual uniform.

He cut the engine, looked at Shy over the metal rims of his polarized Oakleys. Instead of the backseat where he’d put her, she now sat on the passenger seat. Slobber streaked the partially open window. Short blond hairs coated his black dashboard. His new car didn’t look so new anymore. Didn’t smell new, either. Was there such a thing as dog Beano?

“So is this because of the canned kibble?” Jack asked, waving off the noxious odor. “Or because you’re nervous?”

Shy barked.

“Uh-huh.”

Maybe a trip to the vet was in order. Not that he planned on keeping her. But as long as Shy was in his care, he didn’t want her stinking up his air.

“Okay. Listen up. The squad’s still mourning Curtis. They’re not sold on me. I have no idea how they feel about dogs.”

Shy angled her head, whimpered.

“Relax. I’m not locking you in the car for eight hours. Just…behave. No chewing. No peeing. No farting.”

Her tail wagged.

“You don’t understand a word I’m saying, do you?”