Page 110 of Craving Consequences
Holland’s Grocery sits brilliantly lit in the storm. Its wood siding is painted a cheerful green with trims of white. Already a flock of people dart through the sliding doors, heads ducked.
I shrug out of my jacket and drop it lightly over Everly’s head. Her big eyes blink up at me and I brush a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before shoving my door open and hopping down.
Together, we sprint to the door. We get Everly through first before following her into the uncomfortable chill inside.
It’s probably not cold, but the AC is definitely on and our damp skin doesn’t like it. The fan swirls the hint of pine cleaner and produce. The scent of oranges wafts from a crate by the front entrance, next to a slanted chalkboard sign welcoming spring and advertising a sale on trail mix and marshmallows. It’s the kind of place that hasn’t changed in decades, not because it couldn’t, but because no one wants it to.
Lachlan grabs a cart and gives it a push. The front wheel wobbles, squealing softly as we trail behind him through the firstaisle. Everly walks between us, silent but more grounded than she was earlier. Her fingers trail along the shelves like she’s categorizing. I watch her toss a few things into the cart — instant coffee, ramen packets, a box of cereal I know she eats straight from the box ... dry.
“Are we not heading back tonight?” I hazard slowly as I watch her eyeball a row of toilet paper.
“There’s nothing at the cabin,” Everly explains, plucking up a four pack. “I mean, it’s fully furnished, but we’ve had a couple of break-ins over the years and Dad stripped the place to the very bare minimum. Whenever I visit, I bring my own stuff and take it with me when I leave.”
“How often do you go?” I demand, disliking the casual nature of her tone.
She gives a light bob of her shoulder while calmly examining a box of light bulbs. “Once a month? Maybe twice if it’s nice weather.”
“By yourself?” I grind through my teeth.
“With break-ins?” Lachlan adds, watching her with the same level of irritation I feel bubbling up my chest.
The reason I’ll go into an early grave tips her face back over her shoulder to blink at us with her innocent eyes like nothing she just said is concerning.
“I don’t think people will break in if someone’s there.” She turns back before she can see the looks of wide eyed horror Lachlan and I share. “No one’s broken in, in months.”
“Months?” We both snarl at the same time.
Everly stops and faces us with her head cocked to one side. “Yeah, I think it was October? But I think it was just kids messing around. It took me a week to clean up though.”
“You stayed there for a week ... by yourself, after a break-in?” Lachlan says in the calmest, deadliest tone I’ve ever heard the man use.
I think she’s beginning to sense our displeasure when she furrows her brows and folds her arms over her chest. “Someone had to clean it up.”
I’m not proud of my behavior when I close my fist into the front of my jacket and yank her into my chest. Her little cry of surprise is ignored as I regulate my thoughts. My voice. The level of my strength when I take her face between my hands. My fucking temper.
“You...” I bite out slowly. “If you ever do something so stupid...” my palm closes over her mouth when she opens her lips to protest. “So reckless again. It’s not a spanking you’ll have to worry about, Evie. I will tie you down and torture you until you’re begging me to stop.”
Her eyes are big and dark over my hand even with the defiant crease between them.
She grumbles something against my skin that I have to lift my hand to hear. “You’re both taking this way too seriously.”
“You’re not taking it seriously enough!” Lachlan hisses, barely controlling the level of his outrage.
Gingerly, she extracts herself from my hold and stands facing us with a hint of a grin hovering over her lips. “I have been traveling that road and staying in that cabin since I was born. It’s my favorite place in the world. My sanctuary. Is it annoying when people break in? Yes. But it’s no different than when there’s a mudslide or—”
“Mudslide?” I interject.
She gestures to our cart. “That’s why I’m grabbing a bit extra. Just in case. It doesn’t happen all the time,” she rushes, possibly seeing both Lach and my chests expanding with renewed fury. “But sometimes, when it rains, the roads flood and mud comes down the mountain...”
“Oh my God,” Lachlan grumbles, scrubbing a palm so hard over his face, I wince.
“You’re telling me,” I start slowly, “that you’ve been skipping up to this ... murder cabin with no security—”
“It’s not a murder cabin!” she snaps, genuinely offended by the comparison.
I ignore her. “—with a history of repeated break ins, mudslides and flooding?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re taking it all horribly out of proportion. It’s really not that bad. The last flood only came up to the tires and lasted three days. It was honestly so cozy with the fire lit and—”
