WINTER SKYE
SEASONS OF DESTINY SERIES (BOOK 4)
EXCERPT
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First there were voices—sounds, really, with no individual words. Then she began hearing people call to her, but everything around her remained dark. Gradually even the darkness cleared, and she saw faces in a circle around her head: the student who walked over with her, the man who shooed her out, a couple of others she didn’t recognize, and Pete. “Ohhhh,” she moaned, putting a hand to her forehead. “What happened?”
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Everyone tried to explain at once. Then she heard Pete say, “You fainted.”
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“That’s ridiculous,” she said, although she didn’t recall thinking it. “I never faint.”
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“Well, you did this time,” the older man said. “If you just lie still, we’ll get an ambulance—”
“No!” The strength of Skye’s voice surprised her. “I don’t need an ambulance. I promise I’ll be just fine.” To prove it, she forced herself into a sitting position. The action caused her to feel woozy again, but she persisted. Slowly, her fuzziness cleared. “It was just a combination of the heat and hunger. I…I skipped lunch.” And breakfast. Had she eaten last night? She couldn't remember. “Just give me a minute to clear my head and I’ll be on my way.”
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The older man said, “Well, I don’t—”
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He was interrupted by the student who walked with her. “I got the water you wanted.”
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The man took the paper cup and offered it to Skye. “Here. Drink up. We’ll see how you’re feeling in a few.”
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Skye drank, at first just a few swallows. Then she realized how desperate her thirst was. The only water she could recall drinking since leaving home that morning had been a sip here and there from a water fountain. She made a mental note to try to remember both food and water. She finished the water and thanked everyone around her. Then she stood, reassuring the group that she’d be fine on her own.
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“Are you certain?” the older man asked.
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“Yes, I’m sure.”
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She heard Pete say, “I’ll stay with her until she’s stable.”
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“I’ll take care of your station,” the student offered.
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“Thanks, Emily,” Pete said. He gave the student a few quick instructions.
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“Will do,” Emily answered, beaming at Pete as if the king had granted her a boon by allowing her to clean up after him. “You take care,” she said to Skye as she left.
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The older man asked Pete, “You sure you can handle this?”
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Pete, or Jamison, or whoever he was, answered, “Don’t worry, Sam. I’ve got this.”
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“Okay then.” Sam, still sounding doubtful, left them standing in the hall.
Pete said, “Come on, stalker. I’ll drive you home.”
***
Skye let Pete lead her behind the Hot Shop to a small, sleek pickup. He opened a door. “Get in.”
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Meekly, Skye obeyed.
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He closed his door, turned on the A/C, and said, “Explain yourself. What was that all about?”
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With a few conscious minutes behind her to consider the possibilities, Skye offered the best explanation she had. “I guess I was stalking you, but not in any negative kind of way.”
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He frowned, his expression skeptical.
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“What I mean is, I was…curious. Since I saw you at that AA meeting, I’ve wondered why you didn’t come back. Then, when I saw you again at the Soho show, I also saw your work. One artist to another, I’m impressed. When the student in the metals forge mentioned she thought you might be working in the Hot Shop, I followed along. I wanted to see what you do.” She offered a pleading look.
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“So it’s my work that interests you.” He practically sneered as he drew out the word work. What was going on with this guy?
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“Well, yeah. I saw you at the Soho Gallery at the show we both did—”
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His expression changed completely. “Wait. You had work there, too?”
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She frowned. Hard. “Of course. What did you think I was doing?”
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“I assumed you were one of the student helpers.”
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Now she was the one to sneer. “Oh, that’s truly flattering.”
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He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know you weren’t the trash artist,” he said. “He had the space right next to mine.”
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Skye, who’d tried to control her amusement at “trash artist,” allowed a smile. “No, I’m not the trash artist. Incidentally, I feel the same way about his work.”
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“Not much to brag about, is there? I wonder why the professors included him?”
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“Dr. Weems suggested they wanted to include multiple media. Maybe the prof who recommended him thought this guy’s work might interest someone. Do you know if he sold a single piece?”
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“I think maybe one or two. Not much, though. But you weren’t me and you weren’t the trash dude. That leaves four possibilities. Which are you?”
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“I had the space in the room on the south, back corner.”
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He closed his eyes, apparently visualizing the space. “You had the garden paintings? And the sculptures?”
“Yes. That’s my work.”
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His expression changed again, much more open now. “You’re Skye.”
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She sat straighter, surprised he knew her name. “Yes. Guilty as charged.”
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“Vickie is one of your top advocates.”
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Did he mean Professor Weems? “You call her Vickie?”
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He smiled. “When I first came back to grad school, it wasn’t easy. I kept calling her Dr. Weems, just as I always had. After the first couple of weeks, she said, ‘You’re a teacher and colleague now, Pete. Call me Vickie.’”
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“Then you’re Pete here, too. Not Jamison Peters, but Pete.”
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His cheeks reddened slightly and he dropped his eyes before meeting hers again. “My name is Peter James Koury. Professionally, I’m Jamison Peters.”
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“But you’re Pete at AA meetings.”
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He acknowledged that with a twist of his lip. “Yep. There, too.”
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“Then why did you lie to me about it? You were so insistent—”
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“I know. I’m sorry. There were, um, other things going on.” He started the ignition. “So is it true you haven’t eaten all day?”
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“Honestly, I’ve been working like crazy to meet a big deadline and I don’t remember the last time I ate—at least, not more than a breakfast bar or an apple.”
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“I can fix that.” He maneuvered the truck out of the parking lot and into traffic.
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“I haven’t told you where I live. Where are we going?
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“Don’t worry. I’ll see you get safely home. In the meantime…” He grinned. “In the meantime, I’m taking you to dinner.”
***
Mr. Gorgeous was taking Skye out for a meal, and she didn't even remember what she was wearing. She examined her ensemble: strategically distressed denim jeans and a linen blouse in a rich salmon pink that highlighted her dark complexion. Had she put on earrings? She touched her lobes and fingered the tiny pearl drops, one of her go-to pairs. She sighed, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. She could look worse. Good thing she'd stopped at the forge when coming from the gallery and not from the studio. She imagined having these same conversations while splattered in various colors of paint. She'd lucked out with that one!
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Pete stopped at a local place that catered to students. It offered house-made gourmet pizza, a huge taco bar, and a wide variety of deep-fried chicken and vegetables. It further specialized in artisan coffees and a tea bar featuring kombucha.
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“Trendy,” Skye said when Pete opened her door.
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“Very trendy,” he answered. Then, with a shrug, “I just like the food.”
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“Good enough reason to come here.” She swayed slightly.
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He caught her arm to steady her. His brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”
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She nodded. “I will be. I just need to eat.”
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“Then let’s get you something.” He took a step, preparing to lead the way.
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She tried to follow him but swayed again.
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“That’s it,” he said. “Don’t get the wrong impression here, Skye, but I don’t want to pick you up off the floor again.” He put his arm around her waist. “Lean into my shoulder.”
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She leaned in and instantly felt a full-body buzz, reveling in the warmth of his touch. Maybe it was the combination of the lack of food, the heat, and the nearness of a very desirable man. Whatever it was, Skye felt herself losing consciousness again. “You smell like glass,” she heard herself say, her voice far away as she sagged against his side.
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