At First Touch. Cindy Miles

Shoot!” Emily said. She sounded at least fifty feet away. Footsteps began crunching against something she couldn’t immediately identify? Pine straw? “Reagan!”

      “Stand down, my overanxious and soon-to-be sister-in-law,” a teasing male voice said, closer. A tall figure loomed, and along with it a clean, soapy scent met her nostrils and blended with the river brine. “Wow. Reagan Rose Quinn.” The male voice connected to the looming shadow drew closer. Close enough that his body heat clashed with hers. “I’ve got a confession.” He paused, and she felt him lean closer. “Ever since your sister showed me a picture of you in full gear, I’ve had a major crush on you.”

      Instantly, she stiffened, and he laughed, and it was a deep, male sound. “At ease, Quinn. Welcome home.”

      Reagan kept her shades in place. Who was this guy? She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t a hundred percent, pitch-black blind; she merely saw dark, discolored shadows. Not enough to see features. Not enough to see tree roots, either. Just barely enough to see outlines. Forms. But she imagined the look on his face was a cocky one. “Uh, thanks. A Malone?” she said. Honestly, she had one in five shots. She couldn’t be wrong. Apparently the one who came to drag her from Em’s Jeep was the one with no filter.

      A large, callused hand grasped her elbow and tugged, urging her out of the Jeep. “That’s a crap guess, Quinn. You already know there are five of us living next door. Which one am I?” the voice teased. Reagan could hear the amusement.

      She allowed his help, but the moment her stick touched the ground, she leaned away from him. Usually that was signal enough for someone to let go. He did not. “Eric,” she announced with impatience, and wondered why he acted as though he knew her. He didn’t. None of them did. Not even Emily.

      “Ha! Lucky guess!” he announced with almost too much joy. “Now quit trying to pull away from me and just come on,” he said quietly, for just her to hear. “I can tell you want a party as much as you want me escorting you right now, but both are happening whether you like it or not.” A slight swoosh of wind pushed past as he drew closer. “So just smile that gorgeous smile you have and get through it,” he said against her ear. “Your sister means well. You’re all she’s talked about. She’s been planning this for a week. Besides, Jep’s shrimp cakes are legendary—almost as much as the dipping sauce he makes to go with them. Plus, I just heard your stomach growl so I know you’re starved. Now,” he said, not quite as close. “Can you see anything at all?”

      Reagan gave a half laugh. Eric Malone hadn’t changed too much. He’d been filterless as a kid, too, and apparently hadn’t outgrown that quality. Gorgeous smile? What a line. The last smile he saw on her, she’d probably been missing teeth. “Actually, yeah. I can see shadows. Shapes. Forms. Which is why you can let go—”

      “All right, good to know,” he interrupted, and did not let go of her arm. “So can you tell we’re cutting across your yard and heading down the lane to mine? Do you remember?”

      Peering through her shades, Reagan knew they made it difficult to see—especially when her condition was exacerbated by sunlight. But as she stared, she could see darkness on both sides, and a lighter pathway in the center. “I can. And yeah, I do remember.”

      “Good times, huh?” Eric Malone moved at her pace—not pulling or tugging. People tended to do that. Just pull her along. “All right, lots of roots in here,” he announced. His voice wasn’t too deep. It had an even cadence that wasn’t too brash or too smoky. Amusement. He had a lot of that. Always had.

      “Does it still smell the same, Reagan Rose? Take a big whiff,” Eric suggested, and he inhaled deeply and loudly, then pushed it out in an exaggerated exhale. “Can’t beat it, can you? That good ole river brine?” He chuckled lightly. “To me, that’s the smell of home.”

      “Smells like sea sewage to me.”

      He chuckled as they picked their way along the lane that as kids they’d run through at top speed. “Well, then,” he said beside her. A little closer. A little more amused. “Give it some time. It’ll grow on you.”

      “I doubt it.” She knew her answer sounded acerbic. She’d meant it to.

      “Hey.” The air shifted as he leaned closer. “Open your mind, Reagan Rose Quinn. And your nostrils. There are a lot of great experiences just waiting to happen.” She felt a nudge as Eric gently elbowed her in the ribs. “Glad you’re home, by the way. It’s been too long.”

      Before Reagan could recover from Eric’s comment—actually, from any of them—dark shadows accompanied by voices descended upon her.

      “My God, look at this grown-up girl,” a deep male voice said. The form grew closer, and Reagan’s hand was enveloped by a large warm one. “Good to see you home again, Reagan.”

      In what she hoped was the right direction, Reagan turned and smiled. “Thank you, sir,” she replied.

      “That’s my dad, Owen,” Eric said beside her.

      “Oh, sorry, honey,” Owen said. “I should’ve warned you before grabbing your hand, eh?” His chuckle was lighthearted and gruff at the same time. What was with all this friendly familiarity? She hadn’t seen any of these people in more than fifteen years. It made no sense to her.

      No matter how often she was reminded that she couldn’t see, Reagan always tried. She peered through her shades—squinted hard, as if that would in some way help clear the blur. Brighten the darkness. It didn’t. So she held up her hand and gave her head a soft shake. “No, it’s fine, really,” she said. “It— I—take some getting used to, I guess.”

      “Warning, I’m about to hug you,” another of the forms called out, and in the next second Reagan’s body was being squeezed. Firm lips grazed her cheek. “Nathan,” the voice advised. “You still look like a brat, by the way.”

      Memories flashed before her. “Your favorite name for me.”

      “I guess I can almost rightfully call you sis, huh?” another voice said. Spoke, but didn’t grab. Didn’t hug. Didn’t touch.

      “This is grown-up Matt, Rea,” Emily spoke beside her, then giggled. “My fiancé and your soon-to-be brother.”

      Reagan turned her face toward Matt’s form. “I’ve heard...all about you.”

      Matt chuckled softly. “I bet you have.”

      “Well hells bells, no one told me the party was going to be in the side yard,” a deep, gravelly voice said. Another shadowy form moved toward Reagan, and she could tell a limp made him wobble a bit as he made his way to the group. Winded, he cleared his throat. “Gotta tell an old man these things, you know. Say, darlin’, can you bake? Not sure if I want any pies baked by a blind girl, but I’ll give anything a try once—”

      “Dad,” Owen chided. “Forgive old Jep, Reagan,” he said. “The years have stolen his manners.”

      Reagan felt caged in. Surrounded by so much unfamiliar familiarity. She wanted to escape. To be alone. “From what I can remember he lost those long ago.” Everyone chuckled around her, and she turned her face toward Jep. The old guy spoke his mind, and she confessed she liked that. At least he wouldn’t tiptoe around her. “Em’s always been the baker. I just...lick the bowl.”

      “Hmm,” Jep remarked. “Suppose I can share a bowl now and then. Still—glad to have another purty girl livin’ beside us. You’re welcome in our home anytime, darlin’.”

      “Thanks,” Reagan replied.

      “You’re welcome. Owen!” Jep called out.

      “Right here, Dad,” Owen said close by. “Come on around back, kids.”

      “Damned hush puppies won’t cook themselves, you know,” Jep added.

      “I know, Dad.”

      “Eric, I’m ready for those shrimp