Chapter Three
Scarlett
When Claire Beckett, my coworker at the courthouse, tells me I look like I stepped out of an ad for a paper bag company, I don’t say anything rude. Nothing. I smile at her and walk away. Clunking my way to my desk in my oversized flats.
I’d like to tell her how she looks like she’s been sucking on lemons, but I bottle it. I don’t tell her she’s still dressing like an old millennial.
As usual, she loves getting a rise out of me.
But when work is over, I hurry away from my desk, keeping my eyes focused on my phone, because I don’t want to hear anyone else tearing apart my appearance or fake a cordial goodbye to her.
I speed walk past the desk that’s home to Claire, the meanest woman in Serendipity Springs, then I hurry home, pedaling my trusty bike as fast as I can. I’m so glad it’s spring again so I can bike to work on the nice days.
Fresh air is good for the soul. Especially when I’m angry. I can pedal that bike fast and furious and get home in about half the time it would take to drive there .
When I reach The Serendipity, I park the bike in it’s designated spot, run up the entry steps, and finally make it inside after dropping my keys three times.
A few people stand in the lobby chatting. I purposefully keep my head down and walk straight for the stairs that lead down to my basement apartment. I don’t have the capacity to make small talk this evening.
When I reach my apartment, I promptly pull out my broom and sweep away my frustration.
Some people run to work through anger. I clean.
Claire has belittled me ever since I started working at the courthouse. She started six months before I did and felt threatened by a new hire. I know her insecurities have nothing to do with me personally, but it doesn’t stop her from lashing out at me any chance she gets.
And when she does, I come home and clean. I figure it’s better than ending up on the other side of the courtroom, explaining to the judge why I assaulted another court reporter.
I put away the broom. I feel marginally better.
But not quite there. I reach for the mop, left behind from the last tenant.
For some reason, this mop cleans really well, and the best I can figure out is that it’s an old one, made with better-quality materials. The mophead always seems to stay white, no matter how dirty the floor gets.
And it’s satisfying to watch all the dirt wash away.
I prep my bucket then swirl the mop around in the warm, soapy water. After wringing it out, I scrub vigorously at the stained concrete floor. Each time I push the mop forward, I grunt. I’m going to scrub this floor to a sparkling shade of white, which is impossible because it’s gray. But there’s something so satisfying about cleaning when you’re angry. And it keeps me from saying things. I call it a constructive outlet. And I get a clean apartment out of the deal.
“I wish Claire would have a bad shoe day,” I mutter as I work my way into the kitchen, scrubbing extra hard on the spot where I spilled my bowl of cereal this morning.
My phone chimes, distracting me from imagining Claire’s face where I mop. I lean the mop against the small vintage-style fridge and pick up my phone from where it sits on the island.
It’s a text from my brother.
PHOENIX
Getting tacos for dinner.
It’s so random—and not the usual kind of text Phoenix sends me. He’s more of a get to the point kind of communicator. But today, he’s texting about tacos—something I consider important.
SCARLETT
Thanks for the update. Anything else I should know?
PHOENIX
I bought the extra guac.
He texts me a picture of his plate of tacos with a huge bowl of guac next to it. It makes me almost drool.
I’d ignored his texts the other day when he started asking nosy questions like, ‘are you going on a date this week?’
And maybe he got the message, because this seems like his version of an olive branch.
I text him back right away, leaning against the counter.
SCARLETT
Wish I was there to steal that whole bowl from you.
PHOENIX
It’s so peaceful eating without you.
SCARLETT
Jerk. :) Love you.
PHOENIX
Love you too. Have you seen Wade lately?
SCARLETT
Why do you ask?
PHOENIX
Just worried about him. He doesn’t have anyone to watch out for him now that I’m gone.
The idea that Wade needs someone to watch out for him is laughable. Has Phoenix seen that guy? He probably eats steel for breakfast. His arms have to be registered as weapons with the state.
PHOENIX
He doesn’t have a girlfriend, and he doesn’t have any friends.
SCARLETT
Are we talking about the same Wade? That guy has something going every single day. He’s always with people.
PHOENIX
There’s a difference between being around people and having friends. Just look out for him for me, please?
SCARLETT
Fine.
It’s not like it’ll be a problem. I grew up around Wade, so it’ll be a natural thing to check in on him. Or it will be extremely weird—it’s fifty-fifty at this point.
There’s a knock on my door. And I stare at it in surprise. Why does my body go into fight-or-flight every time someone knocks on my door? It’s like I’m expecting the Big Bad Wolf to huff and puff my door down.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that it’s probably one of my neighbors. Occasionally, one of them will drop by and say hi when they’re down here doing laundry in the basement, which I think is sweet. Obviously, I don’t know everyone who lives in The Serendipity, but I’ve enjoyed meeting a few people. It’s made it feel like a safe, warm environment to live in. I know I can call Steve, the building manager, if there’s a problem, and he’s good about getting requests taken care of in a reasonable time.
The Serendipity might be old, but it is special. There are rumors—whispers more like it—that it could be magical. People are happy here. They find love and good fortune. Serendipity Springs is the town of good fortune thanks to the legend of the good luck springs. But if Serendipity Springs is lucky, then The Serendipity takes that luck and multiplies it.
I’m not actually a superstitious person…but sometimes I wish there was such a thing as magic. Maybe it would help me find someone to love.
The knock sounds again.
Right . I guess I should answer that. Taking a deep breath, I keep my phone in hand and swing open the door.
“Don’t you ask who it is before you answer the door?” Wade greets me as he brushes past. I can smell his laundry detergent as he bumps against me. He kicks off his shoes by the door and walks into the kitchen. He’s never been a shy one, and I guess some things never change.
“Why don’t you just make yourself at home,” I mutter as I glance down at my phone again. A little strange that my brother would have been asking about him so recently…unless he knew he would be stopping by. “What are you doing here?”
I’d just wished the other day that I would see him more. Funny that it’s coming true so soon.
“I was out running errands and figured I’d stop by and see if you’ve changed all your lightbulbs or if you need help,” he says as he folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the island. His eyes land on the mop, and he glances around the apartment. “It’s already spotless in here. What were you cleaning?”
“My soul,” I mutter as I walk past him to pick up the mop.
I carry the mop into the bathroom, rinse it out in the tub, and stand it up to dry.
When I return to the kitchen, Wade is sitting on a bar stool, drinking one of my sodas and checking his phone.
“How much did my brother pay you to come check on me?” I ask as I stand across the island from him.
Wade glances up sharply from his phone. It looks tiny in his big hands, and he sets it on the counter—face down. He probably doesn’t want me to see Phoenix’s name on the screen. “What? No, you’ve got it all wrong. What’s wrong with a guy visiting his best friend’s little sister?”
“Besides the fact that I’ve been a pain in your butt for fifteen years?”
Wade grins. “So you admit to that, do you?”
“I admit nothing. I’m just quoting your own words back to you.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the counter. “Do you want to know what I think?”
Wade pushes his phone farther to the side, folds his hands, and leans forward. We’re eye to eye now, and I’m lost staring into his bright blue ones.
“I’m just dying to know what you think, Scarlett,” he drawls. He does that little half smile that he does when he’s trying to annoy me .
“I think Phoenix asked you—as his best friend—to check in on his little sister.” I narrow my eyes at him and wait for him to tell the truth. Wade opens his mouth—probably to deny it—but I hold up a finger. “Do me the courtesy of not treating me like I’m oblivious.”
His mouth closes slowly as he studies me. “All right. Fair enough. He did.”
“Aha! I knew it. He texted me to ask if I’d seen you.” I look at him shrewdly. “Which means he doesn’t quite trust you to do the job.”
“Are you questioning if I can keep an eye on you, Scooter?” He pulls out my childhood nickname without hesitation—a low blow there.
“Wade, I don’t need someone checking up on me anymore. I’m an adult. I have my own place. I take care of myself.”
“But what if something goes wrong? What if something breaks? Then you would need someone to fix it.” Wade clasps his hands together, and I can’t help but think they are capable hands. Ones that look like they could fix anything that’s broken.
Snapping my eyes back to his face rather than his hands, I scramble to come up with a reply. “I’ll call Steve, the building manager. Or the building owner who lives here,” I reply with a smug smile. “You have better things to do besides checking on me. It takes valuable time out of your day, and it doesn’t pay well.”
Knowing my brother, he’s not paying him anything. It’s most likely a blackmail situation. We Fernsbys like to play hardball.
“Why don’t you want me around, Scooter? Do you have something to hide?” He rubs a hand against the little bit of scruff growing on his face.
“No! Of course not. Why would you think that?” My face heats as I think of trying to hang out with a date and then Wade showing up to sit on the couch with us.
“You live in a dark basement, and you don’t want me here.” Wade leans back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest. His forearm muscles dance as he does it.
I scowl, not liking that I’m taking inventory of Wade’s muscles. “It is not a dark basement.” I point at the light fixtures. “See? I have bright lights.”
He looks around the room with a skeptical eye. “I just think you would be happier somewhere else. Somewhere that’s not a basement.”
“There is nothing wrong with a basement apartment,” I reply firmly, tapping my fingers on the counter. I might rescind my wish about seeing Wade more often. I like him better when he’s not being condescending.
“Yeah, nothing wrong with living in a basement. Only getting trapped if the building catches fire and collapses on you.”
“Good thing I know someone at the local fire department,” I tell him with a wink.
He swallows hard, and I imagine he’s trying not to lose his temper. I’m pretty much a professional at provoking it.
“You are a menace,” he finally grinds out. “How about I do us both a favor and find you a better apartment?”
I lean forward and rest my elbows on the counter. “I would say…that’s very nice of you, and I’m very happy here. I’m not leaving.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I heard the new owner hiked the rent.”
I shrug. “Just a rumor. Some of the other tenants said it’s been the same for years.”
“You’re the only apartment down here. Doesn’t that worry you?” He presses his hand flat on the counter.
I reach out and poke the back of it with my index finger. “Less people to bother me.”
He stares at my index finger resting on the back of his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Annoying you,” I reply with a smile. “Is it working?”
A smile spreads across his face. “Maybe. I’ll admit nothing. Why are you trying to annoy me?”
“Because you’re annoying me,” I say with the same smile on my face.
This time he throws his head back to laugh loudly. “Fair enough. I’ll stop.”
“Okay, good. Now I need to go get my laundry from the laundry room, and then I’ll make us some dinner,” I say as I walk to the front door, swinging it open. “Well, are you coming or not?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Wade follows me to the laundry room. I have the most convenient setup, being located on the same floor as the laundry room, so I don’t even miss having one conveniently in the apartment. And the machines are free to use.
“Since when do you cook dinner?” Wade asks as he leans against one of the dryers while I scoop my load of laundry into the basket I left in front of it.
“I eat dinner every night,” I answer him as I go diving back in to make sure I didn’t leave a sock or pair of underwear behind.
“What are you making for dinner tonight?”
“Why? Did you get any other offers to cook for you?”
“I could always go see what Carson and Ashlyn are eating.” He’s referring to his little brother, who was in my high school graduating class. His wife, Ashlyn, and I are friends, but she’s in a very busy stage of life with a baby and a toddler.
“I hope you don’t surprise her by dropping by. She has a lot of people to feed without surprise company,” I admonish him as I try to hurry and scoop out my chicken underwear before he can see it.
He grimaces. “Good point. She has too much going for me to go annoy her. You on the other hand…”
I bend down to pick up the basket, but Wade beats me to it, holding it in front of his chest. “Okay, what are we having for dinner, then?” he asks as he follows me to the apartment.
I glance back at him and think how oddly domestic this is, Wade just carrying my basket of laundry and me talking about what I’m making for dinner.
I grin. “Lucky Charms.”
His loud laughter fills the basement, and it’s a nice, happy sound. I like it.
Maybe a little too much.