Chapter 31
thirty-one
Mateo
By five a.m., I’ve polished off a pre-workout shake and I’m headed out for a run. I hit every corner of this town. The day is perfect; it’s chilly, but the air is clean and clear. The weekend should be sunny, meaning the days won’t be too cold.
The leaves are a mix of red, yellow, and brown.
They fall to the ground, and as I run over them, they make a satisfying crunch.
This is fucking picturesque. This is movie shit.
This is it. I just need to get to the part where I show up, defeat that dipshit, and prove to Nessa this was never fake for me.
I’ve seen more than my fair share of romcoms. I can be the hero in this story.
Clearly my endorphins have kicked in, washing away last Sunday’s fears.
Nessa is okay. We’ve spent every night this week together, and I’ve even managed to keep my hands to myself. Mostly. I want her to know I’m here for more than just her amazing tits or the way she sasses me.
I’m here to show her the same kind of compassion and care she shows others.
Mom promised to light a candle for me at church, and I’m trusting that everything will work out. This morning routine feels like that pump-up scene in Rocky . Maybe I should have added “Eye of the Tiger” to my workout playlist.
This is my time to shine, in the movie of life, I’m about to be the down-on-his-luck hometown jock who returns and shows them all.
I’m more than they believe I am.
I am going to defeat this nepo-baby, save the town, and win the heart of the woman I love.
This is going to be an epic weekend.
I repeat these phrases throughout the run, throughout my post-workout shake, during my shower, and as I get dressed.
I return to the town center—making it here before Nessa for our seven-a.m. pre-kick off meeting; score —and stroll all four sides of the square, assessing the work.
The town business owners have outdone themselves.
Every lamp post is decorated with a scarecrow or corn stalks.
The doors are flanked by flowers or pumpkins, some even have both.
There are even mini apple trees in pots lining the path to The Featherweight.
I pull my phone from my pocket, set on texting River a compliment, but stop mid-message when he and Lily step outside.
The front lawn has the usual eclectic mix of seating arrangements. Each is decorated by lanterns with flameless candles, fall flowers, and mini pumpkins. We wave, then they return to unloading fall-themed pillows and throw blankets onto the porch rockers and swing.
“This is making me wish there was a prize for the most festive business,” I call.
They high-five, though when River lowers his arm, his hand goes straight to her butt and his mouth goes to hers.
I turn, giving them privacy, and continue on. I’m pumped. This festival is going to be my legacy, and that legacy is entwined with that of my girl.
At Curl Up & Dye, the young Salvatore ladies add large faux scissors to their planters. In the window, there’s even a pair of gold skeletons in chairs wearing wigs. The first has its hair rollers in, and the other is wearing some sort of glittery spider clip updo.
“Amazing work, ladies!” I call out.
“Better than River?” Chiara teases me.
Inside Pages, Pippa is behind the counter. I stride up to the door and knock.
She jumps, but when she catches sight of me, she breaks into a smile and scurries over and unlocks the door.
We hug and catch up briefly. She mentions that they plan to bring out a few carts of books, which is why their portion of the sidewalk is sparse for now.
While I’m here, I offer to help haul boxes out front, since Seth has yet to appear.
While we work, she tells me about how she’s hoping to step back from the store, but mentions that Seth is trying to convince her not to.
I agree with her. He’s ready to take over. He just needs to have more faith in himself. Maybe Liam and I should include him in a guys night soon.
Next door, outside Rosie’s, a series of baskets creates a wraparound fixture to the window.
They are stuffed full of fall blooms the colors of a vibrant sunrise like the one I saw during my run: wine red, fuchsia, bright red-orange, and saffron yellow.
Each basket has its own big bush of blooms that doesn’t move despite the topsy-turvy design.
They all lead to an enormous silk sunflower, like the sun within the sky of color.
“Whoa.” I say, letting the final sound linger.
“Right? It’s a masterpiece,” the rockabilly woman covered in patchwork tattoos says, holding a hand toward me. “Millie.”
“Mateo.” I accept the greeting. “You the new florist?”
At the scuff of the wheels from a library cart along the sidewalk, Millie beams. “Good morning, sugar.”
“Good morning, Mildred.” Seth grunts in return.
With a laugh, I shake my head.
“I’m Rosie’s great-niece. I just moved in. Is everybody in town this friendly? I met a few women last night at The Featherweight. Damn, I haven’t been this hungover in a while,” she says with a light laugh.
I grin. “So you met my?—”
“Nessa,” she chirps waving past me.
And there she is. Long golden curls flowing and a surprising look of exhaustion behind her eyes.
“What did your roommate put in those drinks last night?” Millie asks.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say, leaning down to kiss her.
When Nessa turns her head, the first thing I notice are her puffy eyes. She looks like she hasn’t slept, and she’s nursing a sports drink.
“Ah, so you’re that Mateo,” Millie says, eyes twinkling. “Also, ow. My head.”
“Everything looks great. Should we introduce her to Goldie?” I ask Nessa.
Turning back to Millie I say, “she’s the barista at the Coffee Crumb.”
Nessa’s weird and distant this morning, but I’m going to chalk it up to the hangover. There’s nothing else that would make sense.
Eyes narrowed, she gives me a once-over. “Maybe you’ve already had too much coffee. You seem really fucking chipper.” She sighs and sidesteps me, lowering her sunglasses.
What the fuck?
From the moment we stepped into the coffee shop, everything went sideways.
First, I spilled an entire container of milk from the coffee fixings bar.
Then, in the middle of our introductions and dividing up the day’s work, Nessa disappeared.
When she came back, I didn’t have the heart to tell her she still smelled like the contents of her stomach.
I offered her a stick of gum, which earned a glare.
Though the expression faded quickly, and she turned green again.
Watching Nessa nurse a water bottle while picking her nails clued me in that something more than a hangover was happening, I just wasn’t sure what.
Not knowing what else to do, I texted Liam to come take a look at her.
She was angry when he arrived, and even more so when he instructed her to go home, but she gave in quickly in the end.
Once she left, the tides turned, and the day went well. Everyone I encountered greeted me with a smile. They talked about their crafts and goods with potential clients and passed out samples.
I don’t mean to brag, but it was a well-oiled machine made up of townies and visitors eating, mingling, and shopping.
They say when a black cat crosses your path it’s bad luck, but what if it’s a woman with black cat attitude?
When Nessa returned later in the afternoon, freshly showered and stunning, it felt like she knocked the wind right out of me. That tiny butterfly effect was enough to shift everything—and the literal winds picked up.
Now, tent flaps blow around like crazy. Vendors close down booths quickly and abandon their tables.
I’m surveying the street, working on where to go from here, when the first thin gray-blue clouds roll in fast and heavy.
What starts as a fine mist turns dark as night. The rain picks up, and the wind swirls as I help person after person pack up. Volunteers abandon their posts and before long, seek shelter, making me wish I was an octopus so I’d have more arms.
When we get to a place where we can stop, we leave empty tables and heavier equipment that won’t be ruined if left out and lead our remaining volunteers into Lily’s studio. I send Nessa back home, hoping some more rest will revive her spirits both mentally and physically.
Lily and I do our best to account for everyone, but the chaos makes it hard to know who’s missing. Over and over, we ask that volunteers check in with their shift partners so we can ensure everyone is safe.
After several minutes, one of the members of the volleyball team yells, “Who was getting the key to let the athletes out of the stocks?”
My heart plummets and Lily’s face goes white. Shit. There are two teenagers still locked in the stocks. Our town loves to use the stocks for sports fundraisers during the festival. I yank the radio Liam supplied from my belt and ask him to help locate Prudence, who should have the keys.
He and the other guys on shift arrive in minutes, sirens blaring, since the station is just down the street. They’re dressed in their turnout gear, and Liam carries an axe.
In a matter of seconds, he knocks the lock from the stock, freeing the kids.
Around us, the teens are laughing and recording the commotion as their teammates are rescued.
Lily waves at Liam, and when he lowers his axe, she approaches and asks for a turn. After a quick lesson from him, she chops off a piece of the old stockade and raises it above her head triumphantly. “As a council member, I hereby promise we will never rebuild these things!”
A few folks cheer, though far more wear confused looks, and many dash to their cars to head home. Once everyone is cleared out, I do the same.
I popped into my parents’ house and bummed a container of homemade soup my mom had stored in the freezer.
She also let me raid her pantry, so I stocked up on all the comfort foods I like when I don’t feel well, then I headed to Nessa’s place.
I knocked and rang the bell, but nobody answered, so I left the food on the covered front stoop and sent her and Delia each a text about it.
Now, I’m sitting on the ridiculous blue plaid couch at Stef’s, flipping channels. Every time I come to a family sitcom from my childhood I see some version of this damn couch.
“Stef, tomorrow I am throwing out this fucking couch. It looks like it belongs in one of these reruns.”
Across the room Lee gives me a worried look. She doesn’t speak or even look up.
“What’s with her?” I mouth to my brother-in-law.
“Midterms,” he says like it explains it all.
“How are your studies going?” I ask him.
“I’m almost ready for skin. Just need a volunteer.”
A volunteer, huh? Hmm. “I might be able to help,” I say.