Chapter Ten
Beckett
“Friends, huh?” Keeley—who is currently drowning in my sweater and looking very cute doing so—tilts her head at me, her long black hair waterfalling over one shoulder.
“Well, I figured that if we’re going to be living next door to each other for the rest of the summer, it might be better to just be friends,” I reply with a grin. “Then maybe you’ll start keeping your clothes on around me.”
Her blue eyes flare and I hold in a laugh. Teasing her is just too fun.
This morning when I woke up (at the crack of dawn, thanks to the jet lag), I lay in bed for a while replaying our conversation on the fire escape.
There’s got to be at least fifty apartments in this building, and I can’t believe that we’ve ended up being next door neighbors. I also can’t believe we are somehow trapped in a small space together again.
But honestly? I can’t say I’m disappointed.
I’m having more fun than I thought I would when I decided to walk around the building and explore its amenities.
Keeley glowers at me. “Maybe we’ll just keep our relationship defined as strangers and leave it at that.”
“Oh no, we are way beyond the point of me being a stranger to you, Keeley Roberts. I know your last name. I’ve met your brother. I also possess the knowledge of what kind of pajamas you wear, what brand of laundry detergent you use, and what color your bath towels are.”
What I don’t mention is that I’m also painfully aware that underneath that sweatshirt of mine she’s wearing there’s a small constellation of three freckles on the left side of her belly button. Which is pierced, to match her nose ring.
A fact I’m definitely not going to dwell on.
Because although Keeley’s pretty and I enjoy her fun, feisty personality, I’m not here in Serendipity Springs to meet women.
Or woman , singular.
Oh, and I also don’t want to sound like a total creep, being her next-door neighbor.
So, there’s that.
“Fine, we can go with creepy stranger,” she says with a smirk. So much for not trying to appear like a creep.
“How about Good Samaritan neighbor who rescued you from spending a night sleeping on the fire escape?” I counter.
“Hmm.” She purses her lips as if in serious thought. “I’ll meet you halfway with creepy neighbor.”
“Handsome neighbor.”
She laughs. “Neighbor.”
It’s my turn to smirk. “Or, circling back for a moment… friends.”
“Fine!” She sighs. “You’re right. I think we might be past the point of not being friends.” She rolls her eyes. “Which is very unfortunate.”
“Lucky, you mean,” I counter with a grin. “For you, of course.”
“I beg to differ. You clearly know so much about me because you’re so obsessed with me.”
“Guilty as charged,” I say blithely.
“So maybe the more important question would be what don’t you know about me?”
“Umm,” I say, making a big show of tapping my chin like I’m deep in thought. “I don’t know what age you are.”
“I’m twenty-five,” she says. “You?”
“Twenty-six.”
She smirks cheekily. “I must say, I expected a much less boring question from you, Becks.”
I like it when she calls me Becks , I decide as I smirk back at her, leaning forward to peer into her eyes. “Well, Keels , because you called my question boring, I’ll have you know that my question was originally going to be about how you ended up with ketchup on your cheek. But I didn’t want to be rude.”
Her hand flies to her cheek, where a thin red line of crusty sauce is lurking. “Oh my gosh, I’m a mess,” she mutters as she scratches it off. Then, she lets out a sigh. “If you must know, I squeezed my breakfast sandwich too hard, and a bunch of ketchup shot out of it.”
This is possibly the last answer I’m expecting, and a laugh slips out of my mouth. “Again with these famous breakfast sandwiches I keep hearing about. But why would you use one as a squeeze toy?”
“It’s a long story.”
I nod at the locked door in front of us. “Judging by our current predicament, I can confidently say I have nothing but time.”
Keeley sighs again, heavily this time. “Okay, we should probably start at the beginning. Do you know much about the history of Serendipity Springs?”
“Not really.”
“Let me enlighten you…” Keeley then goes on to tell me a very colorful, very detailed story about the origins of Serendipity Springs.
Years and years ago, weary travelers stopped here to rest on a long journey and wound up drinking from the springs in the ground. After they drank the spring water, they found they had good luck—sick people were healed, the weather improved, good fortune seemed to follow them. And so, instead of moving onwards, the travelers stayed. Established the town while celebrating the good luck and fortune they’d fallen upon by drinking from the spring.
She finishes the tale and her face creases briefly. “Or, so the legend goes. It’s pretty well-known lore around these parts, but in all honesty, it was probably just a good location. There’s a microclimate of temperate weather here, good soil, free-flowing clean water…”
“Huh,” is all I can manage.
This is the exact type of story my Gran used to tell me, about lore and luck and mysterious happenings in the world, and Keeley’s words—the magic in the tale—are settling over me like a blanket steeped in nostalgia.
I’ve missed this feeling.
“So, what’s this legend got to do with your breakfast?” I ask, eager for her to go on with the story. Eager to keep this feeling close.
“According to a popular story around here, this building—the one we’re sitting in—is supplied with water from that spring. The very one the original settlers of the town drank from.” Keeley frowns down at her hands. “So, some of the more hardcore believers think that The Serendipity has a divine ability to grant its tenants luck. Particularly luck in love.”
“That’s wild,” I say. “It sounds like a lot of the old Irish folklore stories I got told growing up. Do you believe it?”
“Not at all.” She turns her face away for a moment, and when she spins back around, her expression is almost defiant. “But this morning, while I was in the middle of eating my delicious breakfast sandwich, I learned that, in order to get my dream job at my dream publication, I have to write an article on this stupid legend.” She winces. “The last thing I want to think or talk or write about is love .”
I instantly recall Andrew and Lisa outside the elevator. How Keeley’s face fell when she saw them together…
“Because living in the building has done the opposite of giving you luck in love?” I guess gently.
“Exactly.” She barks a laugh.
“That sucks,” I tell her. It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s true.
“Love sucks,” she emphasizes.
This gives me a thought. “So what if you didn’t write about love? What if you take a different angle—explore your belief that these old stories about the building aren’t true?”
She blinks slowly. “That’s… not the worst idea in the world.”
I arch a brow, somehow more amused as her face creases in deep thought. “You’re welcome.”
She glances at me, then rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Beckett,” she sing-songs like a five-year-old whose mother just reminded her to be polite, but she’s clearly hiding a smile.
I have to laugh. “It’s really cool you’re a writer.”
“What do you do for work?”
“I teach music theory, but I give guitar lessons on the side.”
“Explains why you and Ezra hit it off right away.” She lifts her eyes heavenward. “And the guitar case in the elevator.”
“Never leave home without it,” I say cheerfully.
She tilts her head at me. “Do you ever perform?”
“Ah, I used to,” I say with a dry smile. “There was a time I loved performing at the pub in my town. But not so much anymore.”
“Well, if you’re up for it, my friend Nori is hosting an Indie Music Night at Serendipi-Tea in a couple of weeks.”
“I remember seeing the poster for that in Ezra’s shop.”
“Yeah, he’s doing all the sound stuff for the night.”
“And it’s at Serendipi-Tea? Isn’t that the home of those famous breakfast sandwiches you’re always on about?”
“One and the same. Nori needs one more performer, and I’m sure she’d love to have you. It would be a huge favor to her to have the roster rounded out.”
Keeley’s leaning towards me eagerly, the expression on her face open and excited. And although I haven’t performed anywhere, for anyone, for a while now, I find myself saying, “I’ll think about it.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s a clicking noise, and the door to the laundry room swings open.
Andrew’s standing on the other side, a basket heaped high with laundry clutched in his hands.
“What’s going on here?” he sputters as he takes us in, sitting side-by-side on the dryers. Keeley goes a little pale.
“Just hanging out,” I reply coolly. “Waiting for Keeley’s washing to be done.”
“You’ll be here a while, in that case.” He snorts, casting an eye over the washing machine, which still has the lid up. The drum is full of clothes, and I guess that, distracted by our lock-in and our conversation, Keeley forgot to actually turn the thing on.
She begins to slide off the dryer, but I hold up a hand and smile at her.
“Allow me, friend ,” I say grandly and, fully for Andrew’s benefit, I walk to the washing machine, pour in detergent and fabric softener, and start the cycle before turning to wink at Andrew conspiratorially. “Guess Keeley here was so charmed by my scintillating conversational skills that the task at hand was temporarily forgotten.”
“Becks! Enough with the charm thing,” Keeley groans, but she’s laughing, and I’m happy to note that the color has returned to her cheeks.
Andrew studies me like he’s trying to work me out. Almost as if he’s evaluating if I’m a worthy opponent…
Eejit.
In turn, I look at him like he’s a bug that I’m deciding whether or not to flick out of the way.
Apparently, Keeley brings out my protective side.
“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” Andrew says coldly. “I’m Andrew. Becks, was it?”
“You can call me Beckett,” I say pleasantly, and Keeley snorts with sudden laughter. She claps a hand over her mouth, like she’s trying to force the outburst back in.
Andrew’s mouth falls open momentarily before he regains his composure. “I’ll leave you two to your washing . I have a date to get ready for.” He shoots Keeley a pointed look, then turns around and flounces off, full basket of dirty laundry in hand.
We watch his retreating back through the now-open door. But instead of feeling relieved that we are now free from our imprisonment in the laundry room, I just feel irrationally irritated that Andrew interrupted our conversation.
“What an absolute dose,” I say plainly.
Keeley raises a brow. “Dose?”
“A popular term of non-endearment.”
“How delightful.”
“Glad to be of service.”
“Boy, does he seem to hate you, though.”
“He was jealous,” I inform her.
“Doubt it.” She shrugs, her blue eyes hard as they remain on the open doorway. “He broke up with me and moved on to Lisa. He doesn’t care who I talk to.”
“He shouldn’t,” I agree. “But he does.”
Keeley sticks her tongue out at me and I laugh as I bend down to pick up the lid of her detergent, which has rolled beside the washing machine and come to rest against the wall. As I lean in close, I notice that this corner of the wall has ancient, flaking plaster with the carved words “Best friends forever!”
Underneath, there are a bunch of names, and I trace my fingers over them all.
Estelle… Cecelia… Margot…
Noeleen.
“Becks?” Keeley calls, and I stand up so fast, I almost smack my head on a cupboard. “What’re you doing?”
I swallow. Compose myself. “Um, I was just grabbing this for you.” I wave the detergent lid at her.
She assesses me with pursed lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Don’t be silly, Keeley. Ghosts aren’t real,” I say with a distracted smile, repeating the words she teased me with last night.
Noeleen. Could it really be her?
She frowns at me as she hops off the dryer. “Something wrong, Becks?”
“No, no. Nothing.” I clear my throat, my thoughts moving fast. “Just was thinking I might chat with Ezra about the Indie Music Night. Maybe I can help out with sound or something.”
It’s not that I don’t want to tell Keeley what I just saw, it’s more that I have no idea if I’ve stumbled upon anything at all.
Plus, she’s probably keen to get out of this laundry room now that the door is open. It’s hardly an ideal time to start up a conversation about my dead grandmother who once lived in this town.
“I still think you should play. But I’m sure he’d love the extra help.”
“You haven’t heard me sing yet to be making grand statements like that,” I say with a smile.
“If you’re awful, that’ll be all the more entertainment.” She grins.
“It’ll be good craic,” I agree. “With an I-C on the end, for the record, before you start dialing the police.”
“Excellent C-R-A-I-C.” Keeley laughs.
I glance at the open door and give her a salute. “Guess I’d better be on my way. So little time, so much of this building to explore.”
“Sure thing.” Keeley returns my grin. I’m about to turn away and head out the door when she calls out, “Hey, Becks?”
I turn back to her, where she’s scuffing the toe of one of her black Converse sneakers across the cement floor. “Yeah?”
“I’m glad we’re, um, friends now.”
“Me too,” I tell her, and I mean it.
Suddenly, between meeting Keeley, the Indie Music Night, and discovering what could be my Gran’s name on the wall, I feel like my summer in Serendipity Springs might be even more serendipitous than I first thought.