Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Rachel
Waking up in the trailer was so much less cozy than being at Kell’s.
And she missed Calamine, too. Who knew a cat could provide so much warmth to cold feet?
Yesterday had been one of the best days she’d had in the last five years, hands down, as insane as that sounded when she thought it.
“You’re boring, Rachel. Get a life,” she said aloud.
That was just it, though: Here in Love You, Maine, she felt like she was getting a life.
A life she was starting to like a little too much.
Kell’s mixed signals confused her, but she was absolutely sure he was as attracted to her as she was to him, and that they were headed in only one direction when it came to physical intimacy.
Sex was on the table.
And in the bed. And on the couch. Maybe on the kitchen counter…
Coming so close but holding back was turning her into one big hormone, and she didn’t have the bandwidth.
Her mind was full enough with worrying about being fired, juggling bad internet and a high-stress job, keeping squirrels out of her trailer, and trying to figure out how much time to spend in Kell’s apartment without intruding.
That’s why she wanted to help him with his business. To pay him back. To give something of value to him.
To help him.
Why had he turned cold last night when she’d brought it up again? The first time she offered to help him if he helped her he didn’t really respond, so she’d assumed he hadn’t heard. The request seemed friendly. Mutually beneficial.
An even exchange.
Then why did it feel like she’d offended him somehow?
Shaking it off, she made herself a mediocre cup of coffee in the trailer’s machine and covered herself with the comforter from the bottom bunk. Then she opened her computer. Three bars appeared on the Wi-Fi.
Hooray! Enough to read and respond to her morning email, which was last night’s email from the West Coast. Working three hours ahead had its positives.
Checking her texts first, she found one from Dani, also from last night: Filed a claim with the rental car agency. The customer service rep had to find a manager to help with the right code for moose attack.
A simple LOL was all Rachel could muster.
Another text came in, right on top of hers.
Hope you don’t mind, the text read from a number she didn’t recognize, though it had a Maine area code. Got your phone number from Kell Luview. If you have more information about that electronic trolley idea, I’d like to hear it. Tom.
Tom? Wait–the town manager? He was serious?
Rachel turned to her computer and ran a few internet searches, finding what she needed.
Writing her ideas into a short document came naturally, the bullet points formatted quickly, with a few links directing Tom to the basics.
Gathering details and creating a big picture was intuitive for her, as easy as organizing Kell’s business for him.
Why not do something that took her a very short time in a flow state, when it could be miserable or difficult for another person?
What’s your email address, Tom? she asked. I’ll send you an executive summary.
He replied with the address, and twenty seconds later, it was sent.
Done! she replied.
Thank you!
And that was that.
Except nothing felt settled when she didn’t know what was bothering Kell, and her growing confusion only added to the sense that it was time to talk to him.
Really talk.
Lay all the cards on the table and make some decisions. The kisses, the affection, the maybe-sorta-kinda-not-sure moments were thrilling, agonizing, sweet, and emotionally fulfilling, but they were also pinging far more serious pieces of herself.
It was time for clarity.
Using her phone to make an actual call, she dialed Kell’s number. To her surprise, he answered.
“Hey, Rachel. What’s up?”
“Can we talk?”
“We are talking.”
“No, Kell. I mean… talk.”
“I’m in a work truck with Dad on my way to a job. Can it wait until later?”
“Oh. Sure. No problem.”
“You’re working at my apartment?”
“Headed over there now. Need anything from the store?”
“You going to Kendrill’s?”
“That’s the market near Bilbee’s, right? I can.”
“There’s Kendrill’s Market, and there are two gas stations with convenience stores attached. When you say ‘need anything from the store,’ I assume Kendrill’s.”
“Then Kendrill’s it is.”
“There’s no milk for coffee if you want any. Ran out.”
“Anything else? Bread? Butter? Eggs? Bananas?”
“Why did you just name my typical breakfast?”
“Because that’s most people’s typical breakfast, Kell.”
“I don’t need a ton of groceries. Milk and bananas work. There’s cash in the top left-hand drawer of my desk.”
“It’s on me. I’ve been drinking up all your coffee and milk, anyhow.”
Silence greeted her. Had she angered him?
Then she realized the call had been dropped. He must have gone out of service. Or…
She had no bars. She’d been on the wireless network, which meant internet was out again.
“Fine,” she said, easing herself up out of the small chair, looking around the trailer she’d now spent four nights in, wondering when she’d adjusted to this.
Make no mistake–she didn’t want to stay in this little chicken coop any longer than needed, but she’d adapted. There were worse places to sleep.
Like her car.
Rachel packed up her bag, put on what felt like five layers of clothing, and walked to her car, the sky a dark gray that made her wonder if snow was coming.
Again.
Kendrill’s market was so close to Bilbee’s tavern that it would be easiest to park there, then walk. As she reached the first stoplight for town, her phone suddenly buzzed, playing catchup from not having Internet or cell service.
What now?
It would have to wait until she was done at Kendrill’s.
Zipping up her ski jacket, she walked with purpose to the market, a blast of hot air hitting her as she entered. To her right, the stack of heart-shaped plastic shopping baskets looked at her expectantly, as if begging her to shop.
The second she reached for one, a woman shouted, “RACHEL HART!” in a tone that said she was about to get chewed out again.
Turning, she was shocked to find Deanna Luview staring at her like she was angry. Normally kind and loving, Deanna seemed so different when she was, well…
Yelling at her.
“Hi, Deanna.”
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“I, uh–you’re upset about what I said over the PA address, aren’t you?”
“That? No!” Deanna looked Rachel up and down with disapproval. “How could you leave the house looking like that?”
“Like… uh–I showered. Should I be dressed up for something? Did I miss a meeting?”
Deanna leaned in, her lips going close to Rachel’s ear. “You are wearing yellow and gray.”
“What?”
“You’re wearing yellow and gray five days before Valentine’s Day, in a town where you have to wear white, red, or pink.”
“Oh, come on,” Rachel laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“Are you ready to be pinched?” Unwinding a long red scarf from her neck, Deanna wrapped it around Rachel, carefully covering her shirt collar. “There. Whew. Crisis averted.”
“You’re serious?”
“Of course I am!”
Rachel just blinked at her. Deanna stared back.
“I didn’t think there was an actual dress code.”
“Kell didn’t tell you?”
“Colleen mentioned it. At the ER. I thought she was joking when she said I’d get pinched for wearing anything that wasn’t red, white, or pink.”
“Absolutely not joking, and pinching is the least of it. During February, the Love Committee is very strict about it.”
“Even tourists? Because I’m not a townie.”
“Everyone!”
“You run around verbally chiding tourists? That’s a fast way to lose business.”
“I don’t have to. Look around. You’re the only person in the store not following the rules. People come here to immerse themselves in the theme, not to buck it.”
As Rachel looked around, she saw that Deanna was right. Every single person was wearing some mixture or accent of red, white, or pink.
“You have that beautiful red coat. Wear that from now on.” She sniffed at the gray ski jacket.
“Deanna,” she said softly, “this is over the top.”
“Love You, Maine, is over the top, Rachel. That’s the point.
People don’t come here for reality. They come for a fantasy.
And we give it to them–dip in the hot springs and find true love.
Walk around a quaint village devoted to love.
Your eyes see only hearts, the colors of love, and happy, smiling people.
We’re love on steroids, and that’s why we draw so many tourists every year. They come for a feeling.”
Deanna’s words sank in, triggering too many contradictory thoughts. A dress code was stupid, and she knew Deanna wasn’t mad at her, but her reaction was definitely unsettling.
“Are you really mad at me for wearing yellow and gray?”
“Mad? No! But,” she said, leaning in, “I’m protecting you.”
“Protecting me?”
“After the hot mic incident.”
“Half the town hates me.”
“Exactly. So,” she said, adjusting the scarf over Rachel’s collar, “give them less ammunition.”
“Oh!” Now Rachel understood. “Got it.” It wasn’t that Deanna ran around accosting random people wearing the “wrong” colors. She was looking out for Rachel.
She cared. She had Rachel’s back.
“I want you to fit in here, Rachel. A lot of people are still mad at you, but you’re turning others around.”
“I am?”
“Anne Petrinelli’s husband was the town clerk. She’s one of the biggest supporters of the town, and she said she thought you shouldn’t have done what you did, but you were nicer than she expected. Even Nadine changed her opinion of you, and that takes quite an effort.”
“I didn’t do anything special. Just talked to them. Told them my ideas.”
“Reef is offering ground vanilla for coffees now and all the teenagers are abuzz about it. Makes them feel sophisticated.” She smiled.
“I know. He seemed… disgruntled when I asked about it, though.”
Deanna chuckled, sliding her arm in Rachel’s, steering them toward the produce. “That’s Reef. He’s skeptical about everything. Nice enough guy, if you get past that.”