Chapter 5
Chapter Five
BASH
I spend way too much of Monday morning sitting out back by the lake after getting ready for my coffee date with Romilly. The water shimmers and stretches out like a glittering blanket, rippling under every gentle breath of the wind.
It’s inherently peaceful out here, and for that reason, it’s my favorite place to read my Bible.
Or rather, to read verses on my phone in my Bible app.
I’ve already showered, and the wind blows into my nose the smell of the hair products I save for special occasions, now that I can’t afford to buy more once they run out. I even ironed my clothes for the day.
I feel like I’m a teenager again.
What is it about this woman that makes me want to impress her so badly?
I have no idea. I don’t even know her. But maybe after having coffee with her today, I’ll finally be able to move on and think about something else.
Like finding sponsors, getting into a gym so I can properly prepare for my next fight, or figuring out how I’m going to fund my ridiculously expensive car repairs.
Anything that doesn’t involve asking my parents for help.
When I glance back at my phone to continue reading, a verse I’ve seen many times before stands out at me.
“He replied, “Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”
–Matthew 17:20
The tension in my body eases as I read it over and over. Though my financial situation has been causing me stress, this was exactly the reminder I needed to have more faith in God’s goodness and power.
By the time noon arrives, I look in the mirror and realize I’ve given every past version of myself a run for his money—my overgrown blond hair is combed and gelled in place, with only a few tendrils escaping at the front.
I know for a fact the white button-up and light wash jeans I’m wearing bring out my eyes, and my most pricey, unused cologne clings to my skin in a way I know would drive most women mad.
Even Ingrid notices when I enter the living room. She sniffs the air from her spot on the sofa. “What smells lovely?” she murmurs.
I point to myself. “That would be me.”
“Ew.” She wrinkles her nose. “Never mind.”
“Oh, come on, sis.” I plop down on the loveseat adjacent to where she’s sitting.
The stone fireplace is lit below the TV in front of us, which is currently playing a cooking show.
I want to laugh because I doubt Ingrid will find a way to make something edible out of the scarce ingredients we’ve been buying.
“If you think I smell lovely, I can only hope Romilly agrees.”
She frowns. “Romilly? What’s a Romilly?”
“Romilly is a she, not a what. And I’m meeting her for coffee in less than an hour.”
She snorts. “Well if she has any sense, she’ll stay away from you.” Thankfully, Ingrid isn’t referring to the untrue rumors back home about me being a womanizer. She’s just giving me a hard time because, well, she’s my little sister.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t have any sense, then. What a disappointment that would be.”
“Ah.” Ingrid’s face brightens. She stands and walks to the kitchen island a few feet away and picks up an envelope. “Speaking of disappointments, look who wrote us.” She waves the envelope in the air before handing it to me.
I scan the name in the upper left-hand corner.
Mr. and Mrs. Black .
My gaze darts to Ingrid’s face. “Mum and Dad wrote us?”
She shrugs, though I note the tension in her shoulders. “Open it, will you? I’ve been waiting all morning while you gussied up.”
I ignore the jab and tear the envelope open. Inside is a folded note with a check for ten thousand dollars. The note reads:
Ingrid,
Please stop this foolishness and leave Sebastian be. He’ll never learn his lesson otherwise. Come home. And share this with your brother so the two of you don’t starve.
Love,
Mum and Dad
I resist the urge to tear the check in two, because who am I kidding?
Ten thousand is enough for us to comfortably live how we used to for a month or two.
And Mum knows it. She’s probably counting on this check to remind us what we could have if I withdraw from Munera, come home, and let her take control of our lives again.
I’m about to tell Ingrid what the letter says, but she’s already at my shoulder, scanning Mother’s words herself and scoffing when she sees the check.
“As if we need that. Get rid of it.” She stomps off, making for the stairs.
“Ingrid.”
Halfway up, she pauses, turning to me.
“You can go home if you want. I won’t hate you for it.”
Her icy gaze softens. “I’m not going anywhere.
Otherwise I would have, like, as soon as we couldn’t afford to buy the nice cheese anymore.
And you’d better learn something from that.
” She gestures to the cooking channel still playing.
“Because it’s about time you learned how to be good at something other than smashing people’s faces in. ”
I crack a smile. “Love you, too, sis.”
She continues upstairs and I glance at my phone. My pulse quickens when I see the text from her:
Hi Sebastian, this is Romilly. Meet me at Old Joe’s on Apple Street?
When I don’t respond right away, another message from her comes through:
Unless you’d rather reschedule because that’s totally fine with me
I quickly respond.
Me
No, that’s perfect. I’ll be there soon.
I give myself a once-over in the entryway mirror, making sure I still look irresistible.
Then I tuck the Bible I snagged from Harvest Valley yesterday under my arm and grip my parents’ monetary peace offering in both hands.
As tempted as I am to stock up on protein powder, get my car fixed, or start a membership at a gym for training, Ingrid’s right.
No more. We don’t need their money, not a dime.
But that also means no more messing around. No more letting Ingrid carry the weight of our food budget and utilities while I sulk about my situation. It’s time for me to contribute.
I’m trusting you, God, I pray. I’m leaving everything in your hands now.
And then I tear the check to pieces.
There’s no going back now .
On the corner of a quiet brick street, across the gazebo by town hall, Old Joe’s Diner comes into view looking like it’s been pulled straight out of a postcard. Ivy trails down its striped green and white awning, and a chalkboard sign out front advertises fresh pastries and maple lavender lattes.
I find Romilly already seated among one of the mismatched tables sprinkled throughout the diner when I enter, and momentarily pause when my stomach growls, thanks to the scent of pumpkin spice, freshly-baked goods, and espresso mingling in the air with the clinking of steaming coffee mugs.
I can only hope my cologne is effectively drowning out the smell of the cigarette I just smoked, because I’d hate to ruin the mouthwatering aroma drifting around this space.
I take in Romilly before she has a chance to notice me. She’s wearing a fitted beige turtle-neck that hugs every curve of her torso. The front pieces of her long, black hair are twisted back and secured behind her head. Her face is tilted down as she reads something, probably the menu.
The worn wooden floors creak beneath as I make my way over to the corner table she’s at. When a full three seconds pass without her noticing I’ve slid into the seat across hers, I frown. How could someone as beautiful as her be so unaware of her surroundings? It’s not safe.
And then she blinks like she’s been abruptly woken up from a long sleep. It’s really cute. I try not to smile and fail.
“Sebastian, you’re here. Already.”
I raise a brow. “Try not to sound so excited.”
She laughs. “Sorry. I’m just surprised. I was distracted, reading this.” She gestures to a thick, open tome which could only be her Bible.
“Ah, right. Speaking of which…” I plop mine onto the table between us. The thud makes our salt and pepper shakers rattle.
“Is that…” Her eyes scan the text on the front. Property of Harvest Valley Church. “Did you steal this from my church?”
I shrug. “You told me to bring a Bible.” I slap my hand on the cover. “Bible. Brought by me.”
“ Thou shall not steal, Bash.” The words are playful, endearing. I expected her to be angry, but she even giggles.
It makes my teasing grin grow wider. “I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.”
“You should have told me you needed one.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll get it back. I promise.”
She smiles. “I’m not worried. I’m totally kidding. They’d probably be thrilled you took it, especially since you don’t have one.”
“Oh, I have one. But it’s back in Woolahara where I’m from.”
She tilts her head sideways. “Where’s that?”
“In Australia, near Sydney.” There’s a part of me that can’t believe we’re actually seated together at this tiny café in Meadow Hills.
Like before, the pull I feel toward her is impossible to ignore, and the easy conversation flowing between us makes me more comfortable than I’ve been since my parents left me in Maine.
“This place is nice. I’ve never been here before. ”
Her eyes get insanely wide. “Old Joe’s? You’re kidding. How is that possible?”
Her shocked expression makes me chuckle.
“I’m typically only in town during summer—well, your summer—on business.
And my family does most of their dealings in Portland.
They don’t tend to spend much time at…smaller venues.
” I clear my throat because the truth is that they’d never come to a tiny little diner like this when they could find something more upscale and notable out of town. And that truth makes me uncomfortable.
Romilly shrugs. “Well, they’re missing out. And it’s an honor to be part of the reason you’re here for the first time.”