Chapter 4
Four
The wipers on my black Lincoln Navigator can barely keep up as they sweep back and forth across the windshield. It was sunny and warm all day—the storm came out of nowhere.
Through the rain, in the distance, I see a car parked along the side of the road. Slowing down, I crawl past Beck’s rundown Civic. Peering inside the window, I don’t see any sign of her.
Where did she go? I don’t have to wonder long when I look ahead and see the woman walking along the quiet country road.
When I reach her, I roll down the passenger-side window and slowly drive alongside her.
“Do you want a ride?” I ask.
“No, thank you,” she grumbles as she continues to trudge along. “I only have a little farther to go.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” I huff, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel.
“I don’t want to get your fancy seats wet,” she snarks back without making eye contact.
“Get in the car, Beck,” I demand, quickly swerving around her, pulling the truck to a stop. I watch in the rearview mirror as she contemplates my command. It’s entirely possible she will refuse just to spite me.
She slowly plods forward and opens the door.
Her white T-shirt is plastered across her chest. It has become so transparent that I can see everything underneath.
Jesus. Her hair is stuck to her head, and between her tears earlier and the rain, her artfully applied makeup has almost washed away.
She looks utterly defeated and so damn beautiful.
“Come on, get in,” I soften my voice and coax her gently. “I’ll take you home.”
Reluctantly, she climbs in and pulls the door closed. She has goose bumps running down her arms from getting caught in the downpour. Reaching into the back seat, I grab a hoodie I had left there earlier this week.
“Here, put this on,” I say, handing her the shirt. It will be too big for her, but it will help warm her up and prevent me from staring at her chest like a pervert.
“Thank you,” she mumbles, pulling it over her head.
“No problem. What’s wrong with your car? The same thing as last weekend?”
“I don’t know; I don’t think so. I’m so frustrated,” she sighs, slouching down in the seat, wrapping her arms around her waist. “It was making a strange clunking noise and started smoking. I’ll have to get it to the garage.”
“Did you call Dillon to have it towed in yet?” I ask.
Fishing the phone out of her front pocket, she holds it up. “Battery’s dead. And before you ask why I didn’t charge it, I forgot, okay?”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Okay, maybe I was going to say something. It’s irresponsible to travel alone with a low battery. Anything could happen, like it just did, but she doesn’t need to hear it right now.
Wrinkling her nose, she looks around the car.
Glancing at her and then back to the road, I ask, “What’s wrong? What are you looking for?”
Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Did you pick up Thai food?”
“Yes?” I say slowly.
“Figures,” she snorts, shaking her head.
“What now?” I mutter, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re mad that I bought myself dinner?”
“No,” she grumbles. “I was just craving it.”
She mumbles something else I can’t quite hear as I flip on my turning signal. I go left and follow the winding driveway towards Maggie’s house.
“Up this way.” She points at the Y and directs me away from the house towards the side yard and a tiny trailer.
“You don’t want to go to the house? That’s where I picked you up on Sunday.” I glance at her and then back towards the silver Airstream nestled amongst the tall pine trees. A red picnic table sits out front alongside two lawn chairs.
“Nope,” she says, popping the p as she looks out the window. “I live in the trailer. I was using Aunt Maggie’s kitchen.”
“Can I ask why?” I pull to a stop beside the trailer door.
She shrugs. “May as well get some use out of it.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Turning in my seat, I rest my forearm on the steering wheel and look at her profile.
“It’s a long story,” she whispers as she watches the rain run down the windshield.
Against my better judgement, I say, “I’ve got time. I’ll even share my food with you if you want to tell me.” It’s not like I can go for a run in the rain. It’s only takeout; no big deal.
“Really?” Slowly, she turns her head towards me and gives me an appraising look before saying, “I won’t say no to food; I’m hungry. Come on, then.”
I watch her get out of the truck and run towards the trailer, dodging the puddles in her path. I can’t help but notice how my hoodie hangs over the curve of her hips and down her thighs. Get it together, I admonish myself.
Grabbing the bag of takeout, I quickly follow her inside. Closing the door behind me, I take in Beck’s current living space.
What it lacks in size, it makes up for in charm.
Personal touches and hints about Beck’s life fill every small nook and cranny.
Fairy lights twinkle around the room. I recognize the thriller and true-crime books that fill the custom-made shelving.
A violet blanket and throw pillows rest on the back of a couch.
Black-and-white photos of our friends cover all available wall space.
There is even a picture of me playing pool with Carson.
But what I notice the most is the scent of cherries that fills the air. It’s intoxicating.
“This is not what I was expecting,” I muse, looking around.
“And what exactly were you expecting?” She pushes her wet bangs away from her face and narrows her eyes at me.
“I don’t know—more camping, less tiny house, I guess.” I wave my hand around the room.
“Is that good or bad?” she squints her eyes and asks suspiciously.
“Why do you think the worst of me? I’m not judging you. I’m just surprised at how you turned a trailer into a home.”
“Trust me, it didn’t look like this when I bought it. I had to strip it down and rebuild it.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I say, cocking my head to the side.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but I didn’t learn many useful skills growing up.
When I was at home, we had staff to take care of everything.
There was no way my father would ever have picked up a tool to do something useful, let alone shown me how.
“Let me get out of these wet clothes and I can tell you about it while we eat,” she says as she slips off her shoes with a squelch. “Do you want a towel to dry off?”
“No, I’m good.”
Placing the takeout bag on the table, I take off my jacket and watch Beck retreat behind a red velvet curtain that divides her bed from her compact living space.
I quickly avert my eyes when I see a glimpse of her bare shoulders and back through an opening where the fabric doesn’t quite meet.
This was a bad idea. I should have given her my food and gone home instead of suggesting we share.
“There are plates and cutlery in the cupboard beside the sink,” she calls over her shoulder. “Sorry, I have nothing but water to drink.”
After collecting what we need, I place it all on the table. Sitting down, I quickly shoot off a text to Dillon.
Moments later, she returns wearing grey waffle-knit pyjama bottoms, a form-fitting white long-sleeved shirt, and red fuzzy socks.
She has taken out her braids, and her long black hair now hangs down her back.
She has washed her face clean. I don’t think I have ever seen her without her signature red lips.
Even in her pyjamas, she’s breathtaking.
Being this attracted to her is annoying.
The sound of rain is heavy on the roof when she plops herself down in the seat across from me and gestures expectantly towards the bag. I mumble an apology and begin removing the large containers of pad Thai, Massaman curry, and chicken satay and placing them on the table.
The rich smell of our food is mouthwatering. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
“My God, Ryan, there is so much. Did you really plan on eating all of this yourself?” she asks, spooning rice noodles onto her plate. “It looks like there is enough here for a family of six.”
Shrugging, I reply, “It all sounded good, and I couldn’t choose, so I ordered it all.”
My cooking skills are limited. I try to eat healthy, but a lot of my diet includes frozen meals and takeout. Adding a new restaurant to my weekly rotation is a good thing. Carson regularly pity invites me to his farm for a home-cooked meal and sends home leftovers every time. I’m not going hungry.
“Well, I appreciate you sharing with me.” She peers up from under her long bangs and gives me a sheepish grin. “And for the ride home. Sorry I gave you a hard time.”
Before I can respond, she asks, “Do you think my car will be okay there until I can figure out how to get it towed?”
“I already took care of it,” I say as I fill my plate.
“What do you mean?” She tilts her head and scrunches her forehead. “When?”
“I texted Dillon while you were changing. He said he would pick it up tonight.”
Biting her lip, she hesitates a moment before saying, “You didn’t have to do that but thank you. I’ll have to hitch a ride with Aunt Maggie until I can figure out getting it fixed.”
“Doesn’t she go into town at, like, four thirty in the morning to bake?” Maggie has kitchen and counter staff that work during the day at her bakery, but I know she likes to do the baking herself.
She grimaces before saying, “Beggars can’t be choosers. A ride is a ride. Maybe I will brush up on my kitchen skills.” We make eye contact and chuckle.
“Sure, you can,” I snicker, shaking my head. It’s common knowledge among our friends that Beck is almost as hopeless in the kitchen as I am.
“I’ll pick you up,” I volunteer before I can think about what I am offering. For someone who has been trying to keep his distance from her for years, I’m sure throwing myself in her path a lot today.
“No.” She furrows her brow and shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s not a problem. I drive right past your driveway. Does eight a.m. work for you? It will give me a chance to stop and get a coffee before I head into the office.”
She thinks for a moment before saying, “It definitely beats four thirty. I’ve never willingly gotten up that early. Thanks, Ryan.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes before I ask, “So tell me why you’re living in an Airstream outside your aunt’s house.”
She remains quiet, moving food around her plate. I think she isn’t going to answer when she says, “If I tell you, do you think you can turn off your therapist brain for a minute?”
“It’s the same brain, Beck,” I say, glancing up at her as I continue to eat.
“You know what I mean. I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me.” She sighs loudly before she takes another bite.
“I don’t do that,” I deny. She narrows her eyes at me, holding her fork mid-air. “Okay, I agree.”
“Earlier this year, I bought a new truck and this trailer so Braden and I could travel to the West Coast. It was supposed to be an adventure. Lots of tattoo artists go on the road and host mobile pop-up studios. It looks like a blast, and I’ve always wanted to explore the country.
Considering I have lived in Canada full-time for over a decade, I really haven’t seen much of it.
Anyway,”—she waves a dismissive hand in the air before continuing—“this was my opportunity to do that and meet new people.”
“That sounds like fun.” I sometimes forget Beck has dual citizenship and moved to Emerley around the same time as I did. Possibly because she was barely twenty, and I was already in my thirties trying to start over.
“I thought so.” She takes a drink from her water bottle before continuing.
“I have a large social media following and knew that finding clients wouldn’t be difficult.
Some people were begging me to travel east instead of west. Banks encouraged me to go because it was such a terrific opportunity to build my portfolio.
He said that my chair would still be here for me when I got back.
We stripped the trailer down to the ribs, replaced the wiring, plumbing, gas lines, and insulation.
Then we did the fun things like new flooring, paint, cabinets, and decorating.
” She smiles, clearly proud of her accomplishment.
“You and Braden did all the work together? That’s impressive.”
“God, no,” she chuckles, shaking her head.
“Carson helped with the demo, and Riot helped with the rebuild. Braden wanted the adventure and the opportunity to get out of Emerley, but he did none of the work to make it possible. That right there should have been a giant red flag. Anyway, he was ‘between jobs,’”—she uses her fingers to air quote—“and had nothing holding him here. He assured me he could pick up odd jobs as a day labourer along the way to offset our expenses. Imagine my surprise when I found out Braden had more than odd jobs planned for our trip.”
“What do you mean?” I stop eating and put my fork down.
Sighing loudly, she closes her eyes and raises her head towards the ceiling before meeting my eyes again.
“I bought a new iPad so I could work on tattoo designs while we were driving. When I set it up, I had immediate access to our shared iCloud. I discovered he was making plans to meet a woman he had been talking to online who lives in Alberta. Their text messages made it very clear that they were going to be meeting up for more than coffee. He denied everything, of course. Told me I was making a big deal out of nothing. They were just friends, and I was crazy. He basically gaslit me even though my eyes work fine and I had digital evidence right in front of me.”
“I’m so sorry that happened, Beck.” What an idiot. She may not be right for me, but that guy’s a complete moron if he doesn’t know what he had with a woman like her.
“Yeah.” She lifts both shoulders. “So, that was the final straw. I ended our relationship for good this time and cancelled my cross-country adventure. He threatened to leave without me, but I reminded him who actually owned the truck and trailer. Told him I would report it stolen if he tried to take them out of the county. He wasn’t happy about that.
” She pauses briefly before saying, “Anyway, I had Riot tow the trailer here. I could live in the house with Maggie, but I’m okay out here. For now.”
Before I can think of what to say, she asks, “Did you hear Mrs. Wilson has been pushing her old cat in a baby stroller all over town? Rumour has it she’s not very steady on her feet and needs one of those rolling walkers, but she’s too stubborn to get one. Can you imagine?”
There she goes again, changing the subject to shut down the conversation. Rubbing my jaw with one hand, I say, “There is very little that surprises me in Emerley.”