Chapter 17
Seventeen
“What do you mean you don’t own a coffee pot?” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Look around.” Her arms are outstretched wide as she spins in a slow circle. “Do you think I’m going to sacrifice space for a fucking coffee pot when Aunt Maggie has an amazing bakery in town that serves excellent coffee? Be for real.”
Narrowing my eyes, I grumble, “Lose the attitude, Trouble. It was just a question.”
“Lose the tone, Pretty Boy, and you will get less attitude.” She scowls, sitting down cross-legged on her couch, pulling a blanket over her legs. “It’s not my fault you are miserable until you’ve had your first coffee.”
“You’re right,” I concede, leaning back against the counter. “Since you are in no condition to be going anywhere, how about I drive into the village and get us both one?”
“You don’t have to do that,” she mumbles with a furrowed brow. “I’m feeling much better this morning.”
“I’m glad you feel better, but you had a high fever less than twelve hours ago. And you kept waking up coughing in the night. I think you need at least one more day of rest. What do you say? Do you want a coffee?”
“Fine,” she pouts. “But if you are going to the bakery, I want a cupcake too. Consider it payment for your grumpiness.”
“Deal,” I snort and shake my head. “Do you need me to pick up anything else while I’m out?”
“No, I’m pretty sure you covered anything I could possibly need with your late-night delivery.” Raising an eyebrow, she gestures to the obscene amount of cold and flu supplies lined up on the table.
“Except for a coffee pot,” I deadpan.
“Yeah, except that.” She tries to suppress her giggle.
Grabbing a new burgundy hoodie out of a shopping bag, I remove the tags before pulling it over my head. I’m very grateful that Vaughan had the foresight to buy essentials for me as well. I couldn’t think of anything but her.
“That’s a nice colour on you,” she muses before taking a sip from her water bottle.
I glance down at my shirt and then back up at her. “Huh?”
“Jewel tones look good on you. I’ve noticed that before.” She shrugs as she plays with the edge of the blanket.
“Oh, thanks?” I furrow my brows. It’s just a shirt. Sitting down beside her, I put on new socks and shoes.
“Do you do that a lot?” she asks quietly.
“Do what?” I ask, as I continue lacing up a shoe.
“Snap your fingers and have things delivered to Emerley in the middle of the night?” She raises a hand and snaps her fingers as she says it.
Sitting up, I meet her bright blue eyes. “No.” I shake my head. “Last night was an exception.” I mean, I could, but I never have.
“Because I was sick?” she asks, nibbling on her bottom lip. The colour has returned to her cheeks, but I can tell she’s still tired.
“Yes.” Shifting in my seat to face her, I say, “I didn’t do anything last night that I didn’t want to.
I told you I wanted to take care of you, and I did.
And I’m going to continue to take care of you.
” When she opens her mouth to interrupt, I gently touch two fingers to her lips.
“Please,” I say softly, “let me do this.”
She must see something in my eyes because she nods her head in silent agreement—then she licks my finger. And just like that, the tension is gone.
“You’re gross,” I say in mock disgust, wiping my fingers on her pyjama top.
“That’s not what you thought this morning when you were wrapped around me like an octopus. I could barely breathe, and it wasn’t from this stupid cold.” She laughs, leaning into me.
Rolling my eyes, I stand. “That’s it, I’m leaving before you can make fun of me further.” Bending, I kiss her on the top of her head. “I won’t be gone long. If you can think of anything else you need, text me.”
“Go get your coffee, Pretty Boy. I’ll be fine.” She brushes me off before curling up in her blanket.
With one last quick scan, I make sure she has everything she may need while I’m gone.
Jogging down the stairs with my keys in my hand, I glance up and see Maggie standing on her front porch smiling.
She waves before turning and going back inside.
Should I worry about the optics of this?
I don’t think so. Maggie is the one who sent me here.
Sure, I spent the night, but I was only helping my sick…
friend. Yes, I can confidently say she is my friend.
A friend I can’t stop touching. A friend that I have slept beside and woken up hard as a rock twice. A friend who makes me feel things I’m completely unprepared to feel. But still only a friend.
Getting into the truck, I let out a heavy sigh before starting the engine.
The drive from her trailer to town feels like second nature now, but my thoughts keep circling to the same question.
When did our relationship change? Was it at The Riff when she fit so perfectly in my arms while we slow-danced?
Or the afternoon I picked her up soaking wet in the rain?
Or was it even before that? Was it one of those nights we were out with our friends when I secretly wished it was me she was laughing with?
Flirting with? I have dedicated years to learning how to deal with my emotions, and I’m professionally trained to help clients work through theirs. But with Beck, I’m lost.
Impulsively, I decide to make a quick detour into the hardware store before going to the bakery. Everyone needs a coffee pot. I know she said she doesn’t have the space, but maybe a single-serving one will work. She will either love it or hate it.
Like many businesses in Emerley, McDonald’s Hardware has been in the family for generations.
Four generations, if the pictures on the wall above the till are to be believed.
If they don’t have something in stock, they will order it without a fuss.
Anything to keep people from clicking “add to cart” online.
The bell over the door gives a quick ring as I step inside. The youngest McDonald daughter looks up from the magazine she is flipping through and smiles.
“Good morning, Mr. Sampson,” she says cheerfully, standing a little straighter.
“Good morning, Violet. Can you point me towards the aisle with the coffee makers?”
“Aisle three, near the end, on the right. Do you need me to help you find anything?” she asks.
“No, I’ve got it. Thank you.”
Slipping past the seasonal items and around a display of paint, I find aisle three and the coffee makers right where she said they would be.
Scouring the limited selection, I think I’ve found the perfect model. Picking it up, I spin it around in my hands and read—a single-serving hot and ice coffee machine. Ready in three minutes. Perfect. I know she likes iced coffee, and lucky for me, they also carry a variety of pods.
After paying, I step out into the crisp autumn air and see my friends gathered beside my truck.
“So, this is what we do now. Just hang out in random parking lots first thing in the morning?” I ask as I join them.
“Hey, man. Where were you last night? I stopped by your place around eight and you weren’t home,” Carson asks, leaning up against the side of his truck.
“Oh. Ah,” I stumble on my words. “I had stopped at the bakery, and Maggie asked me to drop off some things for Beck on my way home.” I have no reason to lie to them, and it really isn’t that big of a deal.
“How’s she feeling? Claire told me you called, and that you were worried about her. Is she okay?” Riot asks. His furrowed brow tells me he’s concerned.
“Hannah and I were going to go over to check on her, but Claire said you had it handled,” Logan tells me.
“I have no idea what’s going on.” Dillon stands there, with his feet planted and arms crossed, waiting for my answer.
Carson’s head turns slowly and meets my eyes. “Well?” he prompts.
“She had a cough and a high fever last night.” Shifting the bags to one hand, I open my back door and place them inside on the floor before saying, “She says she’s feeling better this morning, though.”
“So what? You called to check on her?” Dillon narrows his eyes and raises his chin.
“No, I was there,” I mumble, shoving my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. I don’t know why I’m being so awkward. I am simply supporting our mutual friend.
“You stopped in this morning,” Logan clarifies, narrowing his eyes. They have only worked together a short time, but they have become fast friends, and I know he feels protective of her. To be fair, they all look out for her.
“No, I spent the night.” When all their eyes widen, I hurry to say, “She was really sick, guys. She shouldn’t have been there alone.”
When nobody says anything, I look at each of them standing in a semicircle around me. “What? Do you think I should have left her? She was sick.”
“No, I’m glad you stayed. Ben and Claire were both sick last week.
He bounced back way quicker than she did.
She was in bed for a couple of days,” Riot reflects.
No one needs to ask; we all know he was the one there taking care of them both.
It’s obvious to everyone except Claire how much he cares for her.
“Hannah and I clocked this weeks ago.” Logan shakes his head with a chuckle.
“What?” I ask, twisting my watch back and forth on my wrist.
“You have feelings for her,” he says with an easy grin.
Rubbing my hand across the scruff on my jaw, I reply, “I wouldn’t say that, but we’ve become better friends recently.”
Across the row of parked cars, I hear a horn beeping repeatedly. We all look around to see where it’s coming from. Dillon drops his head and mutters, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is his problem now?”
Carson raises his hand in the air at the elderly man. “Hi, Harold. How are you?”
Ignoring him, Harold leans out the window and yells, “Hurry up, Dillon. Quit standing around and talking about your feelings; it’s time to go home.”
“Seriously? He was the one who demanded to come with me, and I haven’t even gotten what I need yet.” The words barely leave his mouth when Harold leans on the horn again.
“I swear to God, one of these days I’m going to smother him in his sleep,” he mutters as he walks towards his truck without a backward glance.
“Well, this has been fun, but I have another stop to make before I go home.”
“To Beck’s?” Carson quirks an eyebrow.
“That’s what I said,” I say slowly.
“No, you said home,” Logan counters.
“Well, to be fair, he has been there a lot lately.” Riot snorts, looking between Logan and Carson.
“And I’m out. When you figure out what’s going on between Beck and me, let me know.”
Getting into my truck, I leave them visiting in the parking lot. I have already been gone longer than I intended and still have one more stop to make. Should I text her to make sure she’s okay? She’s fine, right?
Pulling over just down the street from the bakery, I pull out my phone.
Just checking to see if you need anything else.
Beck
Since you left 20 minutes ago???
No I literally haven’t moved.
Okay
I’ll be home soon.
I had already hit send before I realized I’d called her trailer home—again. I’m grateful she didn’t notice and call me out on it.
The bakery is surprisingly busy this morning. Locals fill the tables, taking advantage of the quieter offseason. It’s nice to see them. During the busy summer months, you can expect to see more seasonal residents and tourists wandering around the village shopping or taking in the sights.
It’s strange not to see Maggie behind the counter, but she must be exhausted. Besides her wedding cake crisis last night, I’m sure she stayed to bake this morning.
The barista serving me is great—but extremely slow and chatty. By the time I’ve paid for half a dozen cupcakes, breakfast sandwiches, and coffees for both Beck and me, I am eager to leave.
I’m just about to the door when I hear Brian call my name. All I want to do is get back to her. I’m not interested in making idle chitchat with the local gossip. Taking a deep breath, I plaster a smile on my face before turning towards him.
“Good morning, Brian. How are you today?”
“I’m well, thank you.” Glancing at everything I’m carrying, he says, “You’ve got a lot of stuff there. Do you have company?”
“No… Why would you think that?” Narrowing my eyes, I shake my head. That’s an odd question, even from Brian. Except for Vaughan, I have never had “company” the entire time I have lived in Emerley.
“Hmm, interesting.” He leans back in his seat and watches me intently. “I passed a black Escalade near your house last night, so I assumed you had guests.”
“That’s a bizarre assumption,” I say. “We’re not the only ones who live on that road. It could have been anyone, really.”
“Most of the homes have closed up for the season,” he muses. “There are only a few of us locals who live on Crystal Lake year-round. Maybe it’s someone visiting Maggie? I suppose I can ask her.”
“Do we have a new community watch program that I should join? Are you really concerned about this?” I ask, trying hard not to lose my patience.
“Not concerned. Just curious,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Well, when you solve the mystery, let me know,” I dismiss him. “I’ve got to go.”
“Tell Rebecca I hope she is feeling better,” he calls after me as I walk away.
Man, he’s nosey. It’s absolutely none of Brian’s business who was driving the Escalade or why. I can’t wait to hear what tale he will spin about it, though.