Chapter 3
Road trips are so sneaky.
Maybe there was magic in the margarita I couldn’t even finish and the hot honey chicken sandwich that was the size of my head—I absolutely managed to finish that—but you’d think after hours and hours of sitting in the car, I’d be left with more energy than I’d know what to do with.
I haven’t had a night with more than five hours of sleep since my mom died, since her body couldn’t handle the alcohol she was so sure she needed, and I knew last night would be no different.
I had big plans to stay up all night going over my to-do list while I prepared for the movers to arrive in the morning.
So color me shocked when I lay on the air mattress and only thought about Tate for a few minutes before I was out like a light.
—
The Texas heat kisses my face and pulls me from my dreamless sleep. I squint against the bright, unrelenting sunshine creeping through the window and rub the sleep out of my eyes. I reach for my phone so I can move “order and install blackout curtains” to the top of my to-do list.
“Shit!” I scream when my vision clears and my screen comes into focus. Not only is it after ten, I slept through five missed calls and two texts from Gabby, one missed call from my uncle, and worse, I have three missed calls and two voicemails from my movers.
I delete the voicemail from my uncle without bothering to listen, and I roll off the half-deflated mattress. I run down my stairs, praying I won’t be greeted with all my belongings stacked in my front yard.
For the first time in years, luck is on my side.
Not only are my boxes nowhere to be found, neither is the giant moving truck or the grumpy driver I’m determined to win over before our time together comes to an end.
I hit the number on my phone without listening to their messages.
The phone rings in my ear as I make my way back into my practically empty room and somehow manage to slam my toe into the corner of my suitcase.
“Holy owwww! Mother fu—” I cry out at the same time a man’s voice comes through my phone, because if I have anything at all, it’s horrible timing.
“Hello?” He sounds like he’s not sure if he should be angry, concerned, or annoyed.
“Brian? This is Luna,” I force through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the way the pain in my toe is radiating up my entire leg. “I missed your calls earlier.”
“Did you listen to the voicemails?” His tone settles on annoyed, and unfortunately, I can’t fault him for it. “I left two.”
“You did? I’m so sorry. I didn’t see them.” I feign ignorance, and thanks to years of experience, I do it very well. “The service here isn’t great.”
I’m definitely going to have to up their tip.
“The first message was to inform you of some truck trouble we were experiencing and letting you know your delivery might be delayed until tomorrow.” He pauses and I try not to react.
I have a feeling I’m already working this man’s last nerve, and since he, quite literally, holds all my possessions, I don’t want to make things worse than they already are.
“The second message was to tell you we figured everything out and although there will still be a delay, it won’t be by much. ”
I exhale a sigh of relief and collapse back onto the air mattress.
“What the heck, Brian? Was it necessary to scare me like that? I thought we were friends.” I ordered in when they were loading the moving truck, and not just pizza either. I got the good stuff! “We had falafel together!”
Is nothing sacred anymore?
“You know we like you, girl.” He sounds so exasperated with me that I can’t ask him not to call me girl. “We’re about two hours out. Keep your phone on you until we get there, will ya?”
“Ten-four, captain.” I salute even though he can’t see me, and I know he’s rolling his eyes despite me not being able to see him either. “Also, if you stop by a Buc-ee’s, can you grab me the biggest cup of coffee that they offer and some tacos? Oh! And fudge!”
“Bye.” He hangs up and I stare at my phone for longer than I should. Was that a yes or no?
“Rude,” I whisper to an empty room. “But understandable.”
Now that I have two hours instead of the two minutes I was afraid I had, I’m not really sure what to do with my time.
Back in Colorado, my mornings were run like a tight ship.
From my coffee, to my shower, to my workout, everything had a precise time and I didn’t stray from it—not even on my days off—until I strayed so far, I ended up unemployed on an air mattress in a small Texas town.
My to-do list is a million and one miles long, but until the moving truck gets here, there’s not much I can do.
Without the constant go, go, go of my old life insistently nagging at the back of my brain, I don’t have anything to do other than letting the peace and calm of my new reality wash over me like the shower I should be taking.
I tuck my legs beneath me and stare out my window into the crystal-clear blue skies looming over the never-ending pastures surrounding my new home.
The possibilities of what I can create here feel endless, and that somehow feels almost as scary as having no possibilities at all.
It’s as if nothing counted until this very moment and now it’s up to me, and me alone, to make sure I turn my life into something worth living for.
My farmhouse sits on a modest five acres, but the property next to me goes on for miles. The houses—multiple—sitting in the distance are only specks on the horizon as I search for horses and cattle like my own personal version of Where’s Waldo?
Below my window, the empty chicken coop I’m determined to fill with the best, most loved chickens is sandwiched between the house I can’t wait to explore despite my tragically black green thumb and a finished shed that will soon become my craft space.
Before this move, my biggest home project was installing a ceiling fan in my bedroom.
I ended up hiring a Taskrabbit.
That’s not going to happen this time. This time I’m prepared.
I took every class Home Depot had leading up to this move, and I’m pretty sure I’m working toward my PhD from YouTube University and HGTV-U.
Plus, thanks to being unemployed—woof—and the windfall of money I’ve received from selling my childhood home and my mom’s life insurance—double woof—I have enough money to focus on the house before I worry about finding a new job.
Rainbow to every dark night of the soul and all that jazz.
Counting cows is as effective as counting sheep, and I almost fall back asleep. But as tempting as a nap sounds, I force myself into the shower instead. Poor Brian has dealt with enough from me. The least I can do is greet him with clean hair and brushed teeth.
Unlike my ultramodern bathroom in my apartment back in Denver, what my new bathroom lacks in size and outlet options, it makes up for in charm.
Sun pours through the giant stained-glass window above the claw-foot tub, and delicate flowers decorate the square tiles lining the bottom half of the chipped-paint walls.
The Realtor told me the pedestal sink is original to the house, and even though it’s adorable, it has to go.
I don’t have a lot of makeup, but as a curly girl with more hair products than I’d care to admit, I had to order a vanity with plenty of storage space.
It should be arriving in the next few days, and it’s one of the first renovation projects on my list.
I lather up my loofah and make quick work of washing off the remaining scent of fast food clinging to my skin, thanks to the time I spent in the car yesterday.
When the inspection for this house came back, the water heater was on the list of suggested replacements.
It still works, but the days of long, lazy showers are a thing of the past until I reach that section of my checklist. The hot water begins to fade as I rinse the last bits of conditioner from my hair.
It might have been short, but that magical, brand-new feeling a shower gives you still hits me as I step onto the tile floors.
I tuck a towel tight around my body before venturing back into the bedroom.
Cold air whirs from the vent, and goose bumps chase the drops of water falling from curls down my back.
I carefully approach the suitcases still sitting haphazardly in the middle of my room and pull out another dress with the tags still on.
This one is yellow and it slips right over my head.
The soft linen skims my freshly lotioned skin, and not for the first time, I thank god that the generous boob genetics that plagued my mom’s side of my family tree skipped over me and I can go braless.
A knock sounds at my door just before the doorbell rings right as I finish running curl cream through my hair.
Perfect timing!
This never happens.
“Here I come!” I don’t bother to give myself a once-over before running to meet Brian and the rest of his talented, strong, wonderful motley moving crew. “Did you bring me coffee?”
The clownish size of my smile preemptively makes up for the scowl Brian wears so well, except when I swing open the front door, it’s not Brian’s grumpy face that I see.
No.
Not even close.
It’s not that Brian isn’t a handsome man, he is. He’s just not…this man.
And by man, what I mean is perhaps the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my entire life—only coming in second to maybe Tate, and I’d have to stand them next to each other to decide—and he’s standing on my front porch with gifts and a cowboy hat.