Chapter 7
SEVEN
Phoebe
“Asshole,” I muttered as I waded through the drifts on the road between our houses. Dylan and his brother Micah had been by with the plows, but the brutal wind off the water was already erasing all their hard work.
The cold sunk into my bones and even worse, into my chest. The ache annoyed me more than anything. It was my own fault.
I often forgot myself when it came to private spaces.
Just because I was an open book didn’t mean other people were.
But four walls of literal blank canvases was too much for me to resist. It had been a long time since I’d worked with chalk and I’d lost myself in the process of using both negative space and my signature line work.
But it seemed a little intense for him to be so angry about it.
If he hated it he could just erase it for God’s sake. It wasn’t that serious.
Though it did make me a little sad to think about my little Fred being deleted off the dark wall. Maybe I’d order some paint and chalk for my studio. It was a great way to recycle when I was practicing a new style or flower.
Flowers were my bread and butter after all and they took a long time to get right. Perhaps I’d add a few succulents to my repertoire. The prickly little plants were suddenly at the top of my mind.
Gee, I just couldn’t think of why.
The gentle giant of a dog circled me, booping his nose at my hip as he tried to herd me back toward Dutch’s house. I shook my head. “We’ve intruded long enough.”
He stopped in the middle of the road, his feather duster of a tail swishing as he looked at me, then to the stone cottage.
I shook my head. “He doesn’t want us.”
I hated the sudden lump in my throat. Dutch was a stranger. What the hell did I care if he didn’t want me around? Just because those stunning gray eyes were swimming with so much pain it was practically overflowing—it wasn’t my problem, dammit.
I couldn’t help wanting to make it better.
Even if he had enough spikes growing out of him and a literal neon sign that said: go away!
I sighed and waved the dog toward me. “C’mon, boy. My house is even nicer than his.” I had to raise my voice against the wind.
He bowed his head, his tail falling down between his legs as he followed slowly.
“I have delicious hamburger that I can cook up with some rice until I get you some dog food.”
His tail lifted again, swishing behind him.
“At least you want me for food.” I slowly climbed the winding steps to my door. I’d have to come out and shovel, but it wasn’t worth it until the wind gave me a break.
I stomped my boots on the porch and opened the door, the lights still on from when I left the day before. At least the power hadn’t gone out. The blast of warm air made my skin tingle and my nose instantly run.
I urged the dog inside, panting a bit as I shut out the wind and leaned against the magenta door.
The dog instantly started sniffing around my abundance of rugs, pillows, and throw blankets that were draped over every corner of my living room. I liked it cozy and my eclecticism didn’t just run to my artwork.
Bright colors were splashed around the room from the dark burgundy walls of my living room to the deep jewel-toned teal of my couch. The carpets were bold geometric patterns that I’d bought from the Winter Wonderland artisan who’d come in from New York City over the holidays.
Between the gorgeous carpets and the blown glass I’d become obsessed with, I’d added quite a few pieces to my house lately.
I stripped out of my jacket and kicked off my boots. My phone slid out of my pocket and thunked to the floor. I picked it up, noticing the messages from my brother and mother. Skipping over my mom, I quickly skimmed the texts from Lance.
Lance:
You okay over there? You never have food.
You aren’t stuck in a snowbank are you?
At least let me know you’re alive.
Don’t make me send Keaton out there.
I grinned and quickly replied.
Me:
I’m alive. I actually got snowed in with my
I paused and erased that. I didn’t need to tell Lance about my new neighbor. He was oddly protective sometimes. Knowing there was a strange new dude living near me was just asking for my family to drop in and get nosy about it.
Me:
I’m alive. Just forgot my phone while I was in my studio.
At least that was plausible.
Instantly text bubbles started. My brother was perpetually online thanks to his job as a web designer and graphic artist. He was the only one who actually understood me. Though his artwork was more corporate in tone, at least he had a bit of creativity under the code that flooded his veins.
Lance:
Keep your damn phone in those stupid overalls.
I laughed. He knew me well. Overalls and jumpsuits were my uniform of choice while in my home studio.
I hated being hemmed in when I was working. In the summer I’d been known to wear next to nothing when I was really in the zone with a project.
I padded through my living room to my kitchen and started my rice cooker, then dug out some beef from the back of my freezer. I put it in the microwave to defrost a little first.
The dog climbed into my recliner near the window and stared out the window toward Dutch’s house. I patted his head. “That might be some unrequited love, pal.”
He sighed mightily.
I laughed and stopped at my record player to put on a stack of records. The funky beats to an old Billie Eilish album dropped first. I cranked it up to block out thoughts of my new neighbor while I did a few house chores.
Watering the abundance of plant babies I owned turned into a quick pruning session. When the microwave dinged, I changed into cooking mode.
Once the meat was cooking, I danced around the kitchen and made an impromptu creamy tomato sauce for myself, then divided up the meat. One to season the hell out of, and one to keep plain for my new roommate.
While stirring, I skimmed the town Facebook group to make sure no one was looking for a dog. I probably would have heard it through the grapevine, but I had been a little tunnel visioned with the café for the last few days.
“Oh shoot,” I muttered to myself. I quickly sent Jenna off a text. Obviously I wouldn’t be over there to work. She generally kept the Haven Café open through any storm, but even she texted me back that she’d decided to take the day off.
I checked the snow totals. Edie Green, our resident historian, had already put up the numbers. She was more reliable than the weatherman. I whistled. No ordinary storm even for our lake effect area. Twenty inches was too much for even the hardiest New Englander.
Instead of stressing about it, I decided to add meal prepping to my to-do list. I danced around my kitchen as Billie Eilish changed over to an old Madonna album I’d inherited from my mom.
I’d taken most of her albums from her teen and early twenties.
I was pretty sure once my oldest brother had been born she’d forgotten how to have fun.
Keaton had been a hockey hopeful from the minute he’d put skates on.
By the time I’d been born he was already showing talent in the Junior Ranger program.
The earliest memories I had were in the rink cheering Keaton on.
Lance had played as well, but his heart hadn’t really been in it.
He liked to play pickup games, but he didn’t have the singular focus like Keaton did.
I was pretty sure ice literally was in his genetic makeup.
My mother had sat me on the benches with coloring books, markers, and crayons to keep busy. Instead of being bored, I’d taken to art in the same obsessive way Keaton had with his footwork.
Being a defender meant he needed to know everything about timing, angles, and getting his team to the net.
I enjoyed hockey, and could hold my own with the family nights on the ice, but I didn’t breathe it like Keaton did. Even after he beat the crap out of his body one too many times, and the orthopedic surgeon couldn’t put his knees back together again, Keaton still found his way to the rink to watch.
The kids begged for tips and tricks.
Begged for time on the ice.
He usually said no, but every once in a while he said yes, and they all lit up—including my brother.
Those were the good days with my brother.
We encouraged him to get into coaching, but he was too bitter about losing out on his NHL dreams. Instead, he’d turned his attention to embracing summers on the lake investing in party boats and water crafts and disappearing off and on during the winter months.
He was currently in one of his foul moods since it was playoff season—which was when he had his career ending injury.
Personally, I kept my distance. I knew how to ignore him when I needed to. I didn’t need that energy around me when February was eternal enough without him being a bitchface.
I shook the mood off.
The Madonna album switched out to Puddle of Mudd and I bounced around the room, the dog giving me weird looks from the chair he’d commandeered. I shimmied between my pot of homemade sauce that was simmering and the vat of chicken stock I was making to go with the leftovers from the day before.
I’d learned to be frugal and how to make cooking fun. I’d grown up with sandwiches and on the go food until I was old enough to stay home on my own while my mother played team mom. Her sole focus had been to get my brother to the NHL, the rest of us had come in a distant second.
That meant I’d taught myself to cook with the Cooking Channel and social media videos. When Liberty had come along, I’d made sure she wasn’t ignored. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been interested in learning to cook, but she did do dishes with only a few threats.
She still dropped in to get fed when she pulled herself away from the owls and bats she specialized in rehabbing and rescuing. If there was an animal to rescue, my little sister would find it and nurse it back to health.
I picked up my phone and checked in on my sister. With this kind of weather she’d probably be at the rescue looking after her babies. She was even worse than I was at replying to a text, but maybe I’d get lucky.
While things were cooking, I wandered around my house watering the rest of my plants and tried not to let my gaze drift over to my bay window. Dutch could fend for himself.
I didn’t need to worry about him.
A cold nose bumped my hand. I looked down at the dog. “Snowball?”
His ears went back, looking nearly affronted.
“Guess not.” I patted his head. “Dutch will be fine without us.”
He leaned against my thigh and whined.
“I know, but he’s a jerk.”
Another keening whine was his reply as he went to the door and sat in front of it.
“No, we’re not going back over there.”
He swished his tail.
“I don’t care how cute you are. He’s off limits.”
The dog sighed and lowered himself to the rug in front of the door and put his head down on his paws. I patted his head. “I’m going to chop some vegetables for soup, then take a shower.”
The ridiculously deep sigh made me laugh.
“We’ll survive. I promise.”
I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince.