Chapter 9
Light winds with a chance of making new friends
Although I can write an entire thesis on popular sports in Victorian England—and I did years ago—it’s a sad truth that coordination is not my forte. Underwater, I can twirl and spin, and on weekends, I swim for hours. I’m majestic. However, on land, I am most certainly not.
These factors mean that climbing into Sawyer’s truck is far easier than it will be for me to get out of it.
I unbuckle my seatbelt. That man is about to get a front-row seat to learn the accurate color of my knickers. How can I climb down from his monster truck without tumbling into an embarrassing heap on the ground?
Slowly. Very carefully…
“Hosko?” Sawyer appears on the passenger side and steadies the car door with his hand. He extends the other. “Need help?”
“What I need is to do an abseiling course so I can learn how to get out of your truck.”
“I suppose this old beast”—he knocks on the metal roof—“isn’t built for delicate ladies.”
“Was it built for soldiers? It’s like a tank! You know, people might have seen something like this thundering over the snow-covered countryside of the Ardennes back in 1944.”
Sawyer grins. “Am I gettin’ a history lesson from Miss Hoskins?”
“Hardly.” I shimmy off the seat and reach for his hand. “I’ve never studied much about World War Two—”
A spark of something delightful shoots up my arm when our fingers touch. Any hope of finishing my witty comeback dies into nothing but a breathless “Oh.”
This is unexpected, but…
Wow.
I refuse to look up. My cheeks are too hot. He’ll notice. He’s always looking out for me. That’s what friends do, right?
Sawyer’s grip tightens around my hand, and he pulls me down to safety. The arm he latches around my waist quickly slips away when my feet touch the grass beside his truck.
“Th-thanks,” I say.
I tug my sweater back into place. For some reason, that innocent movement forces Sawyer’s eyes to his sneakers.
Well, this is…awkward.
I finally find a friend in this town, and my hormones decide to announce themselves, threatening everything.
Biology truly is a cruel mistress. How do people deal with having a hot friend?
Will I look at Sawyer one day and acknowledge, “Yes, he’s handsome,” but not want to lace my fingers with his to see if we can recreate the spark that just shot up my arm?
Sawyer walks beside me with his hands stuffed in his pockets. I guess we won’t be touching any time soon to find out.
His palm lands on the glass door. “Welcome to the madness,” he says, shaking his head before he pushes it open.
The community center is chaos. Too many voices battle for attention, and the scrape of heavy boxes drags over the wooden floors. I recognize so many faces. The daycare lady who came into the clinic after a toddler bit her arm. The woman who runs the post office below my place.
I shuffle behind Sawyer’s back. Do they know who I am? Will they like me?
Sawyer senses my hesitation. He lingers near the door and doesn’t coax me out of the cozy spot I’ve found for myself hiding behind him. I hate when people push me forward. I won’t suddenly forget I’m shy just because I’m in a wide-open space with a room full of people staring at me.
“Elsie, over there.” Sawyer nods at a couple with matching silver hair emptying black trash bags full of donated clothes. “That’s Pete and Yvonne.”
They glance up long enough to smile and wave.
Dare Watson cuts through the crowd with a heavy box balanced on his hairy forearms. His eyebrow arches when he sees me, but he dips his chin to say hello to Sawyer as he passes.
Sawyer leans closer and murmurs, “That guy there is—”
“Mullie.” I grin.
“Yeah. You two met?”
“Out the back of his shop. Earlier tonight. I think he’s still trying to figure out how we know each other.”
“A long list of women fall into that category.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What’s his appeal?”
“You’re askin’ the wrong person. He’s not my type.”
I tease, “Too…hairy?”
Sawyer rolls his eyes, fighting to smother a laugh. “Yeah. That’s what’s holdin’ me back from admittin’ my undyin’ love for him.” He points out the tiny woman barreling through the crowd in skin-tight denim, a clipboard shoved under her arm. “Oi!” he calls out to her. “Short stack!”
She whirls around and her enormous brown eyes light up. “You snared another victim for us.” She sticks out her hand for me to shake. “Freya.”
Tentatively, I reach out. She clutches my hand and pumps it up and down. As far as handshakes go, this one is terrifying. She’s so small. How is she so strong?
“Elsie,” Sawyer says. “Freya is Cain’s wife.”
“Is that what I’m reduced to for an introduction? Jesus. Try harder, McLeod.”
“She also heads up the marine police workin’ the northeast coast.”
“Getting warmer. So. Elsie.” She cocks her hip and hooks her thumb into the waistband of her jeans. “What torture technique did Sawyer use to convince you to come down?”
I gulp. “Um…” She’s waiting for me to answer, but my mouth is stuffed with cotton wool. “I…”
The man in question inches closer and murmurs, “Big breaths.”
Right. Yes. Breathing. Important. I square my shoulders and suck in a shaky breath. “I promise I came willingly.” Okay. A quip. A good start. “I’m excited to help.”
“I’m loving this enthusiasm. With your help, we may actually get through all this junk”—she gestures at the busy room—“in time for the festival. Now, if you’ll excuse me.
I’ve got a feeling my husband has been distracted inspecting the beers Mullie just dropped out back.
” She slaps Sawyer on the shoulder before she disappears into the crowd.
Sawyer gives me an approving nod. “You did good.”
I slump in relief. Thank God that’s over for now. “No more introductions.”
“But what about—”
“No.”
He laughs. “Look who’s learned to stand up for herself.”
“My survival instinct has officially kicked in. I’m sure I’ll get to know everyone eventually, but…”
“Hearin’ you loud and clear, Hosko.”
Cain lumbers into the hall, lugging a box of stuffed toys. He spots Sawyer and acknowledges him by lifting his chin. “I’ve been banished.” He drops the box at his feet.
The two embrace. It’s a quick hug, but clearly, they are closer than just business partners.
“Cain.” Sawyer pats his shoulder. “I brought some help.”
“It can’t hurt. Elsie, right?” His hand sticks out.
I wither on the spot. My social battery isn’t just depleted; it’s bleating warning sirens in my head. Please. Not another handshake.
Sawyer leans forward and grabs his hand instead.
“What the hell?” Cain pulls out of the handshake. “Fuck off.” Surprised, he roars with laughter.
“I thought you wanted an introduction.” Sawyer smirks.
“Not from you, you salty bastard.” Cain turns to me. “You met the drill sergeant?”
“Right before she went outside to kick your ass,” Sawyer says.
Cain grins.
“Elsie knows about antiques,” Sawyer adds. “Vintage jewelry, shit your grandma has in her china hutch, you name it.”
“Yeah?” Cain almost sounds impressed.
I quickly douse any lofty expectations. “I know a bit.”
Sawyer butts his shoulder into mine. It’s a quiet way of reminding me he wants me to stand up for myself, but what does he expect me to do?
Storm into the room, toss boxes out of my way, and declare my presence by firing off my list of qualifications?
Freya’s got the confident boss-in-charge vibe covered.
Surely, it’s perfectly acceptable for me to fade into the light brown wallpaper and not draw attention from a single soul.
Cain rubs his hand over the dark stubble covering his chin. “Elsie knows her stuff, huh? We might avoid a repeat of last year’s shenanigans.”
“Exactly what I was thinkin’.”
Cain jerks his head towards the row of trestle tables in the back. “Come on over and see what we’ve got so far. I’ve sorted through a couple of the boxes. There’s a decent haul.”
A porcelain tea set haphazardly stacked on the table catches my eye.
I brush my fingertip over the roses painted around the rim of the teacup.
“This is Royal Albert.” I flip the cup, and sure enough, the stamp on the bottom confirms it.
“You’ve got an Old Country Roses tea set here.
” I pick up another cup and examine the perfect golden edges. “It’s in mint condition.”
“Told you she knows what she’s talkin’ about,” Sawyer murmurs to Cain.
“You’ve never steered me wrong, brother.” Cain tilts his head in my direction. “How much do you reckon it’s worth?”
“Well…” I pause to think it over. “It’s not the rarest pattern or the most expensive, but when a set lands in the antique shops in Melbourne, they sell quickly. You could get at least a hundred for this set.”
“Dollars?” Cain’s eyes pop wide open. “For a teapot and a couple of cups?”
“It’s highly sought after by collectors,” I explain.
“Don’t forget it comes with the sugar bowl,” Sawyer adds.
Cain’s expression is, quite simply, horrified. “What the fuck do you know about dinky sugar bowls?”
“Elsie’s got a similar set at her place, but she’s missin’ that one piece.” Sawyer’s mouth clamps into a hard line. “And speakin’ of her place… I think you might need to stop by and do a few repairs.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the bloody place!”
“The front door doesn’t lock properly.”
Grimacing, Cain scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, you just gotta jiggle the knob right…”
“Maybe you just gotta spend a day or two over there fixin’ it up so it’s fit for a lady to live in.”
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Cain grumbles, but he flashes me a wide smile. “I s’pose I forgot it was a man cave back in the day.”
Sawyer’s still grumpy. “Now you know—”
“Yes. I heard you. Fuck. You and Freya are always riding my ass to fix shit. I’ll stop by next week and take a look around. Okay, boss?”
“Okay.” Sawyer slaps a hand on Cain’s shoulder. “I’ll help you bring in the rest of these boxes. Elsie, you be okay on your own for a few minutes?”
I bob my head in a happy nod. I’m more than content to hide out in this lovely, abandoned corner on my own, sorting through the dining ware.
I barely notice when they leave. I quickly separate out two piles.
Junk. Treasures. Actually, I need a third category.
Question marks. There are a couple of spoons I don’t know what to do with.
“Hey, everyone!” A sunny voice calls out. “Look who’s finally here!”
Look? No. I refuse. It’s just like last Thursday when this same voice ruined my life.
This is my worst nightmare.
Kristen bounces in, dressed in designer jeans and a white cropped top. Her blonde hair is slicked back in a ponytail that swings with each cheerful step. Since when is she so happy? Don’t tell me there’s actually a heart buried under all her smirks and fake tan?
“I picked up dinner for everyone!” she sings.
Her eyes finally land on me, and her effortless smile suddenly pulls too tight. She fights to keep it plastered in place. Luke isn’t here. Why is she even bothering to pretend she doesn’t hate my guts?
“I didn’t realize we had a new team member,” she says through clenched teeth.
Sawyer’s already heading over to help with all the takeout bags. “Elsie’s got some experience with vintage pieces.” His short tone is a warning for her to play nice.
Kristen scans my outfit from head to toe. “The choice to wear socks and loafers is certainly from a different era.”
Sawyer frowns at me. At me! But his disapproving eyes quickly redirect to Kristen. “Tread carefully, missy,” he tells her.
“I’m only teasing,” Kristen says. “It’s a girl thing. Elsie understands.” She seems desperate to win back Sawyer’s approval. “We’ve bumped into each other a bunch of times and shared girl talk. She has the cutest”—she grimaces—“pajamas.”
Sawyer eyes her with suspicion. I’m grateful he seems to see through her. Cain tuned out at the mention of fashion. He’s busy scrambling through the latest box he dumped in my corner.
“This one looks like nothing but a bunch of cheap costume jewelry,” he says.
Kristen and her fake smile are forgotten.
“Really?” I pounce on the box and rummage through the treasure. “Oh, wow!” I hold up a resin bracelet. “This will be fun to sort through!”
“So fun,” Kristen mutters.
I remember a similar sneer from the popular girls at high school. They refused to wear their skirts at the right length when the nuns were out of sight and teased me ruthlessly because I obeyed the rules. Those girls hated me. Every last one of them.
I don’t understand why, but I know I’ve somehow made an enemy out of Kristen.