Chapter 21
Clementine
Alec
not rly my style
Picture: a pair of panties
Clementine
OH MY GOD WHY DO YOU HAVE THOSE???
Alec
got delivered to lodge. thought it was sheets.
Clementine
No no no no no those are MINE. Don’t open the box further.
Alec
right
Clementine
I’m coming over right now.
Alec
weird
Clementine
You’re judging. I can FEEL it through the phone.
Alec
i’m concerned
Clementine
I’ll be there in two minutes.
“Where is it?” I hear the panic in my own voice. Alec’s eyes flick to the counter.
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” I lunge for the box, clutching it behind my back like a raccoon with stolen bread. Heat crawls up my neck.
“What’s in the box?” His tone isn’t casual; it’s that low one he uses when I’ve screwed up my footwork.
“Nothing! I mean—it’s just…stuff. Totally normal.”
“Clementine.” He says my name like it’s a full stop. His eyes are steady, unfairly steady, and my arms are shaking, and my fake grin won’t stick.
“I’m embarrassed, okay?” My voice cracks.
He stiffens. “Why?”
“Because I spiraled.” The words tumble out.
“I bought things I can’t afford, I broke my budget, my gran’s going to lose her mind when the bill comes next month, and now you know and you’ll regret picking me as a partner because—” My throat squeezes.
“Because I’m just a shopping addict with no self-control. ”
He takes the box out of my hands, sets it gently on the counter, and pulls a chair out. “Sit.”
“I don’t know if I can breathe right now.”
“You can sit and not breathe. Multitask.”
I drop into the chair, arms crossed.
“So, you bought some stuff,” he says.
“That’s one way to put it.” My laugh is humorless. “Right after I screwed up the blister thing. I felt useless, and shopping is the only way I know to shut my brain up. Swipe the card. Boom. Ten seconds of worth. Then shame.”
He leans on the counter. “That’s a rigged system.”
“No kidding. But it’s the only one I grew up with. Bad day? Shop. Good day? Shop. Ballet teacher yelling? Shop. Chest feeling hollow? Definitely shop. Then the bill came, and we either dealt with it or we didn’t.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is. And it’s embarrassing. And it’s mine. Along with the thousands of dollars of debt.”
He stares at me for a beat. “I could pay it off,” he says simply, like he’s offering me a glass of water.
The heat that shoots through me isn’t gratitude. It’s fury.
“No.”
“It wouldn’t be a big deal—”
“Alec. No.” My voice flares because I need him to hear it.
He exhales hard. “Why make this a thing?”
“Because it is a thing!” My hands fling up. “You grew up with money. I didn’t. We see it differently.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not. But I don’t…I don’t do well with generosity.”
“I know that, but we don’t have to call it generosity. It can be a gift or a loan that you don’t need to pay back.”
It would be so easy. He’d probably put it all on his fancy Amex and not even blink. My red numbers would disappear overnight. No more late fees. No more letters in the mail. No more pit in my stomach when the phone lights up with an unknown number. I could breathe again.
But if I let him, my debt wouldn’t just be gone. It would belong to him. And then so would I.
And if I’m ever going to belong to Alec Hastings, I really don’t want it to be like this.
I want it to be real.
Not because of a solution.
“No,” I say. “I don’t need someone to rescue me. I need to be able to say I did it. That I clawed my way out of this mess. I want to pick up the phone one day and tell the debt collector, ‘You’ve got it wrong, I already paid.’”
He studies me awhile, then nods once. “Okay. I hear you. I’ll make sure that in six weeks you’ll be saying exactly that.” He says it with annoying certainty. His chin tips toward the box pressed to my chest. “But until then? You don’t have to do it alone.”
Something in me caves because—it’s true. I don’t want to do it alone. But also, I hate that he’s seen me like this. Small. Weak. Pathetic.
He reaches for the keys on the counter. “Come on. We’ll go return the stuff.”
When I don’t move, he just steps in and slides the box out of my arms. Not rough. Just decisive.
“I’ll pack it up,” he says, already folding the flaps down. “You don’t have to stare at it anymore.”
I watch him like a bystander in my own disaster. He rustles through the tissue paper, looking for the return slip, and of course his fingers land on the one thing I actually liked. The stupid navy socks with the little mountain range stitched in.
He holds them up. “You should keep these.”
“No.”
“You need socks. I saw the holes in yours last week.”
“It’s part of the binge. If I keep even one thing, it’s like admitting defeat.”
“It’s just socks.”
“It’s a failure.”
He blinks at me. The kind of blink that says he’s deciding whether or not I’m joking. “They’re socks.”
“Fine. I guess they are cute.”
“They’re not just cute. They’ll last. The best brand there is.”
“Thank you for not judging me.”
“Never.” He leans back against the counter, casual, like I didn’t just peel myself open and hand him the ugliest parts. “Besides, I’ve got the perfect song for our drive to the post office.”
“You’re gonna force me through Satie, aren’t you?”
“It’s not raining, but I can hold the hose over my truck if you want the full effect.”
I laugh. A laugh that hits my ribs and probably makes me sound manic. Somehow, for the first time in weeks—maybe months—it doesn’t feel suffocating.
For the first time since I left New York, I feel like I can really figure this out.
I’d planned to sit at home tonight, spiraling about Alec seeing the evidence of my shopping binge.
Instead, I’m doubled over in his passenger seat, laughing so hard my ribs ache.
Satie rattles the speakers, water streaks down the windshield, and he’s outside with a hose angled at the glass like it’s the most serious job in the world.
When the music cuts, the rain does too. I fling open the door, stumble out into the driveway, and press my hand to my aching stomach.
“My cheeks hurt!” I gasp. “That is the best therapy I’ve ever had. Your truck is officially nicknamed the Therapy Tacoma.”
He stands there on the porch, blue sweater darkened with spray, curls plastered to his forehead, holding the kinked green hose. His mouth curves, and I swear the air tilts.
“You’re not naming my truck,” he grumbles.
“Already making bumper stickers.” I lean against the door, buzzing with leftover laughter. “I’ll bill my contractor.”
“Do it.” His tone is flat, but his eyes flick to mine. “So, I can watch you sprint into another post office like a fugitive.”
I groan into my palms, unable to hide the smile glued to my face. “God. I feel ridiculous. Returning things always gave me anxiety. Humans used to be chased by bears, and I was scared of a shipping label.”
“You already faced a bear,” he says.
“And a wall,” I add.
This time, our grins linger. Longer than they should. Then they soften into something else. The night air hums with it. We both watch a flock of birds ripple down to the lake.
“Hey, Clem.” My name is softer than I’ve ever heard it, a fragile thing on his tongue. His fingers knot and unknot the hose. “You wanna come by to try out the new fire pit this Saturday?”
My heart stumbles. Out by the lake, the benches and fire pit he built this morning wait like a promise.
“To talk strategy for the qualifier?”
“No.”
“To practice knots?”
“No.” His Adam’s apple jumps.
“To celebrate the lodge renovations being ahead of schedule?”
“No.” His voice roughens. A crackle of electricity zaps between us.
“To just hang out?”
“Yeah.”
The smile spreading across my face feels unstoppable. He’s asking to see me. Not to train me. Not to fix me.
Just to be with me.
I toy with the hem of my sweater, nerves sparking through my fingers. “Like—”
“I swear to God, Clementine, if you say camp buddies—” His fake annoyance only makes me grin harder.
“What? Camp bud—”
He unkinks the hose.
A shock of ice arcs into me, stealing my breath.
“Hey!” I shriek, lunging forward. The spray hits us both, soaking my sweater and plastering his blue one to his chest. I grab for the nozzle, slippery with water, my hands tangling with his.
We’re too close. Laughing too hard. The hose thrashes like a live wire between us, cold mist on our faces. My hair sticks to my skin, his curls drip, and his breath mingles with mine as we wrestle for control neither of us really wants.
For a beat, I swear the world shrinks to this: the sting of cold, the sound of our laughter, and Alec Hastings looking at me like the fight’s already over.
His grin is real this time, unguarded, and it floors me more than the water ever could.
I’m drenched, I’m freezing, but I know exactly what just happened.
Alec Hastings asked me on a date.