Two #2
Her driveway came into view, and I turned down the one lane with grass between the tire tracks.
Penny lucked out when she came to San Camanez in search of a simpler life, a job and a place to live.
The property she called home was beautiful acreage among a grove of madrona trees.
The land belonged to the McIntosh family, but since none of them wanted to live on the island—yet—or sell, they chose to rent out their land.
Leslie Blythe, one of the volunteer firefighters, and co-owner of the garden center, Dirt Flingers, lived in the main house with her partner Phia, who was a massage therapist at Unger Wellness.
Penny lived in the in-law suite at the back of the house.
Her place was a lot nicer than mine, but she also had some inheritance from a deceased grandmother to help her with the rent.
I drove around the house where Leslie and Phia’s vehicles were parked in front of the garage, to the cute little stoop that led to Penny’s place. “Need me to walk you to your door?” I teased.
“Do I have to put out if you do?”
We both chuckled as she opened the door.
“Let me know how the date goes,” she said. “Enjoy your day off.”
I sighed. “Just doing homework and fretting about this date, and if things between us don’t work out.”
Penny unbuckled her belt and slid out, the gravel crunching beneath her combat boots. “Don’t fret. Just have fun.” She blew me a kiss and closed the door, running the twelve steps to her covered stoop. Nobody locked their doors on the island, so she didn’t have to fish for her keys.
She gave me one last smiley wave before closing the door.
I backed up, and made my way around the house again, heading for the road.
It was another ten minutes in the opposite direction to my house, but Penny was my best friend, so I didn’t mind driving her.
When we worked different shifts, she either rode her Vespa or bicycle, but when the weather got shitty like this, Dom or Chloe took pity on us when they made the schedule and tried to make sure Penn and I worked together.
Since moving to San Camanez from Spokane, I quickly grew to love the dark, empty roads at night.
I liked them a little less so when the wind and rain were as merciless as they seemed to be this winter, but even so, there was something very soothing about the desolation.
Even at six o’clock on a dreary January evening, it was pitch black and barely a car passed me on the road.
The sign for Barrington’s Bees appeared when I took the next corner, letting me know I was one mile from home. I couldn’t wait to have a shower in my little capsule shower, put on my fleece pajamas, and hunker down in bed.
Nobody besides Penny had ever been to my treehouse before. Not even my parents. Mind you, in the three years I’d lived on the island, none of my family had come to visit me. I always went home, and when I video chatted with my parents, I made sure to blur my background.
My parents weren’t snobs, but I don’t think they’d be keen on the idea of their baby living in a treehouse in the woods. Particularly when my sisters were both over-achievers with beautiful condos, handsome husbands, and successful jobs.
I was the black sheep baby. The wanderer. The vagabond with no real plan.
But I did have a plan.
My plan was to travel. Explore. Live. I wanted to see the world—and I did.
I backpacked Europe for a year after graduating high school. Then South East Asia the next year, and finally, Australia for a year where I got a work Visa and picked avocados and mangos on a farm.
I turned down the long driveway for Barrington’s Bees, then hung a right when I reached the parking lot.
The lane narrowed and the grass between the tire tracks grew longer as I approached the treeline.
Luckily, I had a porch light now, because otherwise, it would look like I was just driving toward endless darkness.
My little haven of island solace in the trees took shape the closer I got, and I exhaled in relief when I parked the Tracker.
I was home.
It wasn’t much, but it was mine. All mine.
As the youngest of three girls, I couldn’t remember the last time anything was ever only mine.
I got hand-me-down everything, had to share a room, and more often than not got the “scraps” of whatever was left when it came to treats.
My sisters were formidable women who didn’t share out of the goodness of their hearts.
They shared because they were told to. So whenever a family member dropped off cookies, or my dad came home with leftover donuts from work, Amelia and Stephanie would grab what they wanted, and I’d be lucky if even half a cookie or half a donut was left for me.
So the fact that I had this little slice of redneck paradise all to myself, with nothing handed down from one of my sisters—a lot of my stuff was secondhand, but new to me—just made me yearn to return to my treehouse every night after work.
I shut off the engine to the Suzuki and took a deep breath, preparing myself to battle the windy and rainy run from my car to my front door.
“Ready, girly?”
Out I went, dodging the puddles I knew like the back of my hand, and only taking half a second to admire the planter boxes with primulas in them that I had at the foot of the steps leading to my front door.
During the summer, I had flower pots everywhere, even a little herb and veggie garden in the sunny part of my “yard.” But right now, in the dead of winter, only primulas were worth planting.
I burst through my front door and grinned at my space. Even wet and tired, it was impossible not to feel joy here.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I hung my jacket up high over the space heater after I turned it on.
It was a text message from Logan.
Looking forward to our date tomorrow night. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while.
Gulp.
Right. Our date.
My joy of being home almost eclipsed my anxiety about this impending date.
My fingers trembled, and not from the cold, as they hovered over the screen. What was I supposed to say back?
Me too? Maybe this is a mistake? What if it doesn’t work out? How will we work together?
But my fingers refused to give into my anxiety and typed back something far more calm, cool and collective than I felt on the inside.
Me too. Glad Chloe meddled.
I blew out a long, slow breath as three little dots bounced, signifying he was typing something, too.
Have a great night, Renée!
I exhaled again and confidently typed, You too. Then I threw my phone on my bed with a little shriek.
I hadn’t been this nervous about a guy in a long time. Possibly ever.
Because unlike a lot of guys I dated in the past, I didn’t meet Logan to date.
I met him at work, became his friend, and fell for him because he is a great guy.
However, even as I showered in my cramp little capsule shower with my lukewarm water, I couldn’t escape the plaguing feeling that if things between us didn’t work out, I could lose the work family I held so dear.
Because blood was thicker than water, and even though Logan’s last name wasn’t McEvoy, it might as well be.