Chapter 7 Sloane
SLOANE
I’ve been here for almost a month, and I’m honestly not even sure how it happened.
I only planned on staying a few days, and I never ended up leaving.
There was no official conversation; I just unpacked my bags, filled the fridge, and after a week and a half, he left a key to the house on the counter for me.
Over the last month, I seem to have grown attached to this man in a way I never expected, and in a way that is very unhealthy. Dr. Google says that it’s just something else that I can blame on my Daddy issues.
I find myself enamored by him. I’m honestly not sure what it is…
he’s the same guy I remember. He’s quiet, and I find myself talking enough for both of us.
He’s kind, he listens, and offers good advice.
I really don’t remember him looking as attractive as he does now.
I’m sure that’s all that it is. I’m physically attracted to him, and it’ll soon melt away.
At least that’s what I’m hoping for, because we’d never work out, even if deep down I want us to.
I never realized how much time school took up in my life until the last few weeks. I feel like I’m falling back into my old lazy habits, and that’s not good, because I’m scared of what a relapse would look like.
Which is why I’ve resorted to yard work.
I asked Beckett if he was ok with it, and when he said yes, I immediately went to work on building garden boxes.
I want to start a little garden on the side of the shop.
So that’s today’s goal. I know that my garden season will be short, given it’s mid-May, but at least it’ll give me something to do, and hopefully it’ll help me keep my mind off the man who offered to help me build these wooden boxes.
I should’ve said no. I knew it was a bad idea and that there would be no way for me to deny him anything when he walked out in a black tee and jeans, but what made me forget how to breathe was when he put a ball cap on. Backwards.
I stand off to the side, making myself look busy as I count my plants when really I’m just staring at the side of his face, hoping I’m not being obvious about it.
It’s not fair. Why couldn’t he be ugly? It would be so much easier to exist in a house with him if he didn’t look this good.
Ultimately, I think Google is right, and I chalk it up to my lack of a father figure.
Beckett has acted more like a father than my own ever did, and maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to him.
I crave that kind of connection with someone.
To have someone who wants to hangout with me, and teach me things that they feel like I should know.
“Oh my God, Beckett, is that a bunny?” I whisper as a little brown and white rabbit hops across the back yard.
Beckett looks across the yard up from his spot on his knees and nods. “Yeah, looks like a snowshoe,” he says, and I scrunch my brows.
“Aren’t those white?”
“Yeah, they have fur that basically camouflages in a way. In the winter, it frosts to white in order to blend in with the snow, and in the warmer months, they look like that to hide in with the brush and trees.”
“You think I could catch it?” I ask, turning my attention to the little bunny, feeling like I need to channel my inner Snow White.
He looks up at me skeptically, almost like he can’t tell if I’m being serious or not. “No, I don’t,” he says, and I glare at him.
“I think I can,” I say, slowly standing up to my full height and tightening my ponytail before turning to face the little bunny.
He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his stare on me as I slowly creep towards the small, unsuspecting creature.
I tiptoe towards it, crouched low. Somehow, this little bunny has the survival instincts of an acorn, because it all but lets me walk right up to it before it ever sees me.
But by the time it does, it’s too late, I’ve scooped it up into my arms. It kicks and fights for only a few seconds before I’m able to snuggle it into my arms, and it calms down.
I turn to Beckett, a big smile on my face as I hold the surprisingly soft bunny in my arms. He stares at me wide-eyed, probably more surprised that I caught the bunny than I am.
“I can’t believe it let you just pick it up like that,” he says as I walk over to where he’s standing, kissing the top of the bunny’s head as I scratch behind its ears.
“I’m going to take it inside and get it something to eat. I’ll be right back,” I say after a few minutes. Beckett nods, going back to work on my garden boxes. I head up the lawn towards the house.
The bunny seems perfectly content in my arms as we sit at the counter, doing some research on what bunnies can and cannot eat.
Turns out you’re not supposed to play with or feed the wildlife.
So I pout my lip and give it another kiss on the head.
You’re also apparently not supposed to do that, since I don’t know if it’s carrying any diseases, but it looks trustworthy. To me.
“Sorry, buddy, I guess I’m not supposed to feed you,” I say, pocketing my phone when I stand and taking it back outside.
“What did you learn?” Beckett asks as I stand right above him, the bunny still in my arms.
“That you’re not supposed to feed them,” I pout, setting it onto the ground, sad as I watch the little bunny hop away. “How come you don’t have any pets?” I ask, kneeling down next to Beckett, who is now by my plants.
“I’m not home enough to take care of a pet,” he points out.
“I remember when Mason and I were younger, you took us out kayaking and we found Myrtle, abandoned, tied to the dock. Mase and I begged you to let her go and take her with us.” I pick absentmindedly at some of the grass by my knees.
“She was the best damn dog I think I’ve ever had,” he admits.
Myrtle was some kind of lab mix, and we indeed took her home with us that day. She lived for probably seven or eight years after we found her.
We spend the rest of the afternoon quietly working in silence, he teaching me how to build.
“You wanna watch a movie tonight?” I ask as I stand over the stove cooking.
“Sure.”
I nod, feeling myself blush for no reason at all. I internally scold myself for my childish behavior.
We’ve had a couple of movie nights since I moved in, and they are quickly becoming my favorite nights.
I make us popcorn as he sets up the TV. We sit on the same couch, but there’s a good amount of space between us.
He hits play, and we both finally relax. We reach for the popcorn between us at the same time, our fingers brushing. Sparks shoot up my arm, and I jerk it back. My face turns what I’m sure is the shade of a tomato.
I cough awkwardly, waiting for him to take his hand out of the bucket before grabbing my own handful.
I really need to pay better attention, because I reach in for another handful blindly and grab his entire hand.
I’m so fucking weird, because instead of pulling away, I find myself wanting to lace our fingers together.
I don’t do that because I’m not that fucking weird.
But the thought is there as I pull my hand away.
I chance a look over in his direction, and he’s already looking at me.
Neither of us says anything; we just turn back to the movie.
I lay out on the pool deck, the next day, and think about how much I’ve missed these summers. It might be one of the things that I do actually miss about Colorado.
After a couple of hours, I go inside and make myself something for lunch.
I sit on my bed scrolling through my phone, trying to figure out if there is any kind of specific content that everyone wants to see when I get an idea for a KoVi video.
KoVi videos take up so much of my time most weeks, between filming and editing. I’m trying to put out one a week with two of my days in my schedule dedicated to it; one to filming, one to editing.
I’ve been trying to reach out to brands to see if anyone wants to collab, but my problem is I’m very specific about what goes into my body. I’m mostly a fitness influencer, so the majority of the brands that reach out to me are supplement manufacturers.
A vast majority of my deals are with clothing brands. I’ll wear just about whatever as long as it doesn’t give me a camel toe or make it look like I have major swass.
While scrolling, I come across some comments about doing a summer house tour or a car tour, which flips a lightbulb in my mind.
People seem to love little tours. Maybe I’ll finally do a car tour.
I’ve had my Bronco for almost four months now.
It’s finally how I want it: black with baby blue accents, big tires, tinted windows.
It took months of trying to talk myself into getting the car in the first place.
One day, I went to the dealership just to see what they had.
I’m very picky about the body style I like.
Some of them, in my opinion, just look funny.
When I found the right one, I just couldn’t say no.
I grab my camera and go back outside to film.
“Hey guys, it’s Sloane. I have some time today, so I figured that I’d give you all a very overdue car tour…”
“No, no, no!” I cry as I hit a pot hole, my head almost whacking the ceiling despite having my seatbelt on. The steering wheel jerks out of my hands, and I come to a stop, the lights on my dashboard starting to flash like crazy.
I turn on my hazards, throw it in park, and get out. I look at my tires, and when I walk around to the passenger side of the car, I let out a frustrated sigh.
“Fuck me,” I mumble at my front passenger tire.
Flat. Not just a little flat, either, like, there’s no fucking air to be seen, type of flat.
So of course, because I’m me, I take a picture of it. I don’t post it…yet. I will later, and I take a little vlog to post or to add to my summer recap.
I stare at the flat as it will just magically be fixed with the snap of my fingers, or I’ll suddenly know how to fix it myself.