Chapter 5
Riley
I don’t even need an alarm, and I’m up. It’s always been this way, and today’s no different.
The endless possibilities of all the things I can do in a day wire me up early enough to get the jump-start on my day I need.
Today, it’s four in the morning. The impossibly vast night sky paints the landscape outside my window, an owl’s hoots playing the most calming serenade.
“Good morning, world,” I whisper, jolting up from bed. “Ouch!” My foot. I look down, and memories from last night invade me as I look at the now-dry toothpaste on my foot. The pot pie burning, the smoke, the fire alarm, my hand, my foot, Dom, me naked, Dom again, my God, what a night.
I’m still wearing his clothes. As comfortable as they are, I should take them off, wash them, and return them.
But I would be lying to myself if I didn’t like how much cozier and deeper I slept wrapped in the extra fabric, with his musky, citrus, leather scent, even if it’s nothing like me or home. They felt different in the best way.
The house doesn’t smell like burnt charcoal anymore, thanks to the open windows.
I press play on my Wakey Wakey playlist and get going with my morning routine: shower, brush teeth, and hair—a braid, since I’m going to be working on the shed and cleaning this place almost all day.
A matching outfit—terracotta with polka dots today—and coffee brewing for the perfect day.
I need to go to the main house to get breakfast, but first, I play my favorite game: how much can I do in twenty-minute sprints?
It’s a strategy I learned when barrel racing: you can do anything in twenty minutes, my trainer would say. Turns out, I can do a lot.
Twenty minutes on the timer, aaaand go!
I miss racing every day, but after my parents’ deaths, it didn’t feel the same. Even if the lessons learned stay with me forever, I know it wouldn’t be the same.
I clean, meticulously and methodically, the way I had to train myself to do it until it became second nature.
For someone as messy as I am, I sure as hell am good at cleaning.
I can’t stop from thinking about what comes next, racing forward to whatever I can get done next, never focusing too much on the present, making each task a part of a never-ending checklist guiding my life.
My bedroom is done, with the sheets stripped and ready to be tossed in the washer.
I can’t wait to sleep in clean sheets tonight.
I have a couple of minutes left on the timer, enough time to take the painting supplies to the upstairs room, the one that will hopefully turn into my relief room, a place I can go when I need to breathe easier.
It’s the best place to paint and be myself, if you ask me—away from everyone else.
I drop the tote with the paint and materials and rush downstairs, shouting ‘Walking On Sunshine’ at the top of my lungs, and time’s up.
“Perfect!” I smile to myself. “Good job, Riles. We did it. Now, breakfast.” I place my AirPods in my ears, ready to continue my playlist on the way to the main house. It’s the perfect distance to run this morning too, and I’m ready. As soon as I step outside, I jolt in surprise.
“Jesus!” Dom is standing on my porch, back to the wall, a leg crossed in front of the other, a coffee mug in hand. Damn it, I forgot my coffee. “Good morning, Dominic. Is Dom short for Dominic? Is that your name? Hi, good morning. Good to see you alive and awake, even if not enthusiastic.”
“Do you know how peaceful it is out here usually?” he asks. I wish I could see his eyes, but with only the moon shining above us and his cowboy hat on, it’s impossible.
“Mmm, yes? I do. It’s beautiful.” I spin, my arms open, palm facing up. “Peaceful. Stunning. Right?”
He nods, setting his mug down on the porch rail. “You know what’s not peaceful?”
I eye him in confusion.
“Being woken up twice in a row before my alarm, Taylor Swift blasting through the speakers.”
I gasp. “That was not Taylor, sir. While I love her, I don’t have any of her songs in my wakey wakey playlist.”
He grunts. Okaaay, so we’re not a morning person.
“You would think a cowboy would be a morning person. My bad.”
“Not a cowboy,” he bellows.
I point to his hat before shrugging. “Looks like a cowboy, works like a cowboy, sounds like a cowboy to me.”
He shakes his head, not giving my thoughts the time of day. Tough crowd.
“I am a morning person, but waking before four is not what I’m used to. So maybe lower the volume, or play it in your headphones or something.”
“Yes, sir!” I tease. “You’re awake now, so wanna run to breakfast with me?” Maybe he needs a friend. If he’s been living out here for ten months in this cabin without human interaction other than Arnie and Lilly, I fear he might need to get desensitized to human interaction again.
“I don’t run.”
“What do you mean you don’t run?”
“I don’t run. That’s what I mean.”
“Have you not chased an animal out here? I remember seeing Arnie doing that all the time.”
He shakes his head again and puts his hands over the rail. We are not a morning person, got it.
“Okay then, well, I’m going for breakfast. See you around, cowboy!” I hit play on my song again and take off.
It’s so peaceful out. I know the only sound echoing is my shoes crunching as I go, even on the misty tall grass between the old oaks.
The sharp burn in my lungs as I pick up the pace is addictive; it makes me feel alive.
Every shallow breath gets deeper and deeper as I inhale the morning, and everything that comes with it out here.
It’s beautiful. Breathtaking. And I one hundred percent can see how Dom would’ve been disturbed by my loud music if this is what he’s been used to.
I see the main house up ahead, sitting on the rise like a big, sleepy animal. The porch light is a tiny amber dot—a warm flame in the whole valley, welcoming even from afar.
God, it’s been forever. Running back home sounds like a cliché, but when your feet hit the dirt you grew up on, it feels more like a collision.
A reckoning.
An awakening.
My heart’s thumping against my ribs, partly from the sprint and partly from the sheer weight of seeing Lilly again. I want to prove to her I can do the things I’m asking for and, in the process, prove it to myself too.
A truck passes by on the main road. I can’t tell which one, but it looks like Dom’s from here. That man.
As I clear the last stretch of fence, the smell hits me—cedar, damp earth, and just a hint of woodsmoke from the kitchen stove.
It tastes like every morning of my childhood.
I slow my pace as I get closer, lowering the volume to trigger my brain and body to know it’s time to be done, at least for now.
I look at my watch, eleven minutes. Not bad for the second run back in forever.
I hope I can get it under ten by the time summer’s over.
Running up the wooden steps, I find Dom waiting by the front door with a bottle of water in his hand.
“Beat me to it, cowboy.”
He grunts. “Not a cowboy, and yes, I drove, like a regular person.”
“But running is so much fun and overall better for you.” He hands me the water bottle, but not before opening it and holding on to the top.
“Thanks.” I take a sip, and it cools me off from the inside out to match the temperature of the morning air.
Perfect. I usually drink milk after my runs, but this will do. “You should try it sometime.”
“What?”
“Running.”
“No, thank you.”
He steps inside, and I follow him in. “Good morning, everyone,” I say to the few people in the mess hall.
“Lainey!” I shout as soon as I see her. She’s been working at the ranch for forever, cooking and doing some cleaning in the main house. It’s always good to see her.
She opens her arms, ready to welcome me in, and I run right into them. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You as well, Riley. Look at you.” She spins me around. “Are you still on that nonsense of running before the sun is even up?”
“Yup, always have, always will. It’s what keeps me so energized.”
“Darlin’, you were born with triple A batteries fully charged, you don’t need more energy.”
I giggle, and Dom chuckles behind me.
“Dominic, have you met this darling sunshine?”
He nods. “I have, and Miss Lainey, Dom is fine.”
“Well, honey, when you stop calling me Miss, I’ll stop calling you Dominic.”
He smiles, briefly, barely, as if it physically hurts him to do so, and gets on his way to grab breakfast.
“Are you eating too? How long do we get you this time?” she asks me.
That’s a great question. Originally, I was going to be here for a few weeks, but seeing as they need counselors and I agreed to do it, I might as well stay. “All summer.”
Her surprised expression is what I was expecting, but it doesn’t hurt any less. “Well, I’m certainly glad you are. This place could use some happiness around here.”
“Thanks.” Lainey is like another mother to me; after mine passed, we became close.
“How’s school?” she asks, keeping up with me as I fix myself a plate. Dom is ahead of us, doing the same but keeping his eyes straight at his plate, not looking up once.
“I finished early.”
“That’s great news, honey.” At least someone appreciates my efforts. “What’s the plan now?”
I don’t know. I’m lost in a world full of possibilities, and none of them feel like me, while simultaneously, everything feels like I can do it.
How do I explain the duality of my complex feelings right now?
How do I explain I want to both travel and see the world but also set roots somewhere and have a place to call home? One that feels like it again.
How do I explain to her I feel like I’m going to both crawl out of my skin with nothing to do but also I felt the same way being away from the place I loved for so long?
How do I explain that I feel so out of place anywhere else but here, in East Dove?
I feel like my head could explode because it’s the same thing, every day, for eternity.
“I don’t know,” I say instead. It’s too early for deep dives into my psyche right now.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She kisses the top of my head. “You’re the smartest of the three, remember that.”
I tsk. “You tell that to all of us, Lainey. You’re not fooling anyone.” I smile, my plate now full of biscuits and sausage gravy, a glass of fresh milk in my other hand.
“Let an old lady believe her truths, Darlin’. Now go. Go eat. I have things to do.”
“Thanks for this.” I raise the plate to her. “See you around.”
She disappears into the kitchen, and I take my plate and the milk outside. There’s a little table hidden around the corner on the wrap around porch. I know it’s not technically hidden, but considering it’s in an alcove on the back side of the porch, nobody goes there.
Or so I thought, because there’s definitely someone there.
“Oops, sorry. I didn’t know anyone would be here.” I turn to leave, because if Dom’s here in my secret spot, it’s because he needs privacy, and I’ve already invaded so much of his space and routine with how loud and messy I’ve been.
“You can stay,” he all but grunts. He’s being polite, judging by the tone of his voice.
“I don’t want to impose. I’ve done that enough.”
He shrugs. “I’m almost done either way, and there’s a chair there.” He points to it before getting back to his food.
The air is crisp against my cheeks and chest. This outfit is practically a sports bra and leggings, but I love it. What a joy it is to be alive and to feel it too.
“So, do you like it?”
He nods. “Food’s always good.”
“No, not the food,” I say with a mouthful of biscuits and gravy. “The ranch. Your job.”
“I do,” he replies.
“What’s your favorite part?”
“All of it.”
I let out a breath. Okay, I get it. He doesn’t want to talk. Cool. “Do you practice being this grumpy, or does it come naturally to you?”
“I am not grumpy.”
I pop a piece of biscuit in my mouth. “Not a cowboy, not grumpy—I’m starting to think you haven’t met yourself.”
He ignores me, because of course he does. “Do you like Christmas?” The most bizarre question, but this will show me if he’s worth trying to form a friendship with or not.
“I do.”
“Would you scowl at Santa? Because I’m practically an elf but always in season.”
“If Santa was interrupting my breakfast after he woke me up earlier than normal two mornings in a row, then yes.”
“My bad! I will wear headphones tomorrow.” He’s a lost cause.
I continue eating in silence as he finishes his plate.
“Have a good day,” he adds, walking back inside, and, in no time, the rumbling of the truck fills the space.
He leaves the main cabin behind. I’ve never felt more drawn to figure someone out than now.
Is he sad or angry? And, if so, at what?
Introverts don’t initiate conversations, but they’re capable of following them.
This guy is a no-go for them, so what is it?
Either way, I will figure it out. I’ve never met someone who doesn’t like me, and he won’t be the first, even if it means not blasting my music as soon as I wake up in the morning.