Chapter 7
Riley
Today went by in a flash. Cleaning and organizing that shed was harder than I thought it would be, but it’s almost done now, except for the shelf I tried to reach and couldn’t. I need to find a ladder, but I won’t bother Lilly with that. Maybe I can ask Mr. Grumpy Pants next door.
My cabin is clean too, and dinner didn’t get burned. I’m winning. I’m so lucky, and everything goes my way, I keep repeating over and over so my brain can get the memo that we live in this frequency and we stay in it.
I knock on Dom’s door with a mini chicken pot pie I made him, not burning it or my house in the process. It’s only eight o’clock, so I hope he’s not sleeping, because I would feel like an ass if I woke him. After our breakfast encounter, I haven’t seen him. Must have been a busy day on the ranch.
Riverbank Ranch is big, with two large parts divided by a dirt road, so it’s not unusual to not see people for a while.
The west side of the ranch holds the cabins and the summer camp portion of things—a lake, cabins, sheds, picnic tables, and a movie area.
On the other side of the main dirt road are the animals, including all the cattle and horses.
Riley ten years ago would have been there immediately, tending the horses, spending time with them, but now, even looking at them makes my heart weep for the life I don’t have anymore. The parents who aren’t alive and the dreams that died with them. It’s s—
Dom opens the door, breaking me from my thoughts, and holy fucking shitballs.
He’s standing there, grey and black wet hair dancing in the moonlight as if the night itself blessed him, his dark eyes intense beyond what I can handle. To top it off, he’s wearing gray sweatpants, and, sweet baby Jesus, a tight t-shirt shows off his arms.
“Riley?” he asks, confused, his words forcing me to look up and stop ogling him.
“I made you dinner!” It’s the only thing I can say, swallowing hard and pretending just looking at him doesn’t have me all flushed.
“I already ate.”
“Oh.” I didn’t even consider that most people here eat at five like senior citizens because of how challenging and rough the work is on the body. “I didn’t think about that. Sorry.” I try to giggle in an attempt to hide my embarrassment. He flinches, taking the container from my hand.
“Thank you. I’ll save it for tomorrow.”
I try to smile, but I can’t. I’m trying really hard here, but he’s not helping. “I’m going back to the cabin. I just wanted to do something to say thank you for saving my ass twice now.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to, that’s all. Have a good night.”
I rush back to my cabin. I didn’t even get to show him how you can barely see the burn on my hand, and, other than being a little red, my foot is totally fine.
I can’t keep trying to win him over if I’m going to be met with disdain and rudeness.
I know better. It’s fine; he can continue being lonely.
I take my plate to the upstairs room, play music softly in my ears, and start doing the thing I’ve missed these past few days: creating.