Chapter 6
MAX
Lacey reacts to the sight of Low Pines like it’s another planet, leaning forward in her seat until the belt locks, and gasping loudly. I instinctively start looking for deer on the side of the road, or anything that would warrant a sound like that.
“What?” I ask when I can’t make out the danger.
“This town,” she breathes, looking around. “It’s gorgeous.”
I blink and turn my attention back to Low Pines, which is sprawling out below us.
Coming down the side of the mountain like this gives us something of a bird’s-eye view.
There’s Main Street, which sports a variety of stores, stretching from here to the end of the road, where the church melts into a courtyard and pedestrian area, circling around a fountain.
When I first came out here to look at the land, the realtor had insisted on bringing me into town, thinking it would be a selling point for me.
They were right in the fact that I like having the convenience of coming in to get my stuff, but wrong in the fact that I don’t really care what it looks like.
And I don’t love the tourist attraction aspect, either.
I remember the realtor repeating, again and again, that the guy who designed the town was inspired by downtown designs in Europe. For a second, I think of telling Lacey that, of impressing her with my knowledge, but I don’t actually want to encourage more conversation between us.
It doesn’t matter that her reaction to Low Pines is making me feel a certain way. It doesn’t matter that there’s a part of me, no matter how small, that enjoys the feeling of having her in the seat next to me. Like it has, somehow, balanced out the cab of my truck.
Even weight distribution. Probably better for the tires.
As we roll into town, people look up and wave, smiling, and Lacey makes comments about how cute the place is again and again.
It’s not like I hate Low Pines; it’s just fine.
I purposefully route us around to the back of the hardware store to make sure we don’t go past Warren’s place.
The last thing I need right now is to deal with another request from him to enter the contest, especially not in front of Lacey.
For some reason, I don’t want her asking about the furniture. Can’t stomach the idea of telling her about my work, about my art. I might be warming up to her, against my better judgment.
“I can’t get over this,” Lacey says, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture of the hardware store, which actually makes me chuckle. It’s like taking a picture of the road, or a street post. So mundane. Surely there are hardware stores wherever she’s from.
Where did Jasper say he was from? Or did he ever mention it? It’s not like we had a lot of deep conversations.
We walk in through the back door of the hardware store, and I’m instantly reminded of something about Low Pines that I really don’t like. Liam Smythe.
Tall, broad, and blond. The kind of guy they cast to play that really charming superhero who’s stronger and better than everyone else.
Today, his hair is pushed back from his face with what must be a headband, but the motherfucker manages to make it look masculine.
Likely, the sleeves of tattoos on either arm balance out the hair thing.
Or, maybe, I’m so out of touch I have no idea what a woman might find attractive. All I know is that hair like that would drive me up the wall out at the cabin, trying to get things done with it whipping in my face all the time.
“Welcome to Smythe Hardware,” he says, rounding the corner while wiping his hand on an oil rag, like he’s some sort of mechanic. First, he looks to me, then at Lacey, and his smile only grows. “Well, hello there. Haven’t seen your face around here before. You must be Max’s sister.”
Lacey’s delight at someone who might want to have a real conversation with her is palpable. Smythe sets down the rag and leans on the counter, giving her his full attention.
“No, I inherited the cabin down the road from him, actually,” she says, and from the corner of my eye, I watch her brace for it.
And, of course, it comes. “Down the road?” Smythe asks, his forehead wrinkling for a moment, before he seems to make the connection like I did, seeing her copper hair and freckles. “Oh, you’re Jasper’s kid? I’m so sorry for your loss. I had no idea—”
“It’s okay,” Lacey says, waving her hand in front of her face, even though it’s obvious to anyone just looking at her that it is not, in fact, okay. “And no, actually — I’m his niece.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Lacey, even if it’s under less than ideal circumstances,” Smythe says, sticking out his hand to hers, and I have to quell the strange anger that rises up in my chest when she reaches out to take it.
Why does it matter? I’ve already decided I want nothing to do with her. And so what if Smythe flirts with her? He flirts with every woman who’s ever entered this shop. I’ve seen it before, standing at the counter and waiting for the asshole to check out my stuff so I could get home.
Maybe it’s the fact that, within moments, he’s getting along well with her. Smooth. I’ve never been that charismatic or suave, and I instinctively don’t trust people who can talk like that, make their way through a conversation like it’s nothing.
“Oh yeah, I’d definitely take some fuses back with you, just in case something is blown. You should be able to find the fuse box pretty easily. It will look like the one in your condo, but bigger. Maybe in the garage or outside.”
“I didn’t even notice a garage.” She laughs at herself in a way I can’t help but find charming.
I ignore them and go to the other side of the store, grabbing the stuff I need — might as well limit the number of trips I have to make back to Low Pines — trying to block out the sound of Lacey giggling and Smythe schmoozing on the other side, over by the electrical equipment.
When I emerge, I find Lacey with her items at the checkout, still carrying on a full conversation with Smythe as he writes down each one.
She’s shocked when he doesn’t take Apple Pay and has to dig into her purse, and rather than finding that annoying — which would make sense — Smythe just laughs, saying old-fashioned bookkeeping is part of the charm.
“Plus,” he adds, bagging her things for her, “my grandpa would kill me if I updated all that while he’s still around to see it.”
Lacey laughs, but I see the grief flash over her face. When you’ve gotten used to seeing it in yourself, you can identify it quickly. Smythe doesn’t seem to notice he’s said anything to remind her of her dead uncle, and he finishes the transaction.
When I step up to the counter, it goes quiet while he scans mine, and I’m tempted to say something like, what, don’t want to flirt with me? Is it the beard?
But then there’s another gasp from behind me — like the one Lacey let out on the road — and while I’ve learned my lesson with her, Smythe looks up, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh my God,” she says, snapping a picture of a flyer pinned to his corkboard. “This is so cute!”
He and I look at each other, and I hate that I’m having a moment of connection with fucking Liam Smythe.
“Are you… talking about the fall festival?” he asks with an amused tone I couldn’t match if I wanted to.
What does she mean, it’s so cute? Does she mean the idea of coming down here and paying twice as much for the same coffee and food, jamming yourself in with a bunch of other people?
Of playing overpriced carnival games and looking over pumpkins they’ve brought in from the local patch, rather than going out and picking one yourself?
It doesn’t make any sense to me, and I’ve always specifically made sure to avoid town on that weekend.
I’ve also, in the past, put up a sign on my mailbox letting people know to turn around if they’re looking for the fall fest, since I got tired of confused tourists showing up at my doorstep, asking if they were lost.
“Is it real?” she asks, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline, and once again, Smythe laughs.
“Course it is. I go every year. If you’re around, I could show you the ropes.”
“That would be wonderful,” Lacey says, nodding and turning back to the flyer while Smythe bags the rest of my stuff. I have to force myself to stop grinding my teeth together.
Who cares if he takes her to the stupid festival? It seems like the kind of thing people like the two of them would enjoy. Hell, maybe Smythe can come up the mountain and dig her car out of the mud, too, since he seems to like her so much.
I don’t realize my bad mood is visible until we’re in the Jeep, on our way back, and Lacey says quietly, “I really do appreciate you giving me a ride. I hadn’t realized the roads would be so… rough.”
Snorting out a laugh, I turn to look at her. We’re about halfway up the mountain now, and the sun is starting to droop low in the sky. The road is still soft, and I have to maneuver the truck carefully to avoid getting stuck.
“Don’t worry about it,” I force out, remembering that flash of grief on her face in the store and thinking I might have been a little too hard on her yesterday. She might be clueless and maybe even vapid like the people I went to school with, but that doesn’t mean I should write her off.
Because I understand all too well what it means to lose someone, and she may not have the same passion for the cabin that Jasper did, but it’s clear she loved him.
“Is there a tow truck company I can call around here?” she asks, pulling her phone out and sighing — clearly realizing she’s already lost signal again. “Or, maybe you could take me somewhere that can help?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say again, because apparently that phrase is all I can say. “I’ll pull it out for you. Knowing my luck, the tow truck would get stuck, and then I’d have twice as much work.”
When I glance over at her, I expect her to be frowning, put off by that, but instead she’s smiling, looking at me like she knows something I don’t.
“You’ll have to walk down and get it in the morning,” I say, because I don’t want to think about the weight of her gaze on my face. “These roads can be really dangerous at night. Hard to see, and deer can jump out.”
“You are very passionate about road safety,” she teases, and I frown, bringing the Jeep to a stop out in front of Jasper’s place.
I’ve only driven all the way up here once or twice before, and I’ve never seen the cabin completely finished.
Now, the headlights glance off the water and some windows at the front of the cabin, but I can’t make out much more than that.
On a whim, I roll down the window and catch the scent of the water, the waves lapping gently along the small sand bar.
Jasper picked a nice spot. And from what I can see, the guy had a talent for building. This cabin is easily three times as big as mine, even from what little I can see in the dark. And it has a deck — something I would do if I had the chance to build mine all over again.
“Have a good night,” I say, clearing my throat when she sits there for a moment, not getting out.
“Oh,” she says, jerking a little and nodding, looking like she doesn’t want to get out of the Jeep at all.
For the briefest second, I think about telling her she doesn’t have to sleep here. That she could come back to my cabin — even though I don’t even have a couch to offer her — if that might help her feel safer.
But she grabs the door handle, flooding the inside of the Jeep with light and saying, “You have a good night, too, Max.”
And with that, she hops out of the Jeep, grabs her bag of things from the hardware store, and follows the path of the headlights to the front door, waving once more before sliding inside.
I turn around and head back down to my own cabin, the sound of my name on her lips playing through my head again and again.