Chapter 4 - Riley
I watch through the office window as Lucy walks away, her dark hair catching the morning light. When she's out of sight, I let out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding.
What the hell am I doing?
I turn back to her car, focusing on the task at hand. The alternator is completely fried—an easy diagnosis but a pain to replace on this model. Parts need to be moved, systems disconnected. It's meticulous work, which is exactly what I need right now. Something to occupy my hands and clear my head.
Because my head is anything but clear at the moment.
I offered to help her move her things. I gave her a discount without even thinking about it. Two things I never do. For anyone.
"You're losing it, Carter," I mutter to myself, reaching for a socket wrench.
I've built a life here—not a particularly social one, but a functional one. I have my shop. My cabin in the woods. My routines. I don't do complications, and Lucy Mitchell is definitely a complication.
She's too young, for one thing. Must be at least a decade between us, maybe more. Too young and too... everything. Too pretty, with those big brown eyes. Too earnest, with her grateful smiles. Too soft, with curves that her green sweater did nothing to hide.
Not that I noticed. Not that it matters.
I've been alone since coming back to Cedar Falls three years ago.
Alone by choice. The few attempts at dating ended quickly—usually after the first nightmare woke me screaming or the first time a car backfired nearby and I hit the ground.
Women want a man, not a collection of damaged parts barely held together.
Besides, a girl like Lucy would never look twice at a man like me. Not romantically. I'm older, scarred both inside and out, with nothing to offer but a mechanic's salary and a personality that most people charitably describe as "reserved" and more accurately call "antisocial."
No, she's just being friendly because I'm helping her.
Because she's new in town and doesn't know anyone else.
Once her car is fixed and she's settled, she'll find her own circle.
The young professionals who work at the lumber company offices.
The teachers at the elementary school. People her own age without war memories etched into their bones.
It's better this way. My life is uncomplicated. Predictable. Safe.
The way I like it.
I immerse myself in the disassembly, losing track of time as I always do when working on a particularly challenging job. By the time I come up for air, it's past noon and my stomach is growling in protest.
Usually, I'd just ignore it until closing time, but today I find myself locking up the shop and heading to Lou's Diner.
Hours later
The afternoon crawls by. I finish stripping down Lucy's engine to better assess the damage and call in the parts order to my supplier in Oakridge. Dave at the parts warehouse promises to expedite it, but we both know "expedite" in these rural areas still means at least two days.
I don't see Lucy at lunch. Not that I was looking for her. I just happened to stop by Lou's Diner around noon, and she wasn't there. Lou mentioned she'd been by earlier to arrange for his nephew's Subaru, but she'd already left to explore the town on foot.
It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter. I have work to do.
But as I close up shop at seven, I find myself irritated, checking my watch more often than necessary. I'm annoyed that I didn't see her and even more annoyed at myself for being annoyed about it. This isn't high school. I'm not some kid with a crush.
I'm flipping the sign to "Closed" when headlights sweep across the front of the shop. A faded blue Subaru pulls into the lot—Lou's nephew's car. Lucy steps out, waving when she sees me in the doorway.
"Hey," she calls. "I can come back tomorrow if—"
"It's fine," I say, pushing the door open again. "Just finished up."
She approaches, looking different than she did this morning. Less polished somehow, more relaxed. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she's wearing jeans and a simple t-shirt. There's a smudge of what looks like ice cream on her sleeve.
"I got the car," she says unnecessarily, gesturing to the Subaru. "Lou was incredibly nice about it. Wouldn't even let me leave a deposit."
I nod. "Lou's a good guy. Town wouldn't function without him."
"I stopped by the diner for lunch, but you weren't there." She says this casually, but something in her tone makes me look at her more closely. Was she looking for me?
"Had work to do," I respond, lying and jerking my head toward her Corolla. "Your car's more of a mess than I initially thought."
Her face falls. "Worse than you said this morning?"
"No, same diagnosis. Just time-consuming work." I hesitate, then add, "Still looking at Thursday for the parts, Friday for completion if all goes well."
She nods, accepting this news with a small sigh. "Well, at least I have wheels now. And I spent the day walking around town, getting to know the place. Everyone's been so friendly."
Of course they have. Cedar Falls loves fresh blood—especially when it comes in the form of a pretty young woman with a sunny smile. I can already imagine how the town's single men will be lining up once word gets around.
The thought makes me inexplicably irritated.
"I was hoping to get my things from the car?" Lucy continues, oblivious to my inner thoughts. "If that's okay?"
"Right," I say, shaking off my strange mood. "Let me unlock the bay doors."
I lead her into the garage where her Corolla sits, hood still up, parts spread on a nearby workbench. Lucy approaches her car cautiously, as if it might bite her.
"Wow," she says, peering at the engine. "You weren't kidding about taking things apart."
"Have to, to get to the alternator on this model." I move to the trunk of her car. "Your stuff is all still here."
She joins me, and we survey the packed trunk and backseat together. There's more than I realized last night—boxes, bags, a few small pieces of furniture disassembled and wrapped in moving blankets.
"I can probably do multiple trips," she says doubtfully, eyeing the small Subaru.
I look at the amount of stuff, then at her, short and curvy but doesn't seem too strong, then at the darkening sky outside. A storm is moving in. I can smell it in the air, that distinctive pre-rain heaviness.
“I told you I’d help. We can load up both cars. Get it done in one trip."
Her eyes widen in surprise. "Both cars?"
"My truck's out back." I nod toward the rear exit. "We can fit the bigger stuff in there."
"Oh, I thought you were just saying it to be nice. I don’t want to interrupt your eveni-“
"It's fine," I interrupt, already reaching for a box. "I said I’d help. Besides, you'll need help unloading anyway."
She hesitates, then smiles—that genuine, warm smile that seems to light up her whole face. "Thank you. Again. I feel like I'm constantly thanking you."
I shrug, uncomfortable with her gratitude. "Just being neighborly."
We work in silence, loading the smaller boxes and bags into the Subaru, the bulkier items into my truck. Lucy is more efficient than I expected, moving with purpose and showing no hesitation about lifting heavier items. But I notice she winces slightly when reaching for a box on a higher shelf.
"I got it," I say, easily retrieving the box marked 'Kitchen'.
"Thanks," she says, rubbing her shoulder. "Old injury. Acts up sometimes."
I nod, not asking for details she hasn't offered. Everyone has scars—some just hide them better than others.
Within thirty minutes, we've emptied her car and filled both vehicles. Lucy stands in the garage doorway, keys to the Subaru in hand, looking uncertain.
"You know the way back to the cottage?" I ask.
"I think so. Left at the light, right on Maple, then straight?"
"Close. It's right on Oak, not Maple." I close up the garage, securing the bay doors. "Just follow my truck. It'll be easier."
She nods, looking relieved. "Okay. And... thank you. For doing this."
I grunt in acknowledgment, "Let's go before it rains."
We get into our respective vehicles, and I lead the way through town, keeping an eye on her blue Subaru in my rearview mirror. She follows at a careful distance, signaling properly at every turn, driving exactly at the speed limit. A rule-follower. I'm not surprised.
The cottage appears just as the first heavy raindrops begin to fall. I pull into the gravel driveway, and Lucy parks beside me. By the time we both exit our vehicles, the rain is coming down steadily.
"Perfect timing," Lucy says, hurrying to unlock the cottage door. "Let's get everything inside before it really starts pouring."
We work quickly, shuttling boxes and bags from the vehicles to the cottage's living room. The rain intensifies, turning from a steady fall to a proper downpour. By our third trip, we're both getting soaked despite the short distance.
On my final trip, carrying a box of books that weighs a ton, the skies truly open up. I'm drenched by the time I make it to the door, where Lucy stands with a towel.
"Here," she says, handing it to me as I set down the box. "You're soaked through."
I take the towel, aware suddenly of how I must look—t-shirt plastered to my chest, hair dripping onto her floor. "Thanks."
Lucy's not much drier, her ponytail hanging in a wet rope down her back, her t-shirt clinging to her curves in a way that makes me avert my eyes. She doesn't seem to notice, busy sorting through boxes.
"That's everything," I say, running the towel over my hair. "You sure have a lot of books."
She looks up with a self-conscious smile. "Occupational hazard. I'm a writer. Or trying to be, anyway."
"What do you write?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Historical fiction, mostly." She gestures to a box labeled 'Research'. "Hence all the history books."
I nod, not sure what to say. I haven't read much fiction since before Afghanistan. Haven't had the patience for it.
Thunder cracks overhead, making the cottage windows rattle. The rain is coming down in sheets now, a proper small town deluge.
"Wow," Lucy says, peering out the window. "It's really coming down. Um..." She hesitates, then turns to me with an uncertain expression. "I was going to order pizza, if you wanted to stay? Until the rain lets up?"
The invitation catches me off guard. I should say no. I should get in my truck and drive back to my empty cabin and eat whatever's in my refrigerator. Alone. Like I always do.
But the thought of driving through this storm only to sit by myself in my silent house suddenly seems unbearably bleak.
"Sure," I hear myself say. "Until the rain lets up."
Lucy's smile is worth the momentary lapse in judgment. "Great! Let me find my phone. Ate Gino yesterday and loved it. And did you know Gino's delivers even in weather like this? Lou told me they have a guy with a Jeep specifically for rainy nights."
As she hunts for her phone, I stand awkwardly in the middle of her living room, surrounded by the boxes and bags of her life. I should help her organize, maybe start unpacking the kitchen items. That would be the polite thing to do.
Instead, I find myself studying the titles of her books, stacked where I set them down. History of the Pacific Northwest. Logging Communities of the 1800s. Women's Diaries of the Oregon Trail.
"This is also research for your book?" I ask when she returns, phone in hand.
She nods, looking pleased that I noticed. "I'm working on a novel set in this region during the 1870s."
"You should really talk to Mrs. Abernathy," I suggest. "She runs the historical society. Has archives going back to the town's founding."
Lucy's eyes light up. "Really? That would be amazing. I was planning to introduce myself properly tomorrow, but I had no idea she was involved with the historical society."
"Her family's been here since the beginning. Abernathy Lumber was one of the first businesses in town." I shift, uncomfortable with how much I'm talking and how eager I sound. "What kind of pizza do you like?"
She accepts the change in subject with a smile. "I'm not picky. Pepperoni? Or whatever you prefer."
"Pepperoni's fine."
While Lucy calls in the order, I wander to the living room window, watching the rain lash against the glass. The storm has turned the early evening almost as dark as night, the cottage's lights reflecting back at me in the window.
In the reflection, I can see her moving around behind me, clearing space on the coffee table and straightening cushions on the sofa. Preparing for a guest. For me.
This is dangerous territory, I remind myself. Getting involved, even just as a friendly neighbor, isn't what I do. I keep to myself for a reason. People are complicated. Relationships are complicated. And complications are the last thing I need in my life.
But as Lucy approaches with two glasses of water, I find it hard to remember exactly why I've been so determined to keep everyone at arm's length.
"Pizza will be here in thirty minutes," she says. "Hope you don't mind waiting."
I don't mind at all, and that's exactly the problem.