3. News That Never Makes The News #2
A waitress appears beside the booth with menus tucked beneath one arm and two glasses of water balanced in her hands like she’s done it a thousand times.
“I’m Rebecca. Can I start you off with anything besides these?”
I don’t recognize her.
Which means she’s either new or wasn’t working here the last time I visited.
Either way, I’m grateful.
One less person who knows me.
“Water is perfect,” June says with a smile.
Rebecca slides the menus onto the table and sets down our glasses.
“Just wave me down when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” June and I say at the same time.
I open the menu and scan the options.
I’m half hungry and half distracted, while June studies hers with the intense concentration of a woman who probably makes every decision in her life efficiently.
“Nothing with peanut butter,” I mutter.
June looks up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I return my attention to the menu, lingering over anything involving actual bread instead of crackers that may or may not have been manufactured during my childhood.
Give or take a year or two.
Once we’ve made our choices, June catches Rebecca’s attention with an easy wave.
We place our orders, and when Rebecca disappears again, June reaches into her bag and pulls out her tablet.
The shift is immediate.
Her posture straightens.
Her expression turns practical and focused.
It makes me both grateful and slightly intimidated.
“All right,” June says, unlocking the screen. “Let’s talk about the house.”
***
“Is the hardware store always this busy?” June asks as we make our way through the crowd in search of a dolly.
I frown.
Because no.
No, it is not.
Not unless a storm is coming in faster than expected.
“This is… not normal.”
I slow down and take in the chaos around us.
The place is packed like it’s Black Friday instead of a random weekday.
Someone hurries past carrying a stack of plywood under one arm.
Another person has enough bungee cords looped around their wrist to qualify as jewelry.
Near the front of the store, a man in a rain jacket appears to be arguing with an employee over the last box of sandbags.
“I didn’t see anything about a storm the last time I checked my weather app.”
My phone was very clear this morning.
Gray skies.
Wind.
A little chilly.
Nothing dramatic.
Which means Tidehaven is either collectively overreacting or my weather app is about to betray me.
Possibly both.
“Claire, dear!”
I freeze.
“Oh, how wonderful that you’re here!”
I turn to find Evie Shaw pushing a shopping cart in our direction.
Of course.
I brace myself.
“Hi, Evie.”
She abandons her cart long enough to pull me into a hug.
For such a small woman, she has the upper-body strength of a professional wrestler.
“But what dreadful timing you have!” she announces when I’m finally released from her miniature bear hug. “It seems our storm season is starting a bit early this year. Everyone is scrambling.”
Internally, I groan.
Externally, I smile.
Then I glance toward the front windows like they might suddenly turn black with rain.
“When is it expected?” June asks, stepping closer with polite interest. “Soon, I take it?”
Evie looks at June.
Then back at me.
Her eyebrows lift.
Apparently, Tidehaven’s unofficial news service has just realized there’s an unidentified outsider standing in the hardware store.
The expectant look she gives me is impossible to miss.
Right.
Introductions.
Let the town commentary begin.
“Evie, this is my friend June.” I gesture toward her with an open palm like I’m presenting a contestant on a game show. “She’s also my realtor. She’s helping me sell the beach house.”
Evie’s eyebrows shoot up at the word sell.
I resist the urge to hide behind a display of paint rollers.
“June, this is Evie. She’s basically Tidehaven’s unofficial bulletin board, except with better accessories and baked goods.”
Evie lets out a delighted laugh, one hand flying to her chest like I’ve just paid her the highest possible compliment instead of issuing June a warning.
“Well, it’s wonderful to meet you, June. And welcome to Tidehaven.”
June smiles and shakes Evie’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you. It’s good to meet you too.”
I glance at the crowd again before looking into Evie’s cart.
Batteries.
Duct tape.
Flashlights.
Enough replacement bulbs to signal passing ships from space.
“It looks like we’d better get shopping before the store sells out.”
“Right you are!” Evie says cheerfully.
Far too cheerfully for a woman announcing an early storm like she’s inviting us to a bake sale.
She pats my arm, then steers her cart toward the registers.
“Don’t wait too long, dears!” she calls over her shoulder. “They’ll be out of everything by dinner!”
I watch her disappear into the crowd.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” June says as we continue our search for a dolly, “but for a coastal town that’s used to bad weather, everyone seems to be… overreacting?”
I snort.
“We like to do that.”
June looks at me.
“It makes everyone feel extra prepared,” I explain. “Half the people in this store probably have enough emergency supplies at home to survive for years, and yet here they are.”
June laughs as we sidestep a cart loaded with bottled water and a truly concerning amount of duct tape.
“I noticed Evie had enough batteries to last three lifetimes.”
I glance toward the registers, but Evie has already vanished.
“She uses storms as an excuse to prepare for the inevitable zombie apocalypse.”
June hums thoughtfully, like she’s genuinely considering the possibility.
“I still don’t think you need a dolly, but let’s grab one. Then we can pick up anything else you might need before the storm.”
I follow her down the aisle, my gaze drifting over storm boards, tarps, batteries, and bins of flashlights.
A storm means being stuck at the house.
Being stuck at the house means too much quiet.
And too much quiet means Ben.
My stomach tightens.
I look at June and suddenly realize I have no idea what her plans are.
Or where she’s staying.
I clear my throat.
“So… are you heading back after you inspect the house?”
“Back where?”
I blink.
“Home. Out of town. Away from whatever impending disaster Evie just predicted.”
One corner of June’s mouth lifts.
“I can handle a little weather, Claire.”
That doesn’t actually answer my question.
I let it slide.
At the end of the aisle, we finally find a row of dollies lined up like they’re auditioning for the role of refrigerator mover.
I grab one.
June gives it a skeptical look but wisely keeps her opinion to herself.
We’re heading toward the registers when she suddenly leans closer.
“Who’s Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome over there?”
I keep walking.
“And why is he looking at you like that?”
Oh no.
I glance in the direction June indicates.
Jack Wilder.
Because of course he’s here.
Our eyes meet for half a second.
I immediately look away.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing I noticed him.
“I’m his arch nemesis.”
June looks at me.
“Or so it seems,” I add, tightening my grip on the dolly handle.
“And he is…?” she prompts.
I exhale through my nose.
“My neighbor. Jack Wilder.”
I keep my eyes firmly ahead of me.
“He was cool when we were younger. I mean, we were never best friends or anything, but he mostly acted like a normal person around me.”
“Mostly?”
“Close enough.”
I shrug.
“Something changed after I left for college. At some point, glaring at me became his default facial expression.”
June glances over her shoulder.
“Well. He’s certainly committed to it.”
“I just avoid him now.”
My gaze remains fixed on the register ahead.
“It works ninety percent of the time.”
June’s mouth twitches.
“And the other ten percent?”
I lift my eyebrows.
“We have glaring contests.”
She laughs.
“Healthy.”
“Very.”
“And mature.”
“Extremely.”
We pay for the dolly and the few storm supplies June insists I need, and I spend the entire transaction pretending I’m not aware of Jack Wilder somewhere behind me.
Which would be easier if the air didn’t feel different just because I know he’s there.
Ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
We start making our way toward the exit.
I tell myself not to look back.
So naturally, I do.
Jack is still watching me.
For one brief second, our eyes meet across the crowded hardware store.
Then I turn away before he can catch me staring.
Which is ridiculous.
Because he already did.