11. So You’re Still Selling #2
That's what I told June, and it's definitely something I can follow up on.
The storm really wasn't that bad, which is great considering I spent half the night listening to the wind like it was plotting against me. Then I fell asleep on Jack. Then I woke up wrapped in a blanket on his couch like a leftover burrito. Then—
Nope.
I pull out my phone and open my messages, my thumb hovering over the name of the one person who will immediately validate me while also making fun of me.
Me: I survived the storm. I'm alive and only mildly traumatized by weather, porch swings, and Wilder things.
Nicole's reply comes almost immediately.
Nicole: Wilder things... As in Wilder, your glaring neighbor? I really want to meet this dude. His glare has to be top notch.
Me: It's... something. But sadly, storm survival means getting back to work on the house. Not sure which is worse.
Nicole: Do you want me to come down there? I can be there in like... however long it takes to drive there. But I will bring snacks and emotional support.
I stare at the screen.
The offer is tempting.
More tempting than I want to admit now that I know how hard being back here is. I've barely managed to spend a few hours alone in the house without needing to escape from the silence.
But no.
I'm determined to see this through on my own.
Or stubborn.
Whichever.
Me: Tempting. But no. I'm going to pretend I'm a capable adult and handle it.
Nicole: That is the worst plan I've ever heard.
Me: Agree to disagree.
Nicole: Text me when you change your mind.
Me: If. If I change my mind. But noted.
I put my phone away before I can do exactly that.
The drive toward the center of town is slow. My windshield wipers squeak across the glass in that irritating rhythm they make when it's too wet to turn them off but not wet enough to justify leaving them on.
The roads are slick but passable, the kind of damp that makes everything look freshly washed.
And, of course, my brain immediately supplies the image it always does now.
A wet road.
A sudden loss of traction.
A truck that doesn't stop the way it should.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and force my attention back to the road in front of me.
Not today.
Today, I'm going to do something normal. Helpful, maybe. Or at the very least, something that puts me around other people so the quiet of the house doesn't drive me crazy.
By the time I pull into the small lot near the clinic, I can already see a few townspeople milling around. Some carry rakes while others follow behind with trash bags.
It looks less like disaster relief and more like a neighborhood cleanup organized by people who are mostly curious about who lost power and who was dramatic about it.
I get out of the car and immediately regret not wearing a hat. The mist isn't heavy, but it clings to everything like a damp opinion.
I've barely made it to the sidewalk when Maya steps out of the clinic carrying a small box.
Her expression softens the moment she sees me.
“There you are.”
I stop. “Was I... missing?”
Maya laughs. “I suppose not, but I was thinking about you. I was going to stop by your place later if I didn't see you around.”
She gives me a little wink.
“Or maybe I still will.”
I fall into step beside her. “I'm good.”
Her eyes narrow in that nurse way of hers, and I can practically hear what she's thinking.
You're lying, but I don't have enough evidence to prove it, so I'll remain silent for now.
“I mean it,” I add. “The storm wasn't bad. Just... annoying.”
Maya nods and adjusts the box in her arms. “Did your power go out, or were you one of the lucky ones here to brag about keeping it?”
A laugh slips out. “No bragging here.”
I hesitate.
I hate that I hesitate because it immediately makes what I'm about to say sound like a confession.
“I stayed next door.”
Maya doesn't look surprised.
If anything, she looks relieved.
“With Jack,” I clarify.
The second the words leave my mouth, I realize clarification wasn't necessary. The next closest houses are seasonal rentals, all closed up this time of year.
Maya nods. “That makes sense.”
I frown. “It does?”
She gives me a patient look. “Jack's... difficult.”
I make a sound of agreement. “That's one way to put it.”
“But that's probably the best place you could have ended up,” she adds, as if it's a fact as solid as Tidehaven's weather patterns.
Which, considering how unpredictable Tidehaven weather is, probably isn't saying much.
Unless the unpredictability itself is the reliable part.
Either way.
“I will admit that my pride is a little bruised,” I say. “That and my neck from sleeping on the couch.”
Maya smiles. “Do you want an ice pack for the road?”
I snort. “I appreciate the offer, but I'll survive. I actually came to offer my services for physical labor.”
Maya raises an eyebrow, then immediately reaches into the box and hands me a pair of work gloves.
“Here you go.”
I take them. “You're very prepared.”
“Storm season.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. I beg of you. Don't start sounding like Jack.”
Maya's smile widens just enough to make me suspicious, but thankfully, she keeps whatever comment she's thinking to herself.
I pull on the gloves and help for a while.
I drag a couple of branches to the curb, hold a trash bag while someone dumps wet leaves inside, and nod politely while an older man tells me, for no apparent reason, that storms used to be worse back in the day.
It's busy in exactly the right way. It gives me a reason to move without thinking too hard.