Chapter 12 #2
Aspen’s heart sank at the sharpness of Maddy’s gaze that was completely stripped of the warmth that had been there for the past few hours.
Then Maddy turned back to Bunny and her dad. “And you all wonder why I never come back.” She turned sharply on her heel and brushed past Aspen, up the stairs.
Three seconds later, Maddy’s bedroom door slammed shut.
Now Aspen flinched.
The living room went silent.
CoCo, who was completely oblivious to the tension in the room, was at the far end of the sofa scratching at the cushion with both paws like she was trying to dig straight through it. Chanel, who was much more attuned to her human’s energy, was hiding under the coffee table, ears flat.
For maybe twenty seconds, no one said anything. Then Aspen spoke. “You should have told her.” She kept her voice low. “She shouldn’t have found out that way.”
Olly’s whole body sagged a little. “Honey—”
“Don’t.” It came out sharper than she’d probably ever spoken to her father.
She turned and opened the front door, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door closed behind her.
She leaned back against it and closed her eyes.
The fluttering she had felt in her chest all night had been replaced with a dull ache.
The other shoe had dropped.
* * *
At 8:59 a.m., Aspen sat idling at the curb outside of Bunny’s house, eyes watching the door.
She had considered wearing something she knew would drive Maddy crazy. Cutoff shorts that barely contained her ass, a sleeveless crop top that showed off her shoulders and abs. She pulled on a plain white t-shirt with rolled sleeves and her most neutral pair of jeans instead.
It had been eight days since their date at the soccer game and the very unfortunate scene they walked into at the end of the night. Seven of those days had been complete radio silence from Maddy. Until last night.
Aspen had been at the Sterling house every day this week for Bunny’s PT per usual, but Maddy hadn’t come downstairs once.
Aspen had never been so attuned to the sound of floorboards in her life. She had built a whole map in her head of an upstairs she had never even seen by the sounds of the floorboards under Maddy’s weight.
And every creak reminded her of one thing: wherever Aspen was, Maddy was not.
She had texted Maddy three times in the past week.
Saturday night, she’d sent a check-in after giving Maddy a necessary cooling off period. It went unanswered.
Tuesday afternoon, she tried something Cup-related, an intake report about the final potluck contributions for the Championship Feast after the awards ceremony.
She’d spent twenty minutes on the wording of that one, trying to keep it light, professional, and ending with an offer to coordinate directly with Bunny herself if Maddy preferred. Also unanswered.
She had thought about sending about a dozen more. The amount of times she opened her text thread with Maddy, hovered over the keyboard, then set the phone face-down on the counter was, frankly, embarrassing.
On Friday, she sent a third text. Strictly logistical.
It had been booked in their calendars for three weeks that they would go on Bunny’s ‘Fireworks Treasure Hunt’ today, and Maddy had not canceled.
Bunny refused to let the licensed pyrotechnics that would be putting on the display select the actual fireworks because “men with clipboards do not understand emotional pacing,” Bunny had said.
Aspen read the text four times before hitting send.
Aspen: Hey. Are we still on for tomorrow morning?
Then she locked her screen and went back to work. Which lasted until her next patient left, and then she proceeded to check her phone roughly once every ten minutes for the next seven hours.
Around 7 p.m., Maddy’s reply finally came in.
Maddy: Yes.
Aspen couldn’t help but smile. For one, because it was a very Maddy response.
And for two, because Maddy was not so mad at Aspen that she called the whole thing off.
Even though it had always been the plan for them to go together, she had honestly been expecting Maddy to reply and say she’d do it on her own.
It was the first response she’d gotten from Maddy in a full week, and she so badly had wanted to send something flirty or teasing in response, to break the ice now that Maddy had given her an opening.
But she refrained. She gave the text a thumbs-up and leapt up from the sofa with renewed energy to prep sandwiches, snacks, and drinks for the road.
At 9:03 a.m. Aspen began to wonder whether Maddy was waiting for her to come to the door. It was unusual for Maddy to be running even thirty seconds late. She drummed her thumbs on the steering wheel and weighed her options.
Maddy had set firm boundaries this week. She needed space.
Just as she reached for her phone to text Maddy that she was outside, the front door opened, and Aspen’s pulse kicked at the sight of her.
Maddy came across the lawn in jeans, a tucked in t-shirt, and sunglasses, which was a choice, given that the sun had not yet made an appearance that morning. She kept her head down, looking at the ground in front of her as she approached the SUV.
Maddy opened the passenger door and got in.
“Hey.” Aspen greeted her warmly, testing the waters.
Maddy reached over her shoulder and buckled her seat belt, giving no response.
So that’s how she was going to play it.
“I got you a coffee.” Aspen tried again, gesturing to the two takeaway cups in the holder.
“No thanks.” Maddy said flatly, eyes out the passenger window.
Okay then. This was going to be a delightful day. “Where to first?” At the very least, Maddy would have to respond to that.
Maddy pulled up the Notes app on her phone. “Del Arroyo Supply in Jamul.”
“Jamul. Copy that.” Aspen shifted into drive.
* * *
The drive out to Jamul was forty minutes.
Maddy spent the drive with her face to the window, pretending Aspen didn’t exist. Aspen spent it learning, in real time, that Maddy had the ability to sit impossibly still for an impressively long time.
Del Arroyo Supply turned out to be a ranch at the end of a gravel road, with a chain-link gate, three retired horse trailers rusting in a tidy row, and a shipping container painted matte black.
Aspen pulled through slowly, gravel popping under the tires, hot wind coming through her cracked window smelling like dust and creosote. She rolled to a stop and a Doberman the size of a small horse came sprinting around the container towards the car, barking wildly.
“Oh shit. Maybe we should—,” Aspen was about to suggest they wait for the owner, but Maddy was already getting out of the car. “Or we can just get mauled by a Doberman.” She mumbled under breath.
“Tinkerbell, sit!” A woman yelled as she came around the shipping container wiping her hands on a rag—late fifties, aviators, work boots, the kind of weathered tan that came from forty years of working in the sun.
The dog immediately sat. Maddy approached and let Tinkerbell sniff her hand, and then scratched under her chin.
Aspen was still standing behind the open driver’s door in case Tinkerbell had a change of heart.
“I’m Rita Del Arroyo. This here’s Tinkerbell.” Rita looked Maddy over. “You Bunny’s girl?”
“Yes. Maddy Sterling.” Maddy shook the offered hand.
Rita’s attention shifted to Aspen. “That must make you the muscle.”
Aspen waved with a small smile. The muscle. Sure.
“Well what are you doing all the way over there? The product’s this way. Those boxes aren’t gonna lift themselves.” Rita hooked a thumb over shoulder.
Aspen looked at the dog again, who was still obediently sitting, closed the car door, and approached carefully.
Rita had already turned for the container, talking over her shoulder. “How’s Bunny doing by the way? Heard she broke her ass.” She unlatched the container doors and hauled them open, revealing shelves stocked full of fireworks.
“She’s upright.” Maddy tilted her hand side to side. “Mostly.”
Rita held the door open for them and smiled at Aspen, then looked back at Maddy. “Not much of a talker, this one, is she?” She nodded her head towards Aspen.
Maddy glanced at Aspen briefly, then back at Rita, and shrugged. “She gets shy around beautiful women.”
Aspen smiled. Maddy had made a joke. It wasn’t aimed at her, but still. A joke was a joke.
Rita threw her head back and belly laughed. “Well I’ll leave you to it. Everything’s labeled. I’ll go get the invoice ready. Holler when you’re ready to square up.” She patted her leg. “Tinkerbell, come.”
The dog followed her out of the container and then it was just the two of them. Aspen exhaled.
“What’s your deal? Afraid of a dog named Tinkerbell?” Maddy was looking at Aspen, brows raised.
It was almost humiliating how fast Aspen’s whole body lit up just by having those blue eyes on her for the first time in eight days.
“Did you see the size of that thing?” Aspen whisper-yelled, not wanting to summon the beast again.
“Tinkerbell is an adorable fairy with porcelain skin, baby-blue eyes, and pointy elfin ears. She’s basically you, if you were the size of my hand and had wings.
That”—she pointed out the door—“was not Tinkerbell. That was freaking Godzilla.”
Maddy scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, please leave the theatrics to my mother.” She pulled open her Notes app, a faint blush on her cheeks that Aspen absolutely noticed. “Okay. Same drill as before, I read, you lift. Yes?”
“Yes.” Aspen confirmed.