Chapter 11 Sierra
Sierra
“I realize you’re an absolute sucker for a fixer-upper, uncomfortably competitive, and socially awkward,” Sophie says, “but this is extreme, even for you.”
I’m not really listening, I’m so deep into my new “Who Needs a Man Anyway?” playlist, but I toss her a dirty look as she turns down the volume on Miley Cyrus buying herself flowers. I was singing along, of course.
Soph leans on the tiny peninsula in the cottage’s kitchen, flipping casually through a paperback as I roll a nice, thick coating of Simply White kitchen paint onto the small piece of bare wall that runs next to the cupboards and behind the kitchen table.
I managed to get this whole wall taped off today and prepped for its fresh new facelift.
This is now the only wall that isn’t dank and dreary; light bounces off it, and already the cottage feels brighter.
“This is not extreme,” I inform her. “It’s satisfying.”
“You need to back away from the overachieving and get ready. We leave in half an hour.”
“I’m not overachieving. I’m actually behind schedule.” I start rolling faster, covering the last corner of the sad old wall with its rotten-oyster-colored paint and making it disappear. “I wanted to get this coat done and finish a light sanding on the bathroom cupboards today.”
“Of course you’re behind,” she says sarcastically. “You could teach a masterclass in avoidance—”
“Thank you.”
“Which is why you’ve been fixing up this cottage, which you don’t own, in addition to running the smoothie bar, and you read a whole mystery novel in the last three days. To avoid Mason Grant and getting on with your uncertain future.”
“Didn’t you read it?” I avoid that last (very accurate) bit she said and place the roller in the pan, wiping off my sweaty face with a rag. “It was your idea to go to this book club.”
“Yeah, to meet the local gossips and have girl talk. Drink wine and eat too much cheese. I don’t think they actually expected us to read Murder in the Barnyard. We only got invited like four days ago.”
“It’s not exactly Anna Karenina. It’s a quick read.”
Sophie shrugs as she flips, scanning random pages, which I guess is her version of reading the book. “I’ll just read your notes.”
“How do you know I made notes?” I say airily.
My best friend laughs.
I sigh. I pluck my copy of Murder in the Barnyard from my purse, stuffed with Post-its that are scrawled with my thoughts, and toss it to her. “Are we really doing this?”
“Of course we are. What else is there to do in this town if you won’t let us go to the bar?”
“Hey, he won’t let us go to the bar.”
“No, he told you to stay away from his family. How do you know if his family’s at the bar? And why do you even care? He might not even be there. And if he is, as long as you don’t get up and start singing karaoke, he might not even notice you’re there.”
I snort. “Thanks.”
She frowns. “I meant, if it’s crowded.”
I start cleaning up my painting supplies.
“Look. We’ve both seen Mason and his friends going in and out of that bar all week long, and according to the many rumors you’ve already gathered and delivered to my ears, Mason and his brother and their buddies are all single.
Bachelors. Playboys. Even if I wanted to go to his stupid bar, I don’t need a reminder of how painfully single I am by watching everyone else hook up with the town hotties at the local watering hole. ”
“Great. Then come with me to this book club meeting.”
I mutter something about social butterflies that she definitely hears.
“And don’t think you can fake sudden food poisoning or something,” she says, unbothered. “You’re going.”
“Okay, okay. Just let me get ready.”
“Yay! Let the awkward forced socializing begin!”
She’s way too happy about this.
“I’d rather eat sushi from a dumpster than do this,” I inform her grumpily.
“I know, sweetie. That’s why you need to do this.”
“Why do I need to do this again?” I inquire as Soph and I walk along a quiet country road, carrying our copies of Murder in the Barnyard.
I’m clutching three big bottles of cider—Saskatoon Berry, Rhubarb, and something called Farmhouse Scrumpy—from a cider company over on Salt Spring Island, which I hope is a respectful nod to the craft cider industry in these parts and not sacrilege among the locals.
I’ve got one eye peeled for any sign of Mason, since I keep almost running into him all over town.
Sophie has the gargantuan wood platter we found in the Cozy Cottage kitchen, piled high with finger sandwiches. “Because you need to make friends,” she insists, “given that Kyle took all your so-called friends except two in the breakup.”
I’m afraid he did. Though to be fair, other than Sophie and Pete, they were his friends first.
“And since you might stay here a while,” she adds, “the sooner you make friends, the better.”
“I am so regretting telling you that I’m considering staying in this one-horse town,” I say distractedly as I hold up my phone, trying to catch a cell signal.
No luck.
“For the record, I haven’t seen even one horse.”
“And how do you know for sure that he took them all?”
“Honey. Name me one person who checked in on you after that meme went out to everyone in Kyle’s contact list, because they were actually concerned about you and not just hungry for the drama of it all.”
I open my mouth to answer, but she cuts me off with “Other than your mom. And your sister.”
I shut my mouth.
“And now name me one person from his contact list, or yours, who didn’t reach out, that you actually care to hear from again.”
I think about it for a moment. “Fuck. I really don’t.”
“Then why are you dreading this book club thing so much?”
“Because I’m terrible at making friends. As evidenced by the fact that I have none.”
“We’ve been friends for years.”
“Only because you started it.”
She rolls her eyes. “So, I’ll help you get started with some new ones.”
She will, if I let her. The woman knows no shyness. I actually met her at a Dirty concert when she was working. I was standing in the lineup to buy a T-shirt, and when I got to the front she said, No, you get a hoodie, then tossed one at me, charging me only for the much less expensive T-shirt.
When I got home, I discovered that she’d scrawled her phone number on the tag with a sharpie. I actually thought she was trying to pick me up, but I called anyway because she seemed cool. We had a laugh about it and we’ve been thick as thieves ever since.
She maintains to this day that in all the years of traveling to many continents on tour, that is the only time she’s ever done that. I choose to believe her because it makes me feel special, but come on.
Either way, if anyone knows how to meet people, it’s Soph.
“Do it for me?” she says. “You’ve always, always been there for me.
No matter where I go or how long I’m gone or what crazy chaos I bring back when I come whirling in and out of your life, you have been the most unfailingly loyal and fun best friend.
And I need to know you’re okay when I won’t be here to have your back. ”
Shit. Don’t remind me.
The fact that Sophie has to leave Orchard Cove as planned, right after Sunshine Fest, is even more depressing now that I’ve got this war with the hottest guy in town to deal with.
But just because I might want to extend my stay here a little longer doesn’t change the fact that Sophie has a big, beautiful life beyond occasionally helping me out with my pop-up shops.
“Two more weeks and then you’re gone,” I lament, laying it on thick. “My heart is breaking already. Who’s going to leave long raspberry hairs all over my stuff now?”
Classic me: trying to pretend it doesn’t matter when someone leaves me, when really, it does. A lot.
Sophie knows it, though, and lobs my bullshit right back at me. “I know. Who’s going to sing ‘Shake It Off’ off-key in the shower while I have my morning matcha?”
“Who’s going to snore so loud it shakes the walls and wakes me up at night?”
“Who’s going to make up lies about how I snore because she can’t think of more than one annoying thing about living with me?”
Damn it. It’s true.
“You make weird yummy noises when you eat deep-dish pizza,” I inform her.
“My unbridled passion for cheese is annoying?”
“It’s not. Just go on the road with your amazing husband and the amazing rock band. I’ll be fine.”
She eyes me as I hold up my phone, trying to catch a signal again.
“See, this is why we’re going out tonight.
In the city, you’re way too caught up in your phone, your social media, what people think of you.
Even here, without cell service, you’re somehow still plugged into all that toxic drama with Kyle. ”
“Totally your fault for letting me use your phone today. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found out that Kyle’s little douche-dick of a cousin made that meme.
A thirteen-year-old trolled me, for fuck’s sake.
Just because he has an iPad and thought it was funny.
And let’s face it, totally gleaned that his older cousin dumped me for the hot blonde upgrade because I own a purple rubber penis. ”
“Yeah . . . I’m gonna stop letting you borrow my phone.”
“It’s probably for the best,” I mutter. “I don’t know how people live in small towns by choice. The inconveniences are innumerable.”
I finally give up and shove my phone away.
Annoyingly, my cellular service provider doesn’t have a nearby tower—unlike Sophie’s; her phone continues to work perfectly—so I have to hang out on certain roads in town in order to get (spotty) service.
We’re so close to Washington State here, my phone keeps trying to connect to a US network on roaming.
To fix this, I’d have to drive down to Victoria, the nearest city, during business hours, to sign up with a new provider and switch my phone over.
Who has that kind of time?
“Maybe I should just forget there is an outside world.”