Chapter 7 – Hannah
Chapter Seven
HANNAH
“ H ere you go. Good as new.” Nathan pats my car’s bumper, which shines like it just came off the lot.
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Especially after I was the one who caused the accident.” I glance at Michael, still feeling like a total doofus for backing into him.
But he doesn’t even blink. “It’s no big deal.”
“And maybe it was meant to be,” Nathan adds. “I need to, ah, make a call. See you later. Nice to meet you, Hannah.”
He slips into the shop’s office before I can respond, and Michael and I are left alone next to my car.
From the other side of the office window, Nathan peeks at us. The second he sees me noticing, he quickly turns away.
“It doesn’t look like he’s making a call,” I comment with a smile.
“Yeah.” Michael rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
“I don’t mind,” I chuckle. “I like him. It was really nice of him to take care of my scratch.”
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Michael stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets. In the garage, his cologne is easier to pick up, and the woodsy scent has butterflies flitting through my stomach.
“I’m having drinks with a friend. Maya. The art teacher at school.”
“What about the night after that?”
“Hopefully, going out with you.”
The response is my attempt at confidence, but the moment the words slip out, I want to snatch them back, they’re that cringey.
Michael doesn’t seem to agree, though. He chuckles and takes a step closer to me. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
My breathing starts to speed up. He’s so close, only a foot away, the flecks of amber in his eyes shining under the shop’s lights.
What will I do if he takes one more step forward and closes the distance between us? It’s been so long since I’ve kissed someone, but I’m craving—no, aching—to be touched by this man.
“I’ll call you.” He steps away, and it’s like my heart is torn in half.
Somehow, I manage to find my tongue. “Okay. Thank you. And thank you again for this.” I gesture at my car.
“It’s my pleasure.” He purrs more than says the words, and my belly squirms with excitement.
Too soon, he’s out of the garage, leaving me weak in the knees and hot all over.
Climbing in my car, I sigh in satisfaction. Things are going so well. Almost too well.
I shake off the almost automatic response to turn to worry. Just because life is great doesn’t mean that it’s about to take a nose dive. I don’t owe some crazy karmic debt.
Picking up my phone, I open the text from Aunt Carol that I’ve been meaning to reply to all afternoon. She’s asking about my date the other night.
It was great, I text her back. Oh! And I’m teaching classes at the elementary school now. My first one was today. How did your HOA meeting go?
I’m putting down the phone, about to drive to Flick’s place, when it starts ringing.
“Hey,” I say, answering my aunt’s call.
“You’re teaching at the elementary school? Is there even one on Pine Island?” she asks, jumping right into the conversation.
“It’s at the closest one. On the mainland.”
“Oh. Isn’t that a bit much, sweetie?”
I frown over my steering wheel. “No. Why would it be too much? What do you mean?”
“I’m just concerned about your health, Hannah. Your shop is still new, and I know that takes a lot of work to run. And you have all these other side projects going on.”
“What other side projects?” I laugh, trying my hardest to keep my annoyance at bay.
“Teaching at the elementary school. Your grant application. Your new meetup group—which is great. I absolutely think you should keep doing that.”
“The grant application doesn’t even take up that much time.” That’s not entirely true. It is taking hours, but it’s also something that I both need and want to do.
“I don’t want you to have a bad flare. That’s all.”
Closing my eyes, I drop my head back against the headrest. I get where she’s coming from, and if she doesn’t worry about me, who will? Carol is more than my aunt; she’s my adoptive parent, the woman who raised me after my mom died when I was eight. She’s been with me through it all, including the manifestation of mystery symptoms and the long, trying hunt for a diagnosis.
She knows as well as I do that if I push too hard, my health will be the price to pay.
What she doesn’t know as well as I do are my limits. I’m doing fine right now.
There’s really no way to convince her of this, though. There never is. So I say what needs to be said in the moment.
“I’ll pace myself. I’ll slow down.”
“Thank you.” She sighs in relief, and the conversation turns to other things as I drive to Flick’s condo. She’s closed up the shop by now, and we’re due for our weekly “stitch and bitch,” as we lovingly call it.
“Tell Einstein I said hi,” I say to my aunt as I turn into Flick’s neighborhood. “And give him a scratch on the belly for me.”
We hang up, and it’s a good thing I know the drive to Flick’s condo like the back of my hand, because I was thoroughly distracted on the way over here, the in-between moments of my phone call full of thoughts of Michael. The things that he incites in me are crazy. I feel like a teen crushing on a pop star, and it’s a little scary just how much I’m thinking about him.
I know I shouldn’t dwell on it; I should just live in the moment and be open to whatever comes next. It’s hard not to hope, though—and it’s hard not to worry.
I would love to find a man to settle down with, but after my last attempt at love…
My stomach sours at the mere thought of Paul. Luckily, I’ve arrived at Flick’s condo. It’s time to have fun, enjoy the evening, and leave the past in the past where it belongs.
At least, that’s what I want to do. Sometimes, leaving what’s done is hard. Especially if it holds lessons that you can protect yourself with.
Turning into the parking lot, I find a spot in front of the walkway to Flick’s door. That’s a good thing about this condominium complex—there are only a small number of units, and you can usually park close. The outside always looks nice too, well-maintained with touches of the owners’ personalities on their small front porches. Unlike a lot of the homes around here. Several are in need of repair in some way—a fresh coat of paint, a fence replaced—though the overall feel of Pine Island is still charming.
I wonder what Michael’s house looks like. Since he’s a contractor, everything is probably new and spotless-looking. There are likely fresh boards on the porch, window screens with no holes, and his bedroom…
A delicious shiver runs through me. I don’t even know what his bedroom looks like, but I imagine a huge bed with a soft comforter, him sleeping in it shirtless, his hair sticking up from rolling around all night. The window cracked open, his boxers hanging loosely around his hips…
Flick’s front door opens, and I jump. “Oh!”
She frowns. “You okay? What is it?”
“Nothing, I, uh…” When did I knock on the door? Was I really that distracted? “I had kind of a weird afternoon.”
“Uh-oh. Did the class not go well?”
“No, that’s not it. The class was great.” I walk past her and hang my purse on one of the hooks by the door.
As we settle into her living room, I recount everything that happened from when I backed into Michael’s truck to when we parted ways at the auto shop.
“Destiny is bringing you two together!” She claps her hands in joy. “Let’s celebrate with my new tea.”
Bouncing off the couch, she goes to the kitchen. The familiar sounds of her filling a teakettle and getting mugs down drift back into the living room.
I raise my voice so she can hear me. “I don’t know if it’s destiny, but it is nice. What do you know about him?”
“Really, not much,” she calls out. “That he grew up here, left for years, came back within the last year.”
“Does Katie’s mom live around here?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. Katie wasn’t born here.”
I frown. Her mom isn’t here? That’s interesting, but not strange, I guess. Maybe her mom’s job keeps her in Seattle, and Katie splits the year between her parents.
Flick pops her head into the living room. “Do you want honey?”
“What kind of tea is it?”
She grins. “It’s my new marijuana tea infusion.”
I gasp. “Yes, please. I want a card! I love that you were able to get that.”
“What about your new doctor?” she calls out as she returns to her busywork. “Are you going to ask her for one?”
“She said she can get me one. I just have to wait until our next appointment.”
She enters the living room with a tray laden with a teapot, two mugs, and a little honey bear. Setting it on the coffee table, she pours us each a generous amount. The woody smell fills the room, and I take a slow, careful first sip. A rich, grounding flavor slides across my tongue, and I’m in a better mood just tasting it.
I’m fortunate to have found my newest doctor, though it wasn’t luck that brought me to her. After the last two doctors I tried out in Maine—the first who didn’t believe fibromyalgia is real and the second who would only give me NSAIDs for my pain, despite them wrecking my stomach—I finally heard about this third one from a Knit Happens customer.
So far, it’s been good. Being validated is enough to bring me to tears, and the medical marijuana card she’s getting me will be a godsend.
“I’m so glad you found her.” Flick settles cross-legged on the couch. “She sounds amazing.”
“Anyone is better than Doctor What’s-His-Face.”
She snorts. “For sure.”
It was at Doctor What’s-His-Face’s office that Flick and I met. The man turned out to be a jerk, but by the time I left the waiting room, I had Flick’s number, and the rest is history.
If nothing else, I suspect I was meant to come to Pine Island to meet Flick. I’ve never had someone get me the way she does, and not just when it comes to a love of all things yarn and what it means to live with chronic pain. She understands my ambition, my need to never settle for a life of struggle, to always find ways to make every day better.
Plus, she’s the one who encouraged me to start the Chronic Pain Crafters group. If it weren’t for her, we would never have connected with Maya and Alexis, and I wouldn’t be teaching at the elementary school.
“To you.” I raise my mug.
Her eyebrows rise. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the best friend anyone could have.”
“Aw, stop.” She pokes my knee. “That’s not possible, because you’re the best friend anyone could have.”
I chuckle into my tea. “How about we tie for the title?”
“I like that.” She winks. “Hey, so is there anything in particular you want me to look for at the yarn conference?”
“Yes!” I add more honey to my tea. “What’s most important is finding out what the expected trends are for next year.”
“Got it.” She nods, all business.
“Thank you for going for me.” I sigh. “If I had someone to watch the store?—”
“Maybe next year you will, and then we both can go.”
“That would be nice.” My gaze drifts to the living room window, where the pine trees at the edge of the yard drift slightly in the wind.
If I hurry up and submit that application for funding, then yes, maybe I will have someone to cover for me next year, even if Knit Happens still isn’t making enough to hire a full-time employee.
“Wow, can you imagine life one year from now?” Flick drops her head back and gazes at the ceiling. “Maybe you and Michael will be married.”
“Oh my God, Flick!” My face is flaming, but I’m also laughing. “Come on. We’ve been on one date.”
“One point five. Today was a half date.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re getting married.” I roll my eyes, and she playfully jabs me with her elbow.
What Flick’s suggesting is nothing but a fantasy…right now. Of course I would love to settle down with someone, especially a man as handsome and confident as Michael.
But will it be him?
I have no way of knowing. Although I do everything I can to make each day special, when it comes down to it, I’m just a passenger on this crazy ride called life. Even though there have been ups and downs—and more downs than ups the last five years—it genuinely seems that things are getting better.
So, who knows? Maybe one year from now, I’ll be in a place that’s even better than I ever could have imagined.
And maybe there will be a hunky guy by my side.
A hunky, hazel-eyed fire chief guy.