11. Lucy
LUCY
NOW
There were six unread text messages from Naomi.
The first one had come the morning after I got home from New York.
Coffee?
The second had arrived an hour later.
Or we could wander the bookstore and pretend we're being productive.
The third had simply been a photo of a cinnamon roll roughly the size of my head with the caption:
I would sacrifice this for your friendship.
The fourth was a GIF of someone dramatically peeking through blinds.
The fifth:
You're avoiding me.
The sixth had arrived yesterday afternoon.
I'm going to keep asking until you stop hiding.
I stared at the screen for another second before locking my phone and setting it face down on the kitchen island.
She wasn't wrong. Three days hadn't been nearly enough time to convince myself New York hadn't happened.
I'd unpacked my suitcase the same afternoon I'd gotten home.
Gone to work the following morning. Answered emails.
Sat through meetings. Reviewed travel receipts.
Signed off on operational schedules for the upcoming charity gala like sleeping with Ty Burns had somehow fit neatly between expense reports and calendar invites.
Like I hadn't looked him in the eye the next morning and told him, ‘Nothing happened.’
The words still tasted wrong, even in the crevices of my brain.
Outside the oversized warehouse windows, late October had settled over Northbend in brilliant shades of burnt orange and gold.
The maple tree across the street had surrendered almost half its leaves overnight, scattering them across the sidewalk where a couple bundled in knit hats walked hand in hand toward the neighborhood café.
Someone farther down the block laughed.
A cyclist rolled past with a golden retriever wearing what looked suspiciously like a plaid bandanna and riding patiently in a front cargo basket.
I smiled despite myself.
There was something about autumn here.
Pumpkins appeared on every front stoop. Coffee shops started smelling like cinnamon before sunrise. Weekend mornings filled with farmers markets, apple orchards, and families convincing themselves forty-eight degrees counted as patio weather if they brought enough blankets.
It made the city feel homey.
I frowned into my mug.
Temporary places weren't supposed to feel homey.
My apartment certainly wasn't supposed to.
When I'd signed the lease, I'd deliberately avoided hanging half the artwork leaning against the bedroom wall. The bookshelves still looked unfinished. A rolled area rug I'd never gotten around to returning sat propped inside the hall closet.
I'd told myself there wasn't any point.
I wasn't staying.
This was simply where I happened to be living for now.
The buzzing of my phone against the countertop interrupted the thought.
I expected Naomi.
Instead, the screen lit with Arlo.
That was unusual enough that I answered immediately. "Morning."
"Tell me you're still in pajamas."
I looked down at the oversized university sweatshirt I'd stolen from the back of my closet and the flannel pajama pants tucked into thick wool socks. "...Maybe."
My brother’s laugh carried easily through the speaker. "I knew it."
"It's my day off."
"Exactly. Which means you have no excuse."
"For?"
"Leaving your apartment."
I sighed quietly, already recognizing the tone in his voice. "I've left my apartment."
"Liar."
"I went to work."
"That doesn't count."
"It absolutely counts."
"Nope." I could practically hear him shaking his head. "Work is mandatory. I mean voluntarily leaving your apartment."
"I've voluntarily left my apartment."
"Were groceries involved?"
"...Maybe."
"I rest my case."
I huffed out a laugh.
Arlo sounded entirely too pleased with himself. "I own a business," he continued. "Businesses require support."
"I buy coffee from you at least twice a week."
"You could be buying more."
"I think that's called enabling."
"I think that's called being an excellent sister."
I wandered toward the window, cradling my mug between both hands. "What are you selling?"
"I'm offended you'd assume I have an ulterior motive."
" You’ve known me my entire life."
"Exactly. Which means you should know I always have an ulterior motive."
"There it is."
He chuckled. "We've got a local rescue organization setting up on the patio today. Adoption brunch. Dogs, coffee, pancakes, people pretending they came for the dogs when they're really here for the cinnamon rolls."
"...That does sound suspiciously like Northbend."
"It is Northbend."
I looked down at the sidewalk again. More people drifted past carrying reusable shopping bags and steaming paper coffee cups, moving without hurry.
Saturday had settled over the neighborhood in that uniquely Midwestern way where everyone seemed to have somewhere pleasant to be but in no particular rush getting there.
"It'll be fun," Arlo whined. "Come hang out for a couple hours."
"I don't know..."
"You don't have plans."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"I've got things to do," I offered weakly.
"Such as?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Arlo waited. Patiently. Smugly.
"...Laundry," I said finally.
"You've officially become an adult."
"I have."
"You can do laundry tomorrow."
"I could."
"So?"
I let my forehead fall lightly against the cool glass.
Maybe he was right. Maybe sitting alone in my apartment pretending New York had never happened wasn't accomplishing nearly as much emotional healing as I'd hoped.
Supporting a local rescue didn't exactly qualify as reckless decision-making.
It was brunch. Outside. With dogs.
There were certainly worse ways to spend a Saturday.
"I'll think about it," I said.
"No."
I blinked. "No?"
"No thinking. Thinking is how you talk yourself out of perfectly good adventures."
"You sound like Buzz." The words escaped before I could stop them.
I closed my eyes. Wonderful.
Arlo cleared his throat first, mercifully letting the comment drift away. "I'll save you a table," he said gently. "Come by around eleven."
Before I could answer, another thought occurred to me. "If I come..."
"Yeah?"
"I'm bringing Bea."
His laugh returned immediately. "I figured you might."
"I should warn you she's liable to attempt adopting every single dog."
"Then I'd better make sure the paperwork stays behind the bar."
A smile finally settled across my face. "I'll see you around eleven."
"Looking forward to it, sis."
The call disconnected.
For another minute, I remained standing beside the window, staring out at leaves chasing each other across the sidewalk in the breeze.
Then I picked up my phone again.
Brunch? Arlo's hosting a dog adoption event.
Bea: OMG YES.
Bea: Alois has team stuff until this afternoon.
Bea: THIS IS PERFECT.
Bea was waiting outside my building before I finished locking my apartment.
She leaned against the passenger door of her SUV, sunglasses perched on top of her head despite the overcast sky, an oversized cream sweater disappearing into dark jeans tucked inside brown ankle boots.
Her dark hair moved with the breeze, and she held a travel mug in one hand while waving the other dramatically the second she spotted me.
"You came!" I called out with a quick wave.
Bea laughed as I crossed the sidewalk. "I was invited." She pulled me into a quick hug before stepping back to study my face. "You look tired."
"I appreciate how gently you said that," I snickered, jabbing her with a quick, joking elbow.
"I considered lying."
"I would've known."
"You would've."
There was something comforting about Bea. Maybe it was because she never tried to fix people. She simply noticed them.
She handed me my favorite coffee order without asking. "I stopped on the way."
"You remembered."
"You order the same thing every time."
"Still."
"Ready?" she asked.
"As I'll ever be."
We climbed into her SUV, the heater already humming against the cool October air.
As soon as she shifted into drive, her phone chimed through the dashboard.
She glanced at the screen.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
"What?"
"Alois."
She tapped the steering wheel to have the message read aloud.
"Please remember we do not currently own a farm."
I blinked. "...What?"
Bea grinned. "I may have mentioned where we're going."
"You haven't even seen the dogs yet."
"I know."
"You are unbelievable."
"I have a reputation to maintain."
Another notification chimed.
"You are not bringing home twelve dogs."
I laughed. "He seems genuinely concerned."
"He should be." Bea typed a response at the next red light before tossing the phone back into the center console.
"What did you say?"
"I told him not to worry."
"That seems responsible."
"I also told him statistically most of them will already have homes."
"...Bea."
"What?"
We both laughed as another chime rippled through the SUV. This time she didn't bother waiting for the dashboard to read it. She picked up the phone and burst out laughing.
"What?"
She turned the screen toward me.
Alois: I am leaving practice if I have to.
My eyebrows lifted. "He'd actually do it."
"Knowing him, he absolutely will."
"You realize he believes you're serious."
"I know."
"Are you?"
She pretended to think about it. "...Maybe."
I laughed harder than I'd expected to. "You have one cat."
"Bento deserves siblings."
"I don't think that's how cats work."
"I think he'd adapt."
"I'm fairly certain he'd file for emancipation."
She snorted. “That's actually fair."
Another text arrived, and the speakers read it aloud. Text from Alois: Beatriz.
I pointed at the screen. "That somehow feels more threatening."
"It does, doesn't it?"
"You should probably tell him you're joking."
She sighed dramatically before dictating: Relax. I'm only bringing home one if nobody adopts it.
Her phone rang almost immediately. I looked at her. She looked at me. Then we both dissolved into laughter.
"I can't answer while I'm driving," she said, declining the call.
"He is spiraling."
"He is absolutely spiraling."
The phone chimed one last time: You are impossible.