Funny, isn’t it, how often we fight what our hearts try to tell us. We argue with logic, digging our heels in, sure we know what’s best. This is right, we say, This is what I’m supposed to do. We stamp down the loudest voice, the one inside us, choosing to listen to the flurry of those around us, instead. But it’s not until that moment we truly listen and obey the very thing that pumps blood into our veins that we really find peace.
After that, I’d stayed in a hotel for a week until Keith had urged me to go back home. He said he would stay with his parents so I could have the house. But it was a trap—he would show up unannounced, always looking for an explanation even though we’d talked it to death. We made it through the holidays, but by the time January came and the papers were signed, I knew I couldn’t stay in that house any longer. Neither could Keith.
So we sold it, and I moved in with Adrian.
I hadn’t seen Keith since.
I took my time finishing my cinnamon roll and coffee, rinsing my mug afterward and laying it on the dish rack to dry. When I opened the top cabinet to put my dishes from yesterday away, the door swung off the bottom hinge, making me shriek as it dangled by the top one. I blew out a breath through flat lips as my heartbeat settled.
This place needed work.
I knew I should try to sketch, but before I even pulled out my sketchbook I knew I still wasn’t ready. I should have sat down and tried, but it wasn’t like I was crunching numbers or editing a paper. I needed to design a whole new line, and I felt the weight of those waiting for it. It didn’t matter that they were in the city and I was here. The pressure was there, and for the first time since I’d started designing at fifteen, I didn’t have a single ounce of inspiration.
Checking the time on my phone, I sighed at how early the day was and how aimless I felt. But outside, the sun was rising higher, the air warming, and I chuckled when I saw Rev sunbathing on the front porch.
It was a perfect day for a walk.
Anderson was right about not being able to wear cute shoes any time soon.
My Dior ankle boots wouldn’t fit over the gauze, neither would my lace up sandals, so I settled for a simple pair of flip flops I’d packed for the sole purpose of throwing on when I just needed to run outside for something fast, like taking out the trash or checking the mail. They looked a little silly with my vintage romper, the neck of it cutting into a deep V that ended right above my belly button and the sleeves long and flowy at the wrist. Though the sun was bright, the little cabin community was shaded by the surrounding mountains and trees, and I embraced my miserably mismatched ensemble as I limped without sunglasses on down to Momma Von’s.
I found her sitting on the front porch with an older man when I reached her drive, and she waved one arm excitedly, beckoning me up.
“Good God, girl,” she said when I reached the top of the stairs. “What in the world happened to you?” She appraised my injuries with wide eyes.
“Got in a fight with my cabin. The hot tub started it.”
She quirked a brow, brushing her bangs back from her eyes. “I’m afraid to even ask. You want a drink? I’ve got beer or lemonade, take your pick.”
“I’m okay for now,” I said with a smile, taking the seat opposite her.
She sat in an old rocking chair with a blue cushion strapped to the seat, though the rest of the porch set was made of a light brown wicker. The table between us was a rusted white metal of some sort, with Native American print coasters piled up and ready for use. Nothing matched, and I loved it.
“Hi, I’m Wren,” I said to the man sitting with us.
“Where are my manners,” Momma Von chimed in, one hand gesturing to the man who had the same brooding brow Anderson did. “This is old man Ron. Don’t be offended if he grunts at you a lot and never smiles. He’s as soft as a baby duck, but he doesn’t want anyone to know it.”
Ron humphed and I giggled.
“Ron served in the Navy for twenty-nine years,” Momma Von added.
“Wow, thank you for your service.”
He humphed again, reaching into his plaid shirt pocket for a cigarette.
“So what are you up to today, Miss Wren?”
It was me who humphed this time, earning me a sideways grin from old man Ron. “Maybe I should take that beer.”
Momma Von chuckled and popped up from her chair, returning a moment later with a cold Bud Light. “You’re not too sure what you’re doing out here, are you, girl?”
I shook my head, cracking the top on the beer and taking a drink in lieu of answering the question.
“That’s alright,” she decided, rocking back. “Time spent lost and searching is time well wasted.”
I offered a small smile, wondering if I was really spending my time lost and searching or just lost, period. She watched me for a beat as if she knew I was questioning, as if she already knew the answer.
She opened her mouth to speak again but paused, her eyes catching behind me as a grin broke on her face. “Afternoon, Anderson!”
My grip on the can tightened marginally and I turned, catching his eyes as soon as I did. He’d stopped just at the edge of her driveway, dressed in the same jeans as the day before with a white thermal this time, sleeves still pushed up to his elbows. Except I saw those arms differently now that I’d felt them wrapped around me.
“Happy Sunday, Momma Von,” he called back, but his eyes stayed on mine long enough to light my skin on fire before he looked away.
“What are you working on today?”
“Morrisons’ shed. Planned on finishing it last night, but got a little distracted.” His eyes flicked to mine and I blushed, taking a long drink from my beer to mask the embarrassment.
“Not like you to get distracted,” she called back, and I swore I felt her eyes on my neck. “You met Wren yet? She’s renting out Abe’s cabin up the road.”
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and my thin romper suddenly felt completely see-through, along with my skin. I waited for him to say we’d already met, to tell them about last night, to make a joke out of me.
But instead, he adjusted the grip on his toolbox and said, “Nice to meet you.”
Oh, sure, now he says it.
“You too,” I squeaked, clearing my throat. Momma Von was definitely watching me now.
He didn’t say another word, just offered a wave in our direction before clearing the view of the driveway. I turned back in my seat, aiming for calm and casual as I sipped from my can.
“That’s Anderson Black,” Momma Von said, eyes still glued to my rosy cheeks.
“Good man,” Ron said simply. He took the last drag of his cigarette and put it out in his empty beer can before standing.
I looked up, waiting for him to tell us he’d be right back or that he’d see us later, but he did neither. Just walked heavy-booted down the stairs and the drive, cutting a left at the end.
“The men talk too much around here,” I said, eyes on where he’d just disappeared.
Momma Von barked out a laugh. “Come on, let me show you my cabin.”
The afternoon passed in stories and laughter, Momma Von showing me every inch of her cabin and me asking questions about everything I found inside.