“I’m focusing on work right now,” I say diplomatically.
“Work keeps the lights on, but it doesn’t keep your soul warm. And being a young woman in these times? You have so many options that I never had!” Ethel Mae’s laugh is wicked. “There’s so much variety in the modern dating market. I’m jealous! It’s simply a question of what appeals most to you?”
“Can I have another cookie? You should really share the recipe with me sometime.”
She shoves another in my hand, completely ignoring the fact that I’m trying to change the topic. “What do you think? Maybe a nice Hellhound to keep you warm on those chilly nights. Or perhaps a big, beefy minotaur to pull your truck free whenever it gets stuck in the mud?”
“Good Lord.”
“And just imagine what a naga could do in bed!”
I nearly choke. “Ethel Mae!”
“What? I’m old, not dead.” She gives me a wink that’s full of mischief, and all I can do is look at my watch and pretend like I’m going to be late. But even as I say my goodbyes and hurry off to my truck, I can’t help but think over what she said.
Work keeps the lights on, but it doesn’t keep your soul warm.
Maybe that devious old lady has a point.
My next stop is thehollow tree where I deliver packages to Gus the Bigfoot. The routine is so familiar I could do it blindfolded. The books I’m delivering today are an eclectic mix: advanced physics texts alongside romance novels. He orders them directly from the library, and doesn’t seem to be bothered by the lack of discrete packaging. I guess when you’re a Bigfoot, you don’t need to care what other people think.
I leave them in the specially carved nook and collect the wooden figurine he’s left me as a tip. I have quite the collection from him, and have even dedicated a full shelf to them back home.
Gus never shows himself during deliveries, but I can sometimes sense him watching from the deep woods, and today is no exception. There’s a rustling in the underbrush that could be wind, but I find myself calling out to the forest anyway.
“Stay warm, Gus. Weather’s supposed to turn later this week.”
The rustling stops, and I imagine I hear a low grunt of acknowledgment before the woods go quiet again. It’s a small interaction, barely worthy of the name, but it feels normal in a way I desperately need right now.
The day continues with the comforting routine of familiar routes and familiar clients. But underneath the normalcy, my nerves are stretched tight with anticipation.
Because every time I check my delivery app for packages in the pipeline, I’m looking for one specific address. One specific client who might or might not want to see me again.
Part of me can’t help but doubt. What if yesterday was just curiosity on his part? What if he’s already lost interest? What if I completely misunderstood what happened between us?
The questions chase themselves in circles through my head as I navigate the mountain roads, making my usual stops with half my attention while the other half obsesses over things I can’t control.
It’s not until I’m heading home, the day’s deliveries complete, that my phone finally chimes with the notification I’ve been waiting for.
I pull over at the first safe spot, a scenic overlook that provides cell service and a view of the valley below, and grab my phone with hands that are definitely not trembling.
New delivery request: Riven, Ridgeline Route. Expected delivery date: Tomorrow.
The relief that floods through me is so intense it’s almost embarrassing.
Whatever yesterday was, it wasn’t just idle curiosity.
He wants to see me again.
That, or perhaps he’s ordering a luxurious bathrobe or eye mask to complement his slippers.
But either way, he knows that means seeing me again, and he put the order through regardless.
I sit in my truck as the sun sets behind the mountain, staring at my phone and trying to process the impossible reality of my situation.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was June Hartwell, reliable delivery driver, emotionally guarded and professionally focused. Now I’m someone who wears silk underwear crafted by an alien predator and counts the hours until I can see him again.
Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
