"So," she says, glancing at me. "How are you really doing? Settling in okay? Because I know what it's like to be new here. Well, I wasn't new, I was born here, but I know what it's like to feel like you don't fit."
"Yeah." The honesty surprises me. "It's weird. I've been here for only a short time, but it already feels more like home than anywhere I've lived in years. Which is terrifying because I wasn't planning on staying. I was just—passing through. Until my car died. And then Holt gave me a room and Finn made me laugh and now I'm here wearing a sundress in hell's armpit because apparently I live here now?"
"That's Coyote Bend." She grins. "Place gets under your skin. You show up planning to leave and next thing you know you're arguing with Mitch about whether the gas pump works or if it's just slow. You're home before you realize you decided to stay."
"Is that what happened to you?"
"I never left. But I've watched it happen to plenty of people." She bumps my shoulder. "Also, for the record, the sundress is cute. Very 'I'm a functioning human' energy. Holt's probably having a stroke back at the shop."
My face heats. "I'm not—we're not—"
"Relax. I'm teasing." But her eyes are sparkling with mischief. "Mostly."
Gas and Groceries materializes ahead—single pump out front, hand-painted sign, mini-mart attached that looks like it might collapse if you sneeze near it. Maeve pushes through the door and immediately starts grabbing things off shelves.
"You need supplies," she announces, dumping items into my arms. Sunscreen—the good kind, expensive, SPF one million. Electrolyte drinks in colors that don't exist in nature. Chips. Acandy bar that looks like it's from 1987. "Hydration is survival out here. Sunscreen is religion. This candy bar is—actually I don't know what this is but Mitch has had it forever and I want to see if it's still edible."
"Maeve, I can't—"
"I'm buying. Consider it a welcome gift." She's already moving to the counter where a man in his sixties is grinning at us. He's got skin like leather, a beard that's more gray than not, and eyes that suggest he knows every secret in a fifty-mile radius.
"Well, well," he says. "This the new girl?"
"Scout Adler," Maeve says, dumping everything on the counter. "Scout, this is Mitch. He runs this place, knows everything about everyone, and will absolutely tell you things you didn't ask to know."
"Sounds ominous," I say.
"It's a gift." Mitch rings everything up, studying me with interest. "So you're the one living at Ward's place. How's that going?"
"Fine? Good? Everyone keeps asking me that like it's weird."
"It is weird." He bags the supplies. "Holt doesn't let people in. Doesn't talk much, doesn't share space, keeps to himself. The fact you're in his loft means something."
"It means I needed a room and he had one."
"Sure." He doesn't believe me. "That'll be fifteen dollars, Maeve."
She pays, hands me the bag. "Come on. More stops."
We hit Bend Supply and Feed next—bigger than I expected, proper store with farm equipment and hardware. Maeve introduces me to Patricia, her boss, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and the competence of someone who could build a house with her bare hands if she felt like it.
Patricia takes one look at me and smiles. "So you're the one living at Ward's place."
"Why does everyone keep saying it like that?"
"Because it's interesting, honey." She pats my arm. "That boy doesn't let anyone close. The fact you're there means you're special. Whether you know it yet or not."
"I'm just—I'm filing invoices. Answering phones. Normal employee things."
"Sure you are." She exchanges a look with Maeve that I can't interpret. "You're doing great, sweetheart. Keep it up."
We leave and I turn to Maeve. "Does everyone in this town have opinions about my living situation?"
"Yes. That's how small towns work. Everyone has opinions about everything. It's how we pass the time." She's grinning. "Eventually it becomes background noise."
"I don't think I want to get used to it."
"Too late."
