“I stood up to leave, and you basically threw your arms around my neck. What was I supposed to do?” I tried to forget about it because it had to be the most cringe moment of my year, and having to flesh this out now with Nora is making my blood pressure soar. I know when to pick my arguments, and this isn’t one I want. “Look, I’m done here for now.” I pivot and slam the tailgate shut and don’t offer another word when I climb in my truck.
By now, coffeehouse lady is all the way back to the coffee shop. I see her open the door and disappear inside. I so badly want to make Nora disappear too. I don’t have the patience for pleasantries or pretending that she isn’t completely nuts. She’s been trying to get with me for years, and I’ve always been as much of a gentleman about it as I could stand, but this is too much.
Of all the things to have happened, Nora is going around telling people we went on a date. What next?
This is why I stay away from town and people in general. I rant in my head as I crank my truck and steer back to my house, feeling as if I just dodged a bullet. All the good women are taken and I’m not desperate enough to deal with a nut.
Another day on autopilot. I wake before dawn and reach across my bed, finding it cold and empty. I blink, wishing my view would change.
It never does.
It’s a feeling of being lost in your own home, in my own bed. I’m supposed to be living through my first year of marriage right now, not in this constant state of heartache. The quicker I get out of bed, the sooner I can breathe.
Today, I walk straight to the front door—eager for all the distractions—and whip it open. My head jolts back at the chill, and my eyes are met with more snow. It’s frozen hard, which means the roads will be too. It’s a tad risky to take the semi out, but the news reported Mapleton had their power restored last night. I’m not needed in town today, and I can’t sit around all day and let my mind wander. I power through the motions to get ready with my usual clothes and coffee.
Whistling, I summon Lucky, and he eagerly runs to my truck and jumps in, and we putter down the winding roads, stopping at Ryson’s cabin and honking the horn until he manifests in his Hart Logging flannel shirt and cargo pants—coffee mug in hand. We Hart brothers are serious about our coffee.
“Did you get enough sleep there, Lazy?” I tease, and Lucky makes his way over to sit on his lap. Lucky clearly isn’t a lap dog as he weighs over seventy pounds, but nobody could everconvince him otherwise. He’s also so tall, he has to duck his head to fit, but he doesn’t whimper a complaint.
“There wasn’t much else to do but sleep.” Ryson lifts his mug to his lips, sipping. “How are the roads?”
“Slick and terrible,” I grumble as I shift the truck back into gear and pull out carefully to avoid spinning out.
“Perfect.” His easy grin fills his face, and he lets out a sarcastic snicker. “That’s exactly how I like them.”
The thing about being a logger is it’s the perfect job for introverted people like me. I never have to say much. I turn up the tunes on the radio and drive on. Me, thinking about the woman I should be over. Ryson, more than likely wondering what beer combo goes best with wings. And then there’s Lucky, who just chills and gets his back scratched.
As I pass the lumber mill, my gaze scans over the yard filled to the brim with logs. There’s not a single truck lined up to drop off logs or move any out. I simply turn my head away. Apparently, that invites Ryson to talk.
“Did you hear Nora Worley is back in town?” It’s been nearly a half hour of silence, and that’s how he breaks it?
The last thing I need is to talk about Nora Worley. I’d sooner drive this truck right over the edge of the mountain than ever hear her name again. “No thanks.”
Ryson’s head locks forward on the road. “It’s time you start living again. You’ve grieved over Lindsey long enough. She’s not worth it.”
I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth, holding back all the things I dare not say. Trust me, I think about it every day. Every day I feel the same. Dating is the last thing I’d ever want to do again. It’s right up there with hearing from Nora again. Maybe I’m a fool or just too fragile, but I have to believe if I’m meant to love again, the very thought of it won’t feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.
We fall into a stony silence until I pull into our worksite and back a trailer right up to the timber crane. With logs already piled up, it’s an easy switch for Ryson to jump into the semi. “You need to go to the mill in Carson County,” I say, even though I’m sure he saw our mill was closed. It doesn’t really make sense for him to drive the extra hundred miles, as the gas bill cuts into our profits, but I need a reason to be busy.
I’m eager to be alone and hop into the crane, which fires up easily, despite the cold temps. We settle into an easy grind, filling his trailer in no time. It’s monotonous work that leaves plenty of time for thinking. Most days I wear earbuds with upbeat music to keep my mind off Lindsey but today, something odd happens.
I think about yesterday.
I had left the bookstore holding a warm cup of the sweetest smelling tea I’d ever smelled. Course, I know nothing about tea except for that horrid stuff my mom used to force down my throat when I was a young child with a chest cold.
That tea yesterday was so different. When I tipped that cup up, and the warm, creamy liquid hit my tongue, my taste buds sprang wide awake, wanting even more. I could definitely go for another one of those. More than that, I think about the woman who made the tea. She seemed so eager to help me, despite her machine being broken. She had this sweet smile that lit up the entire room, even though she was quite small and compact for a chick.
Petite—I think is the proper word.
But she didn’t give off the air of being a helpless damsel. She had a gleam in her eyes that told me she prefers to be sweet, but she wasn’t afraid to be sassy. Although, she is as attractive as any model you’d see in a magazine, I spared a second glance because I am not looking for anything, especially not some girl who thinks tea is an adequate substitute for coffee. The nerve.
Ryson waves at me, indicating his trailer is full. I back up, and he pulls his semi out of the yard. I’m not ready to go home, and the sun is still peeking out behind the clouds. I might as well work while I'm here. I fill up two more trailers without hardly trying. Right as I’m leaving the yard, Ryson texts me.
Ryson: The lumber mill approved my delivery. They said they can take more tomorrow.
Pleased with the news, a smirk spreads wide across my face.
Work is done for the day, and it looks like I’m actually getting paid.
