“Yeah, we’re not great at bank runs,” Maggie admits. “Weren’t great. Whatever.”
I try stuffing today’s cash into the safe, but it just keeps falling out, so I stick the fishbowl in the stairwell where we found Abraham. It’s cold in there, with a definite odor rising up from the pile of crusty blankets and graying pillows.
Hunter waits as I fumble with my key ring, and Maggie tells me which key to use to lock the door. The street is well lit but almost totally silent, aside from what sounds like a live guitarist somewhere mangling Ed Sheeran. We’re quiet as Hunter walks me around the corner, past the dumpster, and up to Maggie’s door.
My door.
“You gonna be okay tonight?” he asks me. “I’m sure Nick and Nathan have a room at the inn if you want company. And if not, there’s another B&B a few miles away, deeper into the mountains.”
I can’t tell him how despite everything that’s happened, this place already feels like home and safety. How Maggie’s couch is more comfortable than mine ever was, and how I can’t wait to be inside, finally able to shed this stupid blazer for good and soak in a hot bath in the clawfoot tub until the day floats away. Although I feel bad for him, I’m not horribly upset by Abraham’s death; I can’t be. I didn’t even know him. I’m just exhausted from all that has happened in Arcadia Falls. It feels like I’ve been here a month.
“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks for sticking around, though. I would not have known what to do if I’d been alone.”
“Me neither, but that’s what 911 is there for, I reckon.”
I open the door and step into the kitchen, and he leans against the jamb.
“I’ll be by after lunch tomorrow,” he says, “if you still want to talk estimates. And I hope this doesn’t seem presumptuous—”
Go ahead and try me,I think but don’t say as I flip on the light, my heart full of hope despite the family drama.
“But you might want to order a doorbell cam or some kind ofsecurity system for this alley. Maggie’s generation still thinks that nothing bad could possibly happen in a small town like this, but they’re wrong.”
My smile falls. That is not what the wordpresumptuousgenerally implies.
“Yeah, I’m definitely going to need some upgrades. Thanks again for everything. Today was just—” My voice hitches.
Our eyes meet with an electric thrill, and I think he might reach for me, but his hands go to fists at his sides. He’s taut as a bowstring, and I’d like to be the kind of woman who could make the first move, but I can’t. Whatever happened between our families is keeping him at a distance, and I’m not going to push him. He asked me out. I said yes. He never texted. He’s mad about ancient history that has nothing to do with me, but I’m the only person left to blame. I can tell he’s conflicted, but the ball is firmly in his court, no matter how much I truly need a hug right now.
“Today was just,” he repeats, as if it means something.
I give a little wave, and he gently shuts the door. I can feel his presence outside. I already know he’s the kind of man who isn’t going to leave until the door is locked again and I’m safe.
“Don’t you dare get all twitterpated over that boy, you hussy,” Maggie says vehemently as I unzip the backpack to let her out.
“We don’t use words likehussyanymore, Grandma Cockatoo,” I remind her, wagging a finger. “Slut-shaming is not cool.”
“I don’t care what’s cool! He’s Joyce’s grandson, and I’m sure she’s poisoned him against me. He might be a spy.”
“He doesn’t seem like a spy.”
“Spies never seem like spies! That’s what makes them good spies!”
“What’s he going to spy on—who’s rentingFernGullyonVHS? He seems like a decent man. Didn’t want me to walk home alone after dark, refused to leave me alone to deal with a corpse. So now it’s your turn. I need you to tell me right now what beef you have with the Blakelys.”
Instead of answering me, Maggie flutters into her cage to drink some water. I’m fuming, but I know I can’t force her to do anything, so I head to the bedroom, put on my pajamas, and start doing some cleanup. I’m already making plans for this space, imagining what a little elbow grease and a trip to Walmart can do to make it my own. I hope Maggie won’t take the changes too hard, but what’s she going to do?
“Joyce Blakely is a snake,” she says as she struts into the bedroom. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“I’m pulling all your scarves off the lamps so I can get some actual light and avoid starting any fires.”
“They add ambiance! And they’re not a fire hazard.”
I hold up a silky scarf, showing a browned section that had been dangling perilously close to the light bulb. “Not anymore they’re not, Firestarter.”
I toss the scarves into a corner, and Maggie runs over and nestles down among them.
“I’m sorry, but it’s time to redecorate,” I tell her. “If I’m all in, I’m all in.”
