“I’ll clean until I’m high off the fumes, I promise.”
Sierra looks nervous when Seth opens the door. “Hey, roomie,” he says. “I’m a shower-in-the-morning kind of guy. Logan has to work around us.”
I can’t help the big grin on my face that matches hers.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s go to that print shop. Come on.”
Eight
Sierra
The print shop is, unfortunately, on Main Street.
“There’s no point driving there,” Logan says, looking at me like I’m absurd. “It’ll take twice as long to park as it would to walk.”
“Now? In broad daylight?”
“It’s a nice day out. You’re not a vampire, are you?”
“Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Sweat breaks out all over my body. It’s like my Sagebrush nightmare come to life. I can’t do this.
I can’tnotdo this. Somehow, Logan LaSalle has bullied me into a job I don’t want, in a place I wouldn’t be caught dead in, interacting with people I’d rather never see again. He stands next to me, looking as innocent as a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
“Can I borrow a hat? Sunglasses?”
Logan tosses me a ball cap hanging near the front door, thenhands me a pair of smeared aviator sunglasses. “I think Seth might own a cowboy hat,” he offers as I pull the cap low over my eyes.
“Yeah, that might be better. Seth!”
Seth does have a cowboy hat, though it’s a little too big for my head. Beggars can’t be choosers, though, and I thank him profusely.
“Oh, god,” I murmur as we head down Main Street. “What if someone recognizes me?”
“Come on, you haven’t seen this place in years. Let me show you around.”
“People might see me.”
“It’s mostly tourists.”
“Tell me another! I can see Jamie Lynn Hurst from here.” She’s standing at the counter of some ice cream parlor named Sweet Dairy Heir. “This isn’t going to work. I’ll have to abandon Clunker and hike out of this place on foot.”
Logan’s face changes. “Don’t joke about that,” he says quietly.
I frown at him. Did someone he knows die doing that or something? He looks so somber, I decide it’s best not to ask. “Sorry.”
Maybe I can get through the day without being recognized. If this is really part of the job, then I’ll do it. I don’t want him to change his mind and cut my job short. I adjust my comically oversized hat and sunglasses and match my step to his, moving in the same direction, as if he’s a conductor and I’m his orchestra.
Sagebrush has, indeed, undergone a complete makeover. The time-travel feel of Main Street is now charming rather than pitiful. Between Wild West era-appropriate storefronts,the pockets of ruins—the old brothel, horse corral, and jail—feel strategically placed, giving an air of intentional preservation rather than neglect.
Formerly boarded up, dripping-in-graffiti buildings have been stripped clean and freshened up with a new coat of paint. Miraculously, the place no longer smells of piss and old trash. Potholes are filled, antique benches and demure trash bins line the now-smooth sidewalks. Somebody has even added hanging baskets overflowing with fresh flowers to every lamppost, like it’s goddamn Wild West Disneyland.
And Disneyland, it is. It’s four in the afternoon, and the place is overflowing with tourists. We weave through a dense crowd in front of The Beauty Apothecary and then past Canyon Crystals. A waiter at the Indian restaurant, Naan Believers, props up the buffet sign while a Thai Me Up server seats customers at their adorable gingham-covered tables.
“We have Asian restaurants here now?” I squint at the Soup Du Jourplace. “French? You’re kidding me.” The last time I lived here, we had one Mexican fast-food restaurant and a family diner.
I wait outside the print shop as Logan picks up our order, studying the many shops that line Main Street. In addition to the Sweet Dairy Heir, there’s Lot o’ Gelato and a Fro Yolofrozen yogurt shop, plus four little coffee shops, all with ridiculously cute, punny names like Rise and Grind and Little Lotte’s Lattes.
They occupy some of the places that I used to break into as a teen. I remember how exhilarating it felt to sneak into abandoned, condemned buildings. Chains, fences, and boards never stood a chance when I was determined. It felt like time travel, escaping to another world, a version of the past that seemed more hopeful, simply because it existed before I did.
