At the moment, we’re standing in front of the aforementioned storefront, where I was supposed to meet with him to finalize the lease agreement.
“I do. I decided it would be better to lease it to someone local.”
Pete leans in. “But if you move here, you’d be local. I can help you find a house to rent, as well.”
I think about that. “I do believe a woman named Skylar wants this place for a bookstore.”
Pete nods in recognition of that name. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but your credit score is better. Besides that, I know this girl, and I know she’s borrowed from every relation in town to come up with a deposit. I’m not sure she’ll make it a year.”
I’m not sure I like this guy, and I’m not sure I like that Iris’s friend will have to pay rent to someone with loose lips. But he’s the only game in town, and with situations like this, you have to play the long game.
This is going to hurt, but I have to do it.
“Pete,” I say, scrawling out a check. “Here’s what I was going to put down to secure the place. Apply that to Skylar’s application, won’t you?”
Pete takes the check and looks at me quizzically. “Are you sure about that? This is pretty unorthodox.”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Gee, I don’t know what prompted this, but that’s mighty generous. I’ll let Skylar know today that the place is hers. You must really like that girl.”
Uninterested in getting into lengthy explanations, I simply leave him with, “I really love the town, and I think I’ll be back.”
I walk away, knowing I have no reason to tell him any more than that. If I love somebody, it’s better to tell that person directly before informing anyone else.
When I return to the book booth and wonder where Iris went, Skylar is acting weird.
“She had a wedding dress emergency,” she says in a way that tells me she’s lying.
That’s fine. Whatever is going on with Iris, I’ll deal with that on my own. I don’t need to play games through Iris’s best friend.
Back at the house, all seems quiet. The sewing studio is dark and locked up tight. The kitchen and living room are equally still and quiet. No Iris. I head back to the carriage house to take a look at my finances, then I try to watch a movie, figuring I’ll head back out to the festival to partake in a beer flight tasting or two.
I make it about fifteen minutes into this movie before I become too restless for my own good.
Outside in the backyard, I hear the gentle, yearning sound of someone playing a violin. I wonder if I’m dreaming it at first, then I remember some of the things that Iris told me about this neighborhood. Maddie plays music every night at this hour, and all the neighbors come out, sit on their porches, and listen. With Iris nowhere in sight, I head to the porch, where, in her true hospitable fashion, Maddie has a basket full of soft blankets next to the swinging rattan chair, and a small metal hutch with a dispenser of sweet tea.
Pouring myself a glass, I sit and listen to the music.
It’s so pretty, I find myself wishing Iris were here.
I must have royally screwed something up, but I don’t want to cross a boundary with her.
Maddie concludes her nightly music hour, and I decide that I have to cross that boundary after all. I head back into the house and call her name. No answer.
Then, I hear a notification on my phone that someone has sent me a message through the rental app.
When I check it, it’s a message from Iris. I blow out a breath and tap on the message.
Saw you on the doorbell cam. I’m out back by the fire pit if you want to talk.
That sounds strangely ominous and I get a sinking feeling in my gut.
Sure enough, I find Iris wrapped in a blanket, sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, in front of a small fire.
“Hi,” I say when I walk up.
“Hi,” she says softly, smiling up at me.
