Because Vik knew. That the look they’d apparently begun to recognize on Mae’s face, the smiles that grew when she had a new idea—that look was never about the second floor.
“Play with your books a while.” Vik smiled again. “It’s enough, Mae.” They turned their gaze to Mae’s pothos. “It’s enough.”
* * *
Three days later, before signing the papers for her new storage unit, Mae put every houseplant onto the sidewalk outside of her apartment except one—a Chinese money plant that had started as a transplant from one of Vik’s, held in her favorite teal planter. It took ten trips, along with an extra, tired, frustrated trip to find where the hell she’d packed a clean piece of paper and a Sharpie with which to scribble:FREE.Frazzled and running late, she stuck the note under a fishbone cactus.
When she returned two hours later, storage unit secured, extra boxes from U-Haul tucked under an arm, every plant was gone.
And when she walked into her apartment two minutes after that, for the first time since she’d moved in years before, it no longer felt like home.
She stood for an extra minute to absorb the shock of it.
Until she whispered, “It’s enough.” And she picked up the packing tape once more.
four
Dell blew out a breath,trying to calm his bouncing knee. Told himself, one more time, that it made sense to meet Mae here, at this brewery in Pacific City, instead of in Greyfin Bay. One, because he had to get lumber up in Tillamook today anyway, so it was on the way. Mostly. Two, because he liked this brewery. The view of the cape from its windows made him feel calm, and he normally felt okay, having a beer here, and—whatever. He could make whatever damn choices he wanted.
Mae Kellerman had already made far too many decisions without his consent over the last month. It was time he started pulling in the reins.
He still couldn’t quite discern how exactly he’d gotten himself in this situation in the first place. Sitting in Pacific City, stabbing into his Ahi poke bowl, lease paperwork sitting on the seat next to him.
She had just been sopersistent. Emailing a copy of her credit report. Her registration for a small business course, not in Portland, but at Oregon Coast Community College down in Newport, set to start three days from now. Fucking PowerPoints with her plans for the shop. Each email always finishing with,I’ll be back in town by the first of September.
And Dell had always looked forward to the first of September, too. When the kids went back to school. When the air turned cooler. When the crowds started to go away, at least during the weekdays, and he could breathe easier.
“Mr. McCleary.”
Mae swept into the booth across from him.
No, this September, he wasn’t breathing easier at all.
“Just Dell, please.” He had always hatedmister; something about it itched at the inside of his brain in the most irritating way possible. And the last thing Dell needed at this moment was further irritation.
She looked better, somehow, than he remembered, and he had been telling himself over the last several weeks that his memory had been overblowing it. But the Mae Kellerman across from him had well-rested eyes, giving a sharpness to her stare that felt even more lethal than the looks she’d leveled him with a month ago. Her pink hair seemed freshly touched up, a Valentine’s Day concoction from the roots to the tips, pulled into a neat yet elegantly tousled bun. Flyaways were pinned away from her face with tiny pastel barrettes adorned with glittery stars.
She wore a faded Decemberists T-shirt and a thick, copper-colored cardigan. The cozy fall aesthetic of her body shouldn’t have worked with the rainbow unicorn flavor of her hair, but somehow…it did.
She nestled her fingers together, resting them atop the table.
An awkward beat of silence transpired that only made Dell respect her more for not making a move to break it.
He shoved a menu her way.
“The beer here’s good, if you’re interested.”
“Yes,” she said, voice clipped. “I’ve been here before. But I’m good.”
All right, then. After another sip of his pale ale, he slid the folder with the contract across the table. She promptly opened it and started reading, even though nothing in it had changed from their last email.
He laid a key next to his beer as she read.
“You’re angry at me,” he couldn’t help but note. He didn’t know why it mattered, why he said it out loud. He was pissed at her, too. She’d been a real pain in his ass, a pain that he knew, with every click of the pen she’d taken out of her bag, was only going to get worse.
Mae’s nostrils flared.
“This is a business transaction,” she said, voice even. “My emotions do not matter here.”
