Page 4 of Forget Me Not

“Oh, Al.” She smiles, chipper as ever as she looks through an old book on the counter. I take the time to look around, scanning the old wood paneling on the walls that used to be white, but have now faded to a stained off-grayish yellow.

The place is old and whoever their maintenance guy is sucks. Perhaps it’s from years of working with Dad on construction crews, but I can see the small details. The little things that need repaired that haven’t been taken care of in some time.

“Okay, looks like we got a room upstairs. Room B-4. Ha,” she laughs, rooting around in an old shoe box for a key. When she finally produces one, she hands it to me, her eyes crinkling as she gives me one of the most genuine smiles I’ve seen in a long time. She strikes me as the mother hen of the inn. “How long are you going to be staying for?”

“At least three weeks. Boat’s broken down in the bay,” I explain when she looks concerned.

“Ah, well, I’ll have Al get it in tip-top shape for you. He’s my husband.” She rolls her eyes, chuckling. How the crotchety old man from the boat docks ended up with the nicest woman I’ve ever met is beyond me. “Well, I just need your card. If you would like to pay cash, I can collect half now and half when you leave.”

I nod, reaching into my wallet. I don’t do credit cards. Or banks. I know, I know. They’re so safe now. Bull. I’ve seen enough to know the banks do not have your best interest at heart.

She tells me the total and I pay in full, just so I don’t have to do it in three weeks.

“Thanks. There a store here?”

“Well, we have the Quick Mart up the block. By the school. That’s about it.”

I nod, reaching down to collect my duffel bag. “Well. Thanks.”

I make my way toward the rundown wooden staircase to my left, but before I make it, she calls back to me.

“We have a restaurant.”

I turn, waiting for her to say something else.

“You know,” she shrugs. “Just in case you get hungry. Or you want to meet the townsfolk.”

“Thanks.” I nod, knowing damn good and well I probably won’t find myself in the restaurant mingling with the locals. I’m not a mingler.

As I said . . . I prefer to be on my own.

9 lives . . . Friskey’s . . . Cat Chow . . .

“Nature’s Love,” I murmur to myself, scanning the back of the bag over the list of ingredients like I have any clue what half the words mean. “Hmm . . . Could be a strong contender.”

The lady down at the other end of the aisle—Mrs. Frank—side eyes me like I’m speaking in tongues and I’ve grown a second head.

“Sorry,” I wave, shaking the small bag of cat food at her. “Trying to decide which one will taste the best.”

Her eyes widen in horror and a second later, she just pushes her cart away, staring at me with concern over her shoulder.

Well, shit.

And . . . now she thinks I eat cat food. Good job, Nova.

“He’s a stray cat, Nova. Buy the cheap bag.” I start to grab the off-brand, but in the end, I roll my eyes with a huff and pick up the one that said it was all-natural.

Damn cat’s going to drain my wallet.

Creamsicle, as I’ve dubbed him because he’s a light orange, is one of the stray cats that lives behind my grandparents’ inn. He’s elusive and an asshole, but I want nothing more than to hold him.

So, I’m baiting him in the off chance I can catch him unguarded.

We don’t get a lot of stray animals on the island, but the ones we do get multiply. Before long, we’re swimming in cats and dogs with no end in sight. It’ll be cold in a couple months and I don’t want to think about Creamsicle outside all night while I’m inside, all nice and warm. He’s had a hard life. His ear is damaged and he’s got a scar above his cat eyebrow.

Just makes me sad.

I carry my tiny bag of cat food up to the cash register and, of course, there’s a line. In a small village like this, everyone goes to the same place to do all their grocery shopping. It’s an hour ferry ride back to the mainland, so unless it’s something you really, really can’t live without, we mostly just go to the local Quick Mart.

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