Page 4 of Heart So Hollow

“I don’t know, Brett. I was just trying to start my day with a little treat and my mom’s on the phone telling me I need to cancel my Sirius XM because satellite radio is a deep state conspiracy. I just lost it. I took the turn too quickly and almost ran through the glass window in the drive-thru.”

“I thought you lost it last weekend.”

“Yeah, but this was way worse than that.”

Frankly, it all blurs together.

“So, how are you?” she changes the subject. “Where are you? I still can’t believe you just went off into the wilderness by yourself. But I’ve got a full caseload this week, there’s no way I could take off.”

Barrett always has a full caseload. She’s a therapist at the university, and she’s one of the best. Ever since her first day, fresh out of her Master’s, when her new boss assigned her a new client experiencing a delusional pregnancy after waking up from a three-year-long vegetative state, she made a name for herself as the one who takes the cases that no one else is equipped to handle. And, because of it, she has the highest retention rate in the department.

“This is Salt Fork, not Teton,” I laugh, “and I’m staying at the lodge. There’s Wifi and a continental breakfast.”

I stroll across the lobby and collapse into a brown leather club chair. If there’s coffee nearby, I’ll stay here a bit longer and hear more about Barrett’s mom and her latest conspiracy theory involving price gouging at the local Wal-Mart.

“I guess that’s not too bad,” Barrett concedes.

“No. And after last week, I just had to get away for a bit,” I say as I pick at my cuticles. I need to stop doing this. Spontaneous bleeding is never good for clothes, especially light colors. But anxious compulsion usually wins.

I lift my head and gaze around the lobby; it’s quiet except for the hushed voices at the front desk. “I’ve already gotten a lot of writing done, though.”

My gaze wanders across the room and something catches my eye. Or, rather, someone. And I immediately freeze.

A man is standing about 20 feet way, mid-step, staring at me. He’s tall, definitely over six feet, and his jet-black hair fades up the sides to a shiny swath swooped down over his eyebrows, making him look like he belongs in a punk band. He’s wearing a Navy-blue t-shirt and fitted jeans over scuffed, brown leather boots, and when he turns his body and squares his shoulders, I see his right forearm is covered in curls and zig-zags of black ink.

He studies me with dark, striking brown eyes as I glance from side to side to see if he’s looking at someone else. But when I look back at him, he’s still staring, a curious smile crawling across his face.

He’s…hot.

I hear Barrett’s voice in my ear, but I can’t comprehend what she was saying.

Finally, the staring man breaks the silence, “Front desk girl?” he asks in a deep drawl I’d recognize anywhere.

I blink, forgetting where I am and that I’m holding a phone to my ear.

No fucking way.

“Oh. My. God.” I murmur into the speaker.

“What?” Barrett hisses.

“Let me call you back.”

“Are you OK? Are you in danger?”

“No, just let me call you back.” I mutter.

I end the call and drop my phone into my lap, “Um, yeah,” I stammer, narrowing my eyes in disbelief.

“Wow,” he grins, “this is pretty wild.”

Quickly pulling myself together, I give a half shrug, “Yeah, but I guess you’re staying here, too, right?”

“No, actually,” he shakes his head, raking his hair out of his eyes, “I’m camping. I just came in here for the vending machines.”

“Wow,” I scrunch up my nose, “that is wild.”

He takes a few steps toward me and extends his hand, “Bowen Garrison.”

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