Page 72 of We Redeemed the Rain

“Goodmorning!”

A string of profanity flew out of my mouth as I jumped backward.

Bea stood there, squinting in the new light. She was leaning against the counter top with a cup of coffee cradled in two hands. She had the white skirt and tank on, hair tied so sloppy and high, it added a good three or four inches to the top of her head.

“What thehellare you doing?!”

She clutched her stomach andthunkedher mug on the counter so she wouldn’t spill it. Soft, breathy shakes of laughter spilled out of her. “I’m—so sorry. Your face was—priceless.”

“You scared the crap out of me.”

She wheezed. “I can see that.”

“Whywas the light off?”

She dragged a finger under her eyes. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Why are you even up this early?”

“I’m your new ranch hand.” She pulled one ofmyyellow bandanas out of her back pocket and rolled it into a thin strip against her thigh. She started tying it around her forehead, brown eyes not leaving mine, daring me to stop her.

“Where did you get that?” Usually, I’d have trouble talking this much, this early. But Bea took care of that by scaring the crap out of me.

“Dryer.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m working today!”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then you are going to have one very useless, very annoying shadow.” She finished the tie and put her fists on her hips.

A chuckle came out of me, despite the adrenaline still thumping through my veins. She might be useless, but annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.

She spun around and grabbed a granola bar off the counter and a bag of grapes. She would’ve slammed the food against my chest, had I not reacted quickly to her offering, catching her hands. “I know you don’t drink coffee, but all I found was decaffeinated black tea.” She waved toward the electric kettle with a grimace. “I boiled water in case you want some of that.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” I stepped toward the kettle and grabbed a mug, making my ritualistic cup. She watched, nose wrinkled in disgust the entire time.

She opened a nearby cabinet. “Sugar?”

“Don’t need it.”

“You don’tsweetenyour tea?”

“Nope.”

She made ablechsound. “No caffeine or sugar? What’s the point?”

“Warmth.” I wrapped my hands around the mug to drive my point. Then I lifted a shoulder, explaining on. “I used to drink it caffeinated. Became a comforting habit, I suppose.”

“You don’t need the blessing of caffeine? I can’t wake up without it.”

“Well—” I stammered, carefully considering what to say. I took Prozac to control my panic attacks and allowing caffeine into my diet made my anxiety skyrocket. It took some trial and error to figure out that my sweet spot was staying on the Prozac and kissing caffeine goodbye. At least I could function now and wasn’t collapsing every other day.

Even though I’d made peace with the way things were, admitting I was medicated was out of the question. I fumbled through a response best I could. “I—uh, caffeine makes my anxiety worse. I…avoid it if I can.”

“Oh. That sounds hard.”

---