Page 21 of Just One Moment

Bythe scuffling noises outside,I’mguessing the furry little family is back.ThecloserImove to the rear of the van, though,the noises get louder: scratching, scraping, and squeaking.Wait, squeaking?Doraccoons squeak?

Throwingon my fluffy robe and fuzzy slippers,Iunlock the door to investigate, using the flashlight on my phone to help light the way in the pitch black.

Onceat the back of the van,Irest my head on the cool metal and listen.Whenthe same squeaking meets my ears,Irecoil backward in horror.“Ohhhhhno.No, no, no, no,”Ichant.Thoseare definitely not the sounds of raccoons.Iturn the release lever, then raise the panel slowly.

“Don’tscream.Don’tscream.They’resimply overgrown mice.They’remore scared of me thanIam of them.”Myself-reassurances don’t help much whenItake in chaos in front of me and a small plea escapes my lips. “Pleasedon’t eat my face.”

Thesqueaking stops, and several beady eyes reflect back at me.BeforeIget a chance to shut the compartment, chaos ensues.Theystart to scurry and scatter among the grass, paper, and insulation nest they’ve built in my engine, andnope.

Inmy rush to get away,Ilose my grip and my phone slips from my sweaty fingers.Guessit belongs to the rats now.Ijump up and down, shaking out my arms and legs, as if the rodents have somehow managed to bury themselves in my pajamas.

Thecondensation of the grass soaks through my slippers and just whenIthought it couldn’t get any worse, the first few drops of rain fall against my face.

Sleepingoutside is out of the question and there’s no chanceI’mstaying in my van tonight.

Myheart thunders in my chest asIstand in the middle of the field, with no idea what to do.Allthe lights are out inMr.Willis’sfarmhouse, andIdon’t want to wake him up at this hour.

Thereis no wayIam rooting around in my rodent-infested van for my phone, so that means there’s no callingJoor…anyone.Rightnow is the worst moment for the sad realizationthatJois my only friend.EvenifIdid have my phone, they’re doing a ton of renovation work in their house at the moment, and they’re stressed enough as it is with the restaurant.Plus, it’sPatrick’snight withLottie.

I’min a pickle.

Iwon’t get a wink of sleep ifIforce myself to stay in the van, andIcount my lucky starsIhave the bakery to camp out in.

I’venever moved so fast in my life asIdart around, packing up whatever clothes, underwear, and toiletriesIcan grab in two minutes.I’ma big animal lover, andIwant to give the rats the benefit of the doubt.They’vehad a bad rap since theBlackPlague, butIhave to draw the line at them having zero boundaries.

Mystomach drops whenIrealize there is no way in hellIcan affordGraham’sservices now.

Afterswallowing my pride on his offer to help me,Icalled him last night and we settled on a very fair price for him to balance my books, despite him arguing it wasn’t necessary.Ishared with him what documentsIhad, and he promised to have a rough analysis ready for me onMonday.Ihaven’t given him my answer yet, but he seemed adamant to help me out, regardless.Thoserats have definitely done some damage under the hood.Withthe potential cost of a mechanic and a temporary place to live,Imay as well kiss my savings goodbye.

Withmy bag and pillow in tow, and a saddened look over my shoulder atNelly,Imake the thirty-minute walk to the bakery.HopefullyI’llget another couple of hours of sleep beforeIhave to open—then call the local mechanic and spend moneyIcan’t afford to lose.

Onceat the bakery, soaked through to the bone,Itry to get comfortable on the makeshift bedI’veset up in the kitchen.Defeatweighs heavy on me and it’s allIcan do not to cry myself to sleep.

Bang.Bang.Bang.

Theheadache that’s been brewing behind my eyes all night thumps without pause.Ican hear the banging against the side of my skull asIburrow my face into my pillow.Myalarm hasn’t gone off yet, soImust have at least another hour of sleep left.

Pullingmy robe up over my head,Ishield my eyes from the early morning rays shining through the window and try my best to find sleep again.

ThesecondIfeel myself drifting off, a large crash comes from the front of the bakery.I’mjumping to my feet at the noise, butIfall back on my butt when my head smacks against the edge of the stainless-steel table.

“Ow!Ifyou’re the family of rats coming to finish the job, have at me!”Icall out asIrub at the bump already swelling at my hairline.Myfingers come away with a little blood, but nothing too worrying.

“Rats?!Fuck,Quinn, please tell me that’s you.”Irecognize that deep voice.Itnever fails to weaken my knees anytimeIhear it.

Thestomping of feet lets me know someone is making their way to whereI’msprawled out on the floor, likely concussed.

Grahamrounds the counter and stops short when he sees me, his shoulders relaxing the moment we lock eyes.

“Oh.Hey, you.We’renot open yet,”Igreet him with a wince and a small wave.

Thetypically even-tempered man looks…angry?He’sred faced, chest rising and falling, and hands shaking at his sides. “You’renot open yet,” he parrots, though his tone isn’t upbeatlike mine.He’sdefinitely mad.

“HaveIdone something wrong?”Isqueak and sit up right, the blanketI’vehad wrapped around me falls to my waist.That’swhenInotice a wide-eyedJohannaandPatrickbehind him.Jois quick to slap her hands overPatrick’seyes, before dragging him behind the partition wall.

Whatin the world is going on?

“Ithought you were hurt.Allwe could see were your feet sticking out from behind the wall.I’vebeen bang—”Hishead snaps up to the ceiling and a groan that could shake the foundations of the building rolls from his throat. “Fuckinghell,Quinn.”

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