Page 17 of Debt of My Soul

“Looks like you might need new hinges. These look broken.”

She nods, a smile poking over the wrinkled lines around her mouth. Her hands flutter to her hair, smoothing her chaotic strands back into her bun.

“I’ll have to get a handyman to come take care of it. Mr. Northgate is too busy with the property.”

“Oh, want me to ask Adam to stop by? I’m sure he could fix this quickly,” I ask as I move to the time sheet I have to submit for the end of the week. There’s only a slight discomfort when I volunteer Adam to fix the hinges. We aren’t an item. But heisa handyman. I shrug, mostly to myself, but I meet Mrs. Northgate’s eyes.

They’re preening with neutral disinterest.

She stiffens, rolling her shoulders back. Her normally soft, inviting demeanor has been plucked away, right off the hinges like the cabinet.

“No need. I’ll get someone to tend to it.”

I stare at her. Flour is tossed on the counter as she dusts an area and plops homemade pie crust down. What feels like the violent beat of a drum is actually her wooden rolling pin attacking the dough. Guess it’s a blueberry pie for the check-ins this afternoon.

This is the second time she’s gone weird on me about Adam. I’m missing something. Unfortunately, I hate confrontation, and I like my job too much to push back. Maybe he had a job here and they didn’t like his work. Or had a disagreement about something.

Either way, my shift is over, and I rise, smiling at Mrs. Northgate as she shoves flattened pie crust into a dish.

“Have a good night, Mrs. Northgate.”

“You too, sweetheart. Thank you.” She grins at me, shooing me out of the kitchen as I linger, flummoxed by her whiplash expressions. Homesickness settles in the pit of my stomach at her “sweetheart”. The name my mom always calls me, no matter my age.

Practically jogging to my car, I jump into the front seat. Reaching for the radio, I turn on the local station and back out of the side parking lot reserved for the Northgates and any staff. Iwaslooking forward to my date tonight and seeing Adam. Part of me wants to be proud I’m going and working to put Chris behind me.

But the way Mrs. Northgate seems to freeze up when I mention his name …

I’m sure that in a small town gossip runs wild, and perhaps grudges linger when you interact with the same handful of people every day. She’d warn me about anything unsavory, right?

Chapter 9

Fleur

Thirty minutes. That’s all the time I have to get ready for dinner.

Dashing up the front porch steps, I nearly bulldoze past the freshly painted porch. It was impossible to finalize a color, and I spent three hours at the paint store before finally settling on Greek Villa, a creamy white.

I drag my hand over the freshly sanded wood now a milky color. Images of early morning coffee in a rocking chair, watching the sun morph above the horizon, while the neighbor across the street bales his hay stream into my mind.

I glance at the fields surrounding my little farmhouse that are visible from all three sides of my porch, not another house in sight. Country air dances around me with a mix of grass and the soft, sultry night smell. I let it wash over me, closing my eyes to inhale the peace and quiet.

The house I had with Chris, his house, sat in a tiny community inches from a four-lane highway. Each night, I fell asleep to the hum of traffic or the neighborhood block party. There was no porch. Only a stoop Chris and I used to sit on with our morning coffee before I’d get tired of waving to the twentypeople walking their dogs or running before their morning commute to work.

I sigh and peer around at the empty porch. Outdoor furniture is next on my list.

Dashing into the house, I sprint to my bedroom, stripping clothes as I go, and quickly step under the spray of the shower. It’s bone-chilling cold, but I don’t have adequate time to let it warm up. Within minutes, I dart around my new master bathroom, blow-drying my hair and tossing on some makeup. Stepping back, I shrug. Guess this is acceptable.

I’ve let my hair hang long, framing my face and hiding the pearl studs in my ears. Deciding on a peach-colored summer dress with cap sleeves, I slide it up and over, eyes snagging on the claw-foot tub and smiling.

It was a splurge. Vintage cast iron coated in porcelain. The all-white tub with its ornate claw feet that curve outward like the talons of a fairy-tale creature. It’s timeless, especially with the gleaming chrome fixtures. Even though now it’s sitting on my credit card.

However, the bath I sank into last night, propped against the end while I texted my mom—worth it.

Adam asked me to meet him at the restaurant. Apparently, he has some work to do up until our date. Honestly, I’m glad. Mentally, I’m not sure I could handle the whole pick-me-up-for-a-first-date thing right now. At least this way it feels like I’m meeting a friend for dinner.

I pull into the quaint restaurant described online as “Ruin’s novelty delight with classic Southern cuisine.” But the building is quite weathered and bland. Mostly wrapped in browns and greens, the building’s only color is planted in the hanging flower baskets adorning every other porch post.

After a quick glance around for Adam’s truck, I sit back, content to scroll through some of the socials I’ve been actively avoiding.

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