Page 31 of Steeped In Problems

Around noon, the line finally thinned, and Kristy caught a moment to breathe, wiping suds from her face and adjusting her wet blue T-shirt with “Car Wash for Bravery” written across it. She ducked into the shade, peeled the lid off her iced coffee, and took a giant, blissful gulp. The air was muggy, with spring threatening to turn into summer, and sweat had glued her hair to her forehead. Still, she was grinning like an idiot. They’d made nearly nine hundred bucks in the morning shift alone. If the rest of the day kept pace, they might actually earn enough to reachhalf their goal, which meant the auction and dance would help them cross the finish line.

"You think this will be enough?" Tanner asked as he joined Kristy.

"It will help us get there," she told him as she scanned the crowd. "Look at them all. This is community."

Kristy wiped suds off her face. "We've already raised nearly another grand toward the goal," she announced gleefully, waving a wet tally sheet. "And it's only noon."

"That's my girl," Tanner murmured, barely loud enough for her to hear.

Before she could respond, he sauntered off, leaving her to compliment what he meant by “my girl.” She wiped her brow with her sleeve and was about to go wrangle more volunteers when she heard a car engine—a low, predatory purr that didn’t belong to the town’s usual battered sedans. She glanced up.

A Tesla, black and shining, rolled up to the curb and stopped. The doors opened with a theatrical hiss. Out stepped Mark.

He wore sunglasses, but they weren’t like Tanner’s; they were too expensive, too shiny, the kind that screamed, “I have a stock portfolio, and I will explain it to you even if you never asked.” His hair looked freshly cut. His white linen shirt—who even wore white linen in Clear Mountain?—was ironed. He was the only guy in the county who could look like a Miami drug lord at a small-town car wash.

Kristy felt her heart do a weird stutter. She reached for her coffee and immediately spilled half of it down her shirt.

Mark saw her. He didn’t wave, just walked straight over, like he was late for a TED Talk. The crowd didn’t part for him, so he had to maneuver between a trio of kids with sponges and got tagged with a stripe of blue soap across the knee. He scowled and looked for someone to blame.

“Wow,” he said, reaching Kristy. “You’re really going all in on the small-town fantasy.”

She pretended to find a spot on her clipboard that needed urgent attention. “You came to support the fundraiser?” she asked, keeping her voice breezy.

He snorted. “I came to see if you were still alive. You haven’t answered my texts.”

“Probably because I changed phones,” she snapped, which was technically true—she’d dropped her old one in a sink, then left it in a bag of rice until it went moldy.

Mark’s smile was too wide, all canines. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. Last time I saw you, you were threatening to become a hermit. Now, you’re running a bake sale, and a car wash out of a coffee shop. Quite the pivot.”

She refused to look at him, hating the sarcasm that was dripping from his voice. She looked at the line of cars instead, at the way the sun gleamed off the fire truck, at Tanner’s still silhouette by the sidewalk, hoping that at any moment, he would see Mark bothering her and step in to intervene.

“I’m happy to help make this place work,” she told him.

Mark leaned in. “Is that why you’re wasting your nursing degree, or is there another reason?” He gestured with his head toward Tanner, making it clear who he was referring to.

It was meant to be a jab. It landed like a punch. Kristy felt her cheeks go hot. She tried to keep her expression flat, but she was sure her mouth had gone tight.

“Why do you care?” she shot back, low.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets, like he was the chillest guy on earth. “I just thought you’d come to your senses by now. It’s a waste, you know? All those years, all that debt. And for what? A town that can’t keep a coffee shop open? You should go back to nursing; you should come back to me, where you belong.”

A few of the parents in the crowd were watching now, sensing the tension. Kristy hated that she could feel their eyes. She wished she could teleport into the break room and hide behind the dry goods rack until Mark left.

She tried to laugh it off. “At least it’s not corporate consulting.”

That got a genuine smile out of him, but he was already on his next move. “You know, I could get you an interview at my company. We’re always hiring people who can handle pressure. You’d fit right in. And you wouldn’t have to deal with...” He gestured vaguely at the mayhem. “This.”

She stared at him. The old Kristy—the one who wore navy scrubs and triple-timed down ER hallways—would have snapped. But the new one just felt tired.

“I’m good,” she insisted. “I like it here.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked over her shoulder, at the crowd, at the slow-moving parade of cars, at the hand-painted banners, and the sunburnt kids. “You always were stubborn,” he said finally. “I just figured you’d get tired of playing pretend.”

There it was, loud and clear. Kristy’s throat closed up. She wasn’t going to cry in the parking lot. Not today.

She fixed her smile in place, just like she had a thousand times at the nurse’s station. “If you’re not here to get your car washed, I have to get back to work.”

He took a step back, but only just. “Maybe I’ll swing by in the next couple of days,” he said, voice sharp. “See if you and the shop are still here.”

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