Page 22 of Run for Us

I shake my head and say goodbye to them all. Thankfully, I didn’t see anything a cousin has no business seeing. I shower and get dressed, putting on a blue sundress that buttons down the front. The sundress is sleeveless, so my scars remain visible, and I study myself in the full-length mirror. Even though they’ve faded, the skin still shows an uneven texture up close from the marks of dozens and dozens of stitches.

A knock at the front door pulls me out of the spiral I was about to go down. When I reach the door and open it, Kasen is standing there with a cake box in his hand.

“Happy birthday,” he says, and I raise my brow.

“How did you know today’s my birthday?” I ask and gesture for him to come inside.

“Mrs. Easton—Shore’s mom—does my bookkeeping, and she insisted I bring you a cake she baked you. I told her it might be strange if I show up with cake, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

I chuckle. After meeting her once, he doesn’t need to explain. “Tell her I said thank you.”

He grimaces. “Actually, you could tell her yourself at dinner. Her exact words were, ‘Boy, a beautiful woman like Kinsley deserves to be celebrated, and tonight we will show her how the Eastons celebrate.’” He smiles and then looks at my outfit. His eyes take me in, inch by inch, and I don’t hate how it makes me feel. “If you plan to decline, I tap out, because while that woman is a saint, she scares the pants off me.”

I chuckle. “I would love to have dinner with her and her family. Actually, while you are here, I wanted to ask what my chances are of extending my stay. I’m thinking I might like to remain a while longer and see what rentals there are.”

Kasen puts the cake box down on the kitchen counter. “We can certainly extend your stay here, but I know of a rental that is available in two weeks. I can show you if you like.”

I nod eagerly. “That would be amazing. When suits you?”

“If you’re free now, I can drive you.”

“I can do now.”

Kasen holds his hand out for me to lead the way. I grab my handbag and walk outside to where his car sits. It’s nothing flashy, but it’s still nice—a sleek black. It suits him.

We make small talk as Kasen drives us toward The Promenade. He tells me that most of the year you can drive from one end of the town to the other, but with the festival, they close the main street off so that vendors can set up and people can enjoy the nighttime activities.

We pull up out the front of a cute two-story cottage. The bottom level has large glass windows on each side of the front door, covered with white lace curtains.

“Mrs. Baker owns this house. She moved out a few years ago, but she used to run a pottery class downstairs and lived upstairs.”

“Why did she move out?” I ask as we both get out of the car.

“She was too old to maintain the property, so she rented it to me.”

I stop as we walk up the stone path. “You live here?”

“I do, for at least two more weeks. The last of the renovations for the lighthouse will be done, and then I will be moving.”

This place is magical. It is at the end of a cul-de-sac, with the beach directly across from it, and I can see the lighthouse from the corner of my eye.

“Oh, well, that’s nice that you get to move.”

Kasen leads us to the door and unlocks it. My mind goes wild with ideas the second we step inside. The space would make an amazing art gallery.

“Let me show you around. This is where Mrs. Baker had her pottery classes. I have never needed the space, so that’s why there is no furniture, but it could be used as a living area if you have guests—or maybe a new job venture. It’s sectioned off, so behind these curtains is a second room. It’s a little smaller, but the light is amazing.”

He then leads me upstairs to a small one-bedroom apartment. It’s smaller than what I’m used to, but something in my gut tells me this is where I belong.

“It’s perfect.”

“I thought it might be. I can call Mrs. Baker today and get her to send over the paperwork. Rent is twelve hundred a month, and utilities are included. You’ll need first and last month’s rent upfront before you move in.”

“Twelve hundred?”

“Is that too much?” he asks, and I shake my head.

“I expected more. I guess small-town living is a lot cheaper than where I come from. You don’t want to know how much my apartment is worth.”

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