Page 8 of Jasper

“Hey, Fluffs.”

He lifts his head to look at me and lets out a meow, then tucks himself back into a ball. I lean down to scratch his ears, feeling a little bit of tension leave my body. At least I’ve got him.

The camper creaks as I walk through it. I’ve lived in this thing since I bought my old beat-up Subaru on the day I turned eighteen. The owner offered me five hundred dollars discount if I also took the camper off his hands at the same time. I thought I was getting a great deal. Until I found out he was literally just trying to get the rusty old camper off his property so he didn’t have to look at it anymore. It needed a lot of work, and for the first six months, the roof was covered by a tarp just to keep it from leaking. But now, it’s home, and I’ve done my best to personalize it bit by bit. The only thing that I haven’t figured out yet is how to get rid of the slightly musty smell. No matter how many of those tree-shaped, cherry-scented air fresheners I’ve hung, the old smell doesn’t go away. At first, I didn’t know how I would survive living in a camper, but it hasn’t been so bad. Well, at least until I broke down in a place with no electrical hookups.

I pour some water into Fluffy’s bowl, then sit cross-legged on the threadbare rug, digging around in the plastic crate I keep under the bed. My hand brushes against my plastic ponies, and I pull them out, lining them up in front of me by colors of the rainbow. They’ve always been my favorite toy. Not only are they magical, but they are bright and cheery.

There’s something calming about the familiar ritual—arranging them, brushing a tiny doll’s brush over their manes. I make a little corral out of the leftover wooden blocks and let them “graze” while Fluffy bats at one of them, knocking it onto its side.

I giggle and scoop him up, hugging his furry body to my chest. He nuzzles back, purring loudly, and I can’t help but smile when I set him down and he looks at me like I’ve personally offended him. Silly cat.

Time slips away while I play, making the ponies go on imaginary adventures. The light coming through the window shifts from morning gold to afternoon gray, and I can feel the cold creeping in.

My stomach growls, and I rummage through the small cabinet, pulling out a can of soup that expired last month. I don’t care. I step outside to the small table I have set up with a two-burner propane stove and dump the lumpy soup into a pot. While it heats, the sky grows even darker. I wish I could have gotten a glimpse at the morning paper in the café this morning to read the weather forecast. I’ve heard it’s not uncommon for it to snow ever, even in spring, and with as cold as it is, it feels like it could be a possibility today.

When my soup is warm enough, I turn off the stove and rush inside, shutting the door tightly behind me. Then I take a seat at the tiny fold-out table with Fluffy on my lap and eat straight from the pot. The soup is bland, but it fills my stomach, and it’s hot.

After I’m done, I pile my plastic ponies back into their crate, plump up the thin blankets on the bed, and make sure to grab the extra ones from the passenger seat this time before I crawl under the pile. Fluffy immediately joins and sprawls out like a warm, fuzzy weight, purring softly, and I let my eyes close, letting myself drift. It’s not quite evening, but suddenly my string of sleepless nights is catching up on me, and I can barely keep my eyes open.

Despite my exhaustion, my mind circles back to the café and howhiseyes locked onto mine the second I walked in.

My fingers smooth over Fluffy, and I sigh, my mind spinning between thoughts of his deep voice, those piercing eyes, and the way he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed.

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t want to see him again. But something about him sticks in my head, and as I drift off to sleep, I wonder if I’ll see him again or if he’ll only live in my mind for the rest of my life.

* * *

The next morning, I wake up even colder than usual. The wind must’ve picked up overnight, and the old metal sides of the RV creak like it’s protesting the chill. I tuck Fluffy into my sweatshirt, letting his warmth flow into my chest while he purrs softly.

I should stay in bed. Maybe just scavenge for something to eat and spend the day bundled up, keeping as warm as I can. But there’s this itch under my skin. A restless, stubborn need that won’t go away.

I’m not fooling myself. I know exactly why I want to go back to the coffee shop.

Him.

He’s probably not even there today. It’s stupid to keep going back just to feel his eyes on me and then scurry away like a scared little chicken. But I’m not ready to let it go. Not yet.

I wrap up as best as I can, slipping on my worn sneakers and fluffing my hair to hide the fact that I haven’t washed it in a couple of days. I’m going to have to go to the community center this afternoon to take a shower. I’d go every day if my car was still running, but the walk is just a bit too far to make the trek every single day. So I clean myself up the best I can with what I have in between showers. Thank goodness for cheap baby wipes from the dollar store. And every time I use them, I smile because the irony isn’t lost on me.

Fluffy gives me a sleepy look as I leave, but I pat his head and whisper a promise to be back soon.

The walk is colder than yesterday, and my cheeks burn from the wind, but I push through it. There’s no snow on the ground, which is a blessing. I’d been sure I’d wake up to a total white-out this morning.

By the time I reach the coffee shop, though, my hands and lips are already numb. I open the door and step inside, letting the warmth wrap around me.

And there he is.

Same spot. Same posture. Same piercing eyes locked onto me the second I close the door. It’s almost like he knew I was coming.

I hesitate as I stand in line to order. My brain screams at me to leave, to forget about him and go back to my quiet, safe world. But then, after I’ve had my turn and stepped away from the counter, he does something unexpected—he lifts his hand and motions for me to come closer.

I bristle instantly, wanting to defy him on principle. Who does he think he is, summoning me like some obedient little thing? Hmph. Rude.

Narrowing my gaze, I straighten my spine, forcing myself to look unaffected. I could just turn around and leave. I really could.

But I don’t. Because my body is a traitor.

My feet move on their own, and I hate how easily I give in to that silent command. I approach cautiously, keeping a few feet between us, even though the space still feels too small. He’s bigger up close—even taller than I remember, and every bit as imposing. And he’s sitting down, for Pete’s sake.

---