Page 13 of Unearthed Dreams
SHELBY
Hey C! Sorry we didn’t make it to the opening
The guilt hit immediately. She’d been such a good friend, and here I was, relieved she hadn’t shown up. Relief that Iwouldn’t have to pretend to be more exciting, more outgoing, more... everything I wasn’t.
SHELBY
Can’t wait to see you for graduation!
If I didn’t still have furniture at the apartment, I might have just skipped the ceremony. That, and Mom and Dad never would have allowed it. They loved a good photo opportunity and any chance to celebrate their kids.
So, I’d do it for them.
And for the desk I missed greatly—the desk where I’d written most of my first draft, tucked into the corner of my bedroom overlooking the apartment courtyard. Where I’d spent countless nights typing away, building my high fantasy world where magic came with a price and immortality made falling in love complicated—especially when centuries stood between two people who were never meant to meet. The irony wasn’t lost on me that while my characters were dealing with magical bonds and five hundred years of age difference, I was still stuck in my childhood bedroom, haunted by very real, very non-magical thoughts about a certain bartender and his comments about age gap tropes.
For now, I needed to find something to do with my life. If there was no hope of working on my book here in the house, maybe I could find somewhere quiet in town.
CHARLIE
No big deal! See you Sunday!
A puff of air escaped my lips as I hit ‘send’ on my text and gave up on the possibility of falling back to sleep. Instead, Itrudged with leaden feet toward what was affectionately named “the kids bathroom.” Growing up with three older brothers and one shared bathroom had been a nightmare.
One look in the mirror and I regretted not trying harder to get some sleep. My hair was a tangled mess, frizzing in places and flat in others, like it couldn’t decide what kind of bad hair day it wanted to have. Dark smudges marred the skin beneath my eyes, like little drop shadows behind my glasses. Even my skin looked tired, probably from too many nights spent rewriting the same paragraph over and over while trying not to think about the way Kai’s hand had felt on my lower back last night.
I pressed my fingers against my temples, willing away the exhaustion, the writer’s block, the memory of his voice sayingage gap—my favorite trope.
None of it worked.
God, I needed to get out of this house.
Three slicesof Mom’s French toast and the world’s largest cup of coffee later, I felt human again. More than human—I felt like I could actually face this manuscript of mine without wanting to set it on fire.
The morning sun beckoned through the kitchen window, and I decided a walk into town would do me good. Sure, I could’ve driven, but after spending the last four months hunched over my laptop like a caffeinated gremlin, my body needed the movement.
Said laptop was tucked safely in my backpack, along with the pages of my manuscript and my favorite red pen.
I had a system—read and markup one chapter of the physical copy, then update the digital version. Sometimes seeing the words on actual paper revealed all the stupid mistakes my screen-tired eyes had missed a dozen times before.
I made it exactly three minutes down Orchard Lane before realizing I had severely underestimated the Michigan summer heat. My cut-off shorts, which seemed perfectly reasonable in my air-conditioned bedroom, now felt like a tragic mistake. My thighs were staging a protest with every step, and my boobs... Lord. Most days, I didn’t mind my body. Today was not one of those days. Today, I wished I had a body like Tessa or Natalie—lean and lithe—instead of walking around like I was smuggling water balloons under my shirt. But I’d inherited Nana Everton’s curves and none of her sass.
Ten sweaty minutes later, I’d made it to Main Street. My shoulders were tinged pink from the sun beating down on me, the thin straps of my army-green tank top leaving pale lines against my skin. I’d probably be sweating less if I’d chosen to wear flips flops instead of my Chucks, or pull my hair up instead of hiding it under a baseball hat, but this was why they said hindsight was twenty-twenty.
Oh well.
I was on a mission, and I wouldn’t let a little sweat deter me. First stop on my find-a-quiet-place-to-write quest was The Bean Counter. Its faded green awning came into view as I crossed the intersection of Main Street and Orchard Lane, familiar faces bustling in and out for their morning fix as I approached.
“Morning, Charlie!” Mrs. Henderson shouted as she made a beeline for me. “Good to have you back in town, dear.”
Her bright smile and floral perfume enveloped me as she pulled me into a hug. Her silver-streaked auburn hair tickled my nose.
“Thank you, Mrs. Henderson.” I stepped back from her embrace, adjusting my backpack strap. “It’s nice to be home.”
Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she patted my arm. “You know, I’ve got an opening at the Harbor Pantry if you’re looking for work. Just lost my morning cashier to college out west.” She leaned in closer, her floral perfume mixing with the scent of her morning coffee. “Pay’s better than minimum wage, and you’d get first pick of the day-old pastries.”
Yum.
“That’s really kind of you to offer.” I forced a polite smile, channeling my inner Emma Everton grace. “But I actually have some other projects I’m focusing on right now.”
