Page 35 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice
“But I can’t pay you girls.”
“Oh, oh! Give me a card reading,” Lauren says excitedly, eyes wider than a kids on Christmas morning.
“That can certainly be arranged.” Amanda nods, then glances at me expectantly.
“Oh, I’m good,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “Just happy to get away from my screaming cat and out of the house. Trust me, this is doing me a bigger favor than you.”
“In that case …” she pats my arm as she walks past me. “Knock yourselves out, girls. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Would you mind if we carry some of this stuff outside?” Lauren asks, suddenly sounding unsure, as if the weight of what we promised has hit her now that she's giving the room another once-over.
“Of course, of course. It won’t rain today,” Amanda mumbles, and then she’s out of sight.
“For real?” I whisper, shaking my head. The clouds covering the sky while we had our coffee at Caleb’s were giving me apocalypse vibes. They sure looked ready to burst into the kind of rain that makes you wish for an ark.
“Oh, come on,” Lauren says, reaching for a chair to her right. “If she says it, I believe her. She’s probably casting some kind of anti-rain spell right this minute. Let’s do this.”
“What are you girls doing?” a voice calls out, making me whirl around.
It took us a few hours, lots of cursing, and we’re probably going to pay for our efforts with an epic ache in places we didn’t know had muscles tomorrow, but we’ve managed to disassemble most of the falling hazard towers. Now, the sidewalk in front of the antique store looks like the Mad Hatter is hosting a banquet for all of Wonderland, with what must be at least thirtychairs lined up and stacked along the storefront and a long table in front of them.
“I hope you’re not robbing the place,” the man chuckles, clearly joking.
“No, no, of course not.” I laugh, brushing a strand of hair from my sweaty cheek. “We’re helping Amanda rearrange the store. Trying to eliminate the danger of getting taken out by a rogue armchair.”
“Okay.” His eyes shift from me to the store entrance. Lauren is waddling backward while dragging a Victorian commode behind her with both hands and an expression of grim determination. He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me how to help.”
Lauren and I exchange a glance. When I turn back to him, he’s already shaking his head, frowning with mock disapproval.
“In this town, we help. You girls might be strong, but with some help, everything moves faster, and God knows all of Wayward Hollow has had a near-death experience in there already. Now, what’s your plan?”
“We’re trying to clear most of it out, fight the spiders, and then see how we can arrange everything without falling hazards,” Lauren explains. Meanwhile I stack chairs of the same make to save space and avoid blocking the entire sidewalk.
When I glance up again, a small crowd has gathered out of nowhere. The flower shop owners are among them, along with a handful of familiar faces I recognize from Caleb’s.
“LA could never,” I whisper to Lauren as our new helpers swarm inside eagerly, ready to pitch in.
“Right?” she says, grinning at me, cheeks flushed with a mix of exhaustion and giddiness. “Look at us, actually getting to know our neighbors.”
And that’s how we spend the afternoon: hauling furniture out, then back in once we’ve cleared space for a more organized layout, laughing, sharing stories, and getting to know the people of our new hometown.
Amanda greets every new helper with a thankful smile and keeps the tea flowing.
She doesn’t even check in on us much, and when she does, all she does is watch us with a small, knowing smile playing at her lips. It’s wild. We met only hours ago, yet she trusts us with her store completely.
By the time we’re done, the place has transformed and is spacious, even. The furniture is finally given room to breathe. Nothing is stacked higher than eye level, and for the first time, its vibes are less ‘forgotten attic’ and more ‘hidden gem.’
Then, suddenly, the door bursts open, and Shawna walks in, carrying a huge tray filled with mouthwatering pastries.
“Snacks on Caleb’s!” she shouts, and before she even finishes the sentence, the crowd rushes toward her as if she’d offered free tickets to see Taylor Swift. Then again, Caleb’s pastries are a very close second to that. The man knows his baking.
We gather around the long table we’d dubbed the centerpiece of the store, and soon it turns into a friendly interrogation. Andrea, who runs Wayward Hollow’s only hotel, wants to know where we’re from and if we’re enjoying our new life here. Courtney, who owns the flower store with her husband, explains what we absolutely have to do in the area. Someone mentions a hiking trail only half an hour away. We learn that the man who first approached us is Dimitri, and he owns a woodworking shop a bit outside of Wayward Hollow.
By the time we step back outside, the sky is pitch-black, the streets lit by dim golden light from lanterns.
“What a day,” Lauren whispers, tilting her head back and taking a deep breath of the crisp autumn air.
“Agoodday,” I add with a grin, linking my arm with hers as we walk toward my car.
