Page 61 of Needing Your Love
“Morning.” I cast her a quick smile even though I didn’t feel an ounce of joy over the new day. My face probably revealedthat truth, but I couldn’t rouse a single fuck to give of my mask slipping.
“There’s a fresh pot of coffee and some goodies from Scone Haven this morning. I didn’t have time to bake muffins.”
Kendra made the best banana chocolate chip muffinsever, and some mornings, I’d been seen smuggling an extra to my room to save for a nighttime snack.
I sweetened my coffee and nearly swooned at the sight of Kel’s orange cranberry scones. Two found themselves wrapped up in a napkin and tucked into my hand as I approached the front desk.
“Open house is today,” I told Kendra, cradling my to-go cup in my other hand.
“While I hope you get an offer, I’ll be sad to see you leave us,” she said, her tone definitely downcast. At least no pity shone in her eyes. “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you every morning.”
Guess she hadn’t yet heard about the showdown at Dig-In the other day. Thankfully, she’d been back in the kitchen when I’d stumbled in with tears coursing down my cheeks and hurried up to my room on Thursday.
“I’m not sure when I’m heading out of town, but I’ll let you know when I do.” I doubted I would stick around until the closing. That could take a month or two depending on a bunch of variables. I wouldn’t subject myself to more of this misery while waiting to scribble my name on a bunch of papers.
“The room is yours for as long as you need it,” Kendra assured me.
A few hours later, I sat in my idling car at the end of Dad’s street. While a handful of people had done a walk-through of the house, my phone sat silent in my clammy grip. No bids yet. It was too early for me to fall into despair, but I couldn’t help how my chest attempted to cave in on itself. Fatigue settled in my limbs, exhaustion in my bones, causing my eyes to sting.
Would I ever be free of this damned town and its bad memories?
Was peace even possible?
My cell rang, jolting my heart into my throat, and I swallowed hard, fumbling with my phone. I recognized my realtor’s number, but that didn’t lessen the rush of adrenaline or the thrum of my pulse.
“Hello?” I squeaked.
“Great news, Jimmy!” The guy’s chipper tone said it all.
Shoulders relaxing, I closed my eyes.
Two bids.
Twofuckingbids.
Shaky laughter left me as I hit end to hang up a few minutes later, giddiness causing my hands to tremble.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” I declared to my car’s interior before turning in the nearest driveway and heading downtown.
Frenchie’s had just opened, so I pulled in and parked, my steps lighter than they had been in days. Not even the thought of gossip over what a coward I was would keep me away from a celebratory glass or two of wine. I would leave my car and walk back to The Moose if I got too buzzed. It was time to let loose and celebrate the first bit of good news I’d so desperately needed.
“Welcome to Frenchie’s!” Iris called out with a wide grin when I stepped inside.
Only a handful of people sat at the bar, and the sight of Babs, Chief’s secretary, at a far table stalled out my lungs for a few seconds. She was the gossip queen, and while I usually would have loved to sit and hear all the dirt about shared acquaintances, wariness crept through me.
She smiled, friendly as could be, waving me over to sit with her and Coach Bernard, her husband.
Whatever actions I took would be repeated to Sutton, and while he’d hurt me, I still found myself wanting to please him. Be a good boy.
Ignoring her would probably be frowned upon.
There was no way in hell she hadn’t heard about the Dig-In incident, and I slid onto the seat beside her, trying to brace myself for the inevitable grilling for information, the delving into my emotions over the matter.
“Afternoon, kiddo,” Babs said, rubbing my back with a soothing motion, her gaze filled with warmth and concern.
My smile wobbled at best, but at least I was able to relax into the chair.
“What can I get you?” Iris asked, her eyes as sparkly and bright as ever as she approached the table.
