Page 3 of Where We Found Our Home
“This is Ciara.”
“Pretty name.” Nevaeh smiles.
“Thank you. Yours is pretty too.” She beams at the compliment.
“Alright, well, we’ll leave you to enjoy your treats and your work. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I really appreciate it, Sasha. Nice meeting you, Nevaeh.” Nevaeh waves at me, and Sasha smiles as she leads her daughter back to her table.
I feel immediately comfortable with Sasha and Nevaeh, and that makes me anxious. I can’t afford to get close to anyone here. I need to keep to myself. As much as I love the vibe of this coffee shop, I can’t come back here.
I’m the worst. The absolute fucking worst. It’s been two weeks and my ass has been going to Sasha’s shop every single day.
I walk in, catch up with Sasha and Nevaeh, grab a macchiato, sample a different pastry each visit—though the banana nut muffin has remained my favorite—and sit in a booth to write more of my novel. The words come to me easily there.
I write thrillers, which is funny to me when I think about what I’ve been through, but it’s what I’ve always wanted to write. To put it bluntly, murders fascinate me. I’ve watchedUnsolved Mysteriesand everything on the ID channel since I was a kid. We’ve all had someone or something bother us to the point where we thought we would snap, but exploring what pushes a person to the breaking point where they actually take a life is fascinating. Exploring the mindset of a person so cold and calculating that they can take a life without remorse both unnerves and excites me. It’s why I’ve tried, to no avail, to understand what makes the source of my nightmares tick. With everything that’s happened in my life in the last couple of years, writing my debut novel feels cathartic. I’m in control of the terror. I control the unease. I know when the bad guy is coming. I control who dies and when. I control the outcome. I need this control. I’m clinging to it with every fiber of my being.
I always wanted to be an author, but working a full-time job stole my spark for writing. I was too tired or annoyed at the end of the day to write. Now that I’ve received the settlement from my accident, I have more than enough savings so I can take the risk of not working and focus on trying to put my debut novel out there. When I spoke to my mom yesterday, she asked if I’d be trying to get a job soon as she worried I’d go stir-crazy without one. I’ve always had a job since I was sixteen, so I understand her concern, but right now this is what I need to do for my mental health. The days are starting to blend together for me though. I’ll probably end up finding a part-time job to give me something to do and have income coming in—but I don’t need to just yet.
“What are you up to for the rest of the day?” Sasha asks, interrupting my thoughts. I really have no idea what I’m thinking about by building a friendship with this woman and her daughter. I guess if I keep it to surface level interactions here at the coffee shop, it’s fine. It’s not like we’ve exchanged numbers and are talking outside of my daily visits.
But if they get caught up in your drama and something happens to them, you’ll never forgive yourself.
Ugh. Enough already. I can’t keep living like this. It’s okay to talk to people. I just need to keep my distance.
“Umm, I’m probably just going to go home, honestly,” I reply as I start packing up my laptop.
“That’s what you say every day.”
“Not true. The other day, I went to Randalls when I left here.” Yes, Randalls is a grocery store. But it’s still going out. If it’s not the grocery store or Sasha’s, I’m not going. I talked a good game about exploring my new city, but I’ve done none of that. I haven’t even gone out shopping for stuff to put in my apartment. Online shopping is my friend.
Sasha smirks. “The grocery store doesn’t count. You need to be exploring more. How old are you?”
Deep breath.“Twenty-eight.”
“Yeah, you see. You’re younger than I am. You need to be going out to bars or clubs or anything more than going to a coffee shop and then home every day.”
She has no idea what she’s asking me to do, and she probably never will.
“Yeah, I know, I know. How about this—I’m going to go across the street to that boutique and get myself a cute outfit.” It’s only around two p.m. I can do this.
“Perfect. A going out outfit maybe.”
Going out. Ha. Funny. Yeah, I’ll go out. Out of my bedroom to my couch. “Maybe.”
Sasha smirks again with those knowing eyes. I grab the rest of my stuff and get out of there before she can dig deeper. I wave bye to Nevaeh and head across the street to the boutique.
I end up buying a cute maxi dress. It’s multicolored, so Sasha would probably approve. Walking out of the store, a little girl who has her face buried in a tablet bumps into me.
“Sorry!” the little girl yelps.
“It’s okay. No problem, sweetie.” I go to move around her when she looks up at me again.
“You’re really pretty.”
Are all the kids in this city so stinking cute?
“Aww, thank you.”
