Page 45 of We Can Stay
This is real.
Or at least, it could be.
The place is nothing fancy, and no one has lived here in years. Looking at it, though, I already see the potential. The state of the buildings doesn’t matter so much. They can be renovated, replaced. It’s the land that needs to be a good fit.
“I really appreciate you coming with me.” I kill the engine, suddenly feeling nervous and anxious at the same time. I reach across the console and grab Flick’s hand, tension leaving my shoulders at the contact. Just having her here calms my nerves.
“Absolutely.” She squeezes my fingers and looks out the window at our surroundings. “This is nice.”
A woman, looking to be in her sixties, in faded jeans and work boots emerges from a rust-covered truck. Even from here, I can see the no-nonsense set of her jaw.
“That’s her.” I nod in her direction. “Lil Peters.”
We climb out, and I immediately reach for Flick’s hand again. The gesture sends warmth spreading through my chest.
The older woman approaches us and stops a few feet away. “Good. You made it.”
“Nice to meet you. Ms. Peters, this is?—”
She turns her back and starts walking off, not giving me a chance to make introductions. “This way, and I’ll show you the pond.”
Staring at the woman’s retreating form, I drop my hand and glance over at Flick hoping she’s not offended by Ms. Peter’s lack of friendliness. She looks back and me and I can see her trying not to laugh.
“Sorry,” I mouth to her, shaking my head.
“Don’t apologize.” She shrugs and loops her arm through mine. “Let’s go see this pond.”
The field squelches under our feet, alternating between boggy patches and grass so tall it brushes Flick’s knees. My eyes dart everywhere, taking in every detail—the slope of the land, the cluster of trees near what might be a creek, the condition of the fence posts.
Lil Peters stays several paces ahead, occasionally gesturing at something without turning around. The pond she mentionedturns out to be more of a small lake, spring-fed and crystal clear despite the neglect everywhere else.
“The previous owners kept fish.” She lights a cigarette, her first actual communication since we arrived. “Good for irrigation too.”
“What do you think so far?” Flick asks softly.
“It’s even better than I imagined.”
“Barn’s over there.” Lil starts walking again. “Stables, technically.”
The building rises from the tall grass like something from a fairy tale—weathered but solid, with good bones despite years of abandonment.
“Mind if we look inside?” Lil waves her cigarette in what I assume is permission, though I’m already moving toward the door.
The interior smells of old hay and dust motes dance in the shafts of sunlight streaming through gaps in the roof. Horse stalls line both walls, their doors hanging at various angles. Miscellaneous equipment clutters the center aisle—buckets, old leather straps, coiled ropes.
“This is incredible.” I say as I run my hand along one of the support beams. “The structure’s sound. Just needs some repairs, new roofing...”
Flick pick up one of the ropes, testing its weight. “Comes with accessories.”
“Very helpful.” I laugh, the sound echoing in the space. “Though I’m not sure what use I’d have for?—”
“You could learn to lasso.” She attempts to twirl the rope and nearly hit herself in the face. “Or not.”
I cross over to where she’s standing, gently taking the rope from her hands. “I think we’ll stick to more traditional animal care methods.”
“Probably wise.”
My hands slide to her waist, pulling her closer. “Flick?”
