Page 22 of Traces Of You
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’m just the messenger. If you think I’m being unrealistic, you haven’t spent enough time around my mother.”
It was the smirk that had her stilling. “I talked to your mom already.”
“That was before. Once she finds everything out, you’re under Mama Bear’s care. Enjoy.”
It was the laughter that Clay had when he walked out that confused her more than anything.
She rushed to the door to see if he had left. He hadn’t shown her how to light the wood stove.
But he was only grabbing another box out of his truck.
“What’s that?”
“Food. Or staples to start. One thing that will be discussed tonight. If you can go around town to buy anything or if it’s just ordered and delivered.”
She looked in the box at coffee, bread, milk, peanut butter, some packaged goods, sandwich meat, apples, which made her smile, and a few other things that would come in handy.
It’d get her through a few days easily while she tried to figure it all out.
“I appreciate everything. I want to pay for this.”
Clay shook his head. “My mother would never accept it. Ford said you wanted to work off the rent; that will be good enough. And we’ll figure out what and where tonight at dinner. Do you have a phone?”
“A prepaid one. My name isn’t linked to it.”
Clay put a piece of paper on the table. “Phone numbers. The family’s numbers. Put them in your phone. Text me and Ford ‘Fuji’ and we’ll know it’s you so we’ve got your number.”
“Fuji?”
“It’s a kind of apple.”
“Got it.”
“If you need anything, reach out. At the end of the road in the other direction, past the bakery is the mill. That’s where I’ll be.”
She’d seen the sign on the building from a distance that said Ridgeway Hard Cider.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
“I’m going to show you how to light the wood stove. Make sure it’s out when you leave. Don’t want Ash getting on our case.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“He’s a fireman. We don’t need any accidents here nor damage to our property.”
“I’ll be careful.”
She watched him load the wood in the stove with a few pieces of kindling, then stuff in some paper, light a match and ignite the paper with it. He used a metal poker to push it around until the kindling was on fire.
“You should be good,” he said. “These are the air vents. Close them off when you want to put the fire out. It will smolder and then you can spread the ashes around with the poker to ensure it’s out.”
“How long does that take?” she asked.
“Fifteen to twenty minutes. If you don’t need anything else, I’ve got shit to do.”
“I’m good. Thank you, Clay. All of you.”
“Thank Ford.” He walked to the door, closed it behind him and she went back to cleaning. The door whipped open ten seconds later. “Lock the fucking door.”
