Page 7 of Show Me How to Heal
“Uhm…” I started. All the colors looked kinda the same. A pale green. “Actually, I don’t know what sage is, but…” Squinting my eyes, I pointed at the sample color card of all the same looking colors I liked the most. “That one’s nice.”
The guy shrugged, placing the other sample cards back on the shelf and only keeping the one I’d pointed at in his hand. “Good enough. If Mel doesn’t like it, she needs to start giving clearer instructions. By the way, I’m Corbyn.”
“Still Luke,” I said, trying to look past Corbyn. I still needed to find… “Do you know if this store carries bear spray?”
The burly guy, Corbyn, nodded. “Sure. The camping stuff is right over there.”
Finally I walked past him on my crutches, self-conscious about not accidentally hitting the shelves in the narrow aisles. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m here like… twice a week, so I know where everything is. I just don’t know what sage green is… or which of these colors comes closest.” He rolled his eyes. “My sister still thought it was a great idea to let me buy the color for her bedroom because she thinks I get a discount.”
“Do you? Get a discount, I mean.”
The guy laughed, his cheeks turning a light red. “Yeah. I made a business out of flipping furniture, so I need stuff all the time.”
He made a job out of what?
Flipping furniture.
Flipping stuff?
Like… throwing it on its head? Peoplepaidfor that?
I must’ve looked utterly confused because Corbyn cocked his head again and raised a brow in question. “Is there a problem?”
“Oh…ähm… no,” I said, clearing my throat. “Just… what exactly do you mean by flipping furniture because I’m pretty sure I’m thinking about the wrong thing. People don’t actually pay you for throwing their furniture around, do they?”
Corbyn studied me for a moment, probably checking if I was actually being serious, before snorting a laugh. He slapped my shoulder with one of his huge ass hands, making me wince. Damn, that hurt, and I guess that was supposed to be a friendly gesture.
“Damn, that image…” He shook his head, still chuckling. “No, I’m not throwing furniture around — though I’d certainly like to sometimes. I’m restoring old furniture. Most of the time, I don’t work with valuable antiques but the dressers and tables your grandparents owned and used for forty or fifty years. That stuff’s massive, but it usually looks outdated. I buy that furniture for cheap — or sometimes even get it for free — and I try to make it look more modern. I sand it, paint it, sometimes install new feet and stuff like that.”
Yeah, that made immensely more sense.
“You aren’t from here, are you?”
I snorted. “No, I’m not.”
Corbyn nodded, a strand of dark brown hair slipping out of some kind of bun at the back of his head and into his eyes. “Thought so. You’ve got some kind of accent. Where are you from?”
Damn.
Did I tell the truth?
Lying was stupid, but I really didn’t want anyone to know who I was. This was my one chance to start anew.
“Germany,” I said after a while. There were more than eighty-four million people living in Germany. The chances of him finding out who I was — even though I was pretty well known in all of Europe — were slim. Probably close to zero.
“Cool. You been in Juniper Creek long?”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Just arrived a couple of days ago. I’m still trying to get the hang of living in the countryside. Hence the bear spray.”
Corbyn snorted and slapped my shoulder again, though lighter this time. “Sure, let me show you where it is. But please, for the love of god, don’t use it on yourself. It’s not bug spray.”
“I know.”
“Good. A couple of years ago I worked as a paramedic close to the national park and let me tell you: You really don’t want stuff that’s supposed to chase bears off in your eyes.”
“Duly noted.”
