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Too bad a part of me wants exactly that to happen.
CHAPTER 8
JOSH
In the grocery store, I put my head down and quickly grab what I came for. Eggs. Milk. Grapes.
Since my interactions at the hardware store the other day, I’ve been feeling antisocial, like I just want to put on an invisibility cloak in public.
But then, as I’m walking towards the checkout, I bump into someone.
“Sorry,” I say, looking up to see who it is.
“Hey, Josh.” Deacon, a lawyer in town, nods at me. “How are you?”
I eye the checkout counter, eager to get out of the store. “I’m… just fine. You?”
“Good, good.” Deacon eyes my basket. “Looks like you’re having a healthy day.”
“Trying.” Over his shoulder, through the window, an oddly familiar figure walks down the street.
I blink and adjust my gaze, but a moment later the woman is gone. She looked so familiar, though. In fact, she reminded me of…
No. I shouldn’t even think her name. Erin’s only on my mind because of the conversation with her mom, and there’s no point in dwelling on her.
Deacon is saying something else, and I have to force myself to focus to catch the tail end of it.
“I’m sorry. What were you saying?” I ask, feeling guilty for not paying attention.
“I was just saying that it’s a shame about what’s happening with Fletcher’s Pond.”
“What’s happening?” I blink at him.
He frowns. “The town is selling it. Some developer wants to build a shopping center there.”
“What?” I can’t believe my ears. Is he really serious?
Deacon nods solemnly. “The town council has approved the move. It looks like it’s going ahead.”
My blood boils at the thought of Fletcher’s Pond being destroyed. Though I haven’t been there in years, it’s where I spent many a weekend in high school. It’s where I went to my first party, where I got into my first fight, where I tasted alcohol for the first time.
It’s also where I kissed Erin.
And where I accidentally ruined things with her.
“That’s terrible,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Who would want a shopping center there?”
“Apparently, the developer thinks it’s a prime location,” Deacon says with a shrug. “But it’s not set in stone yet. There’s still a chance for the town to change their minds. There’s a meeting about it tomorrow night. You should come.”
I shake my head. I don’t do meetings, meetups, get-togethers, or whatever you want to call them. The last ten years or so, I’ve felt like a fish out of water in this town, and being around the people who love it here only makes things worse.
“That sounds great,” I say, “but I probably won’t be able to make it. Ranch stuff.”
Ah. The good ole “ranch stuff” excuse. At least the ranch is good for one thing. Everyone knows how much work it takes to run one, and they don’t question it at all when you mention how busy it’s keeping you.
We say our goodbyes, and I check out and then carry my bags to the door. As I pass by the bulletin board on the wall, though, a new flyer catches my eye.
“Save Fletcher’s Pond!” Below the announcement is a date and time — tomorrow night.
