I slip away from her and pay my tab. It takes longer than it should, and impatience tingles beneath my skin. I want to get home. The bar suddenly feels stifling and loud, and I want to curl up on the sofa in my sweats with just the light of the TV and Stevie laughing beside me.
Night has fully fallen when I finally get out of the bar, the stars twinkling above in the moonless sky. It’s so dark out here in the mountains, and something about it reminds me of home. I feel that same pang I always do when I think about Larkspur. About the endless sky and the smell of snow right before it falls.
The cabin is dark when I pull up to it, and my heart falls a little in my chest. Stevie’s truck was still in the parking lot, but I’m assuming she ordered a ride home. Or maybe she went somewhere else with Wren. When I let myself inside, I know she isn’t there. It’s quiet, and I can’t hear the nature sounds she always plays when she’s sleeping. Disappointment clings to me as I kick off my shoes and make my way through the cabin. I stop beside Stevie’s open door and peer in. She left a lamp on, and there’s a skirt and a pair of jeans discarded on the made up bed, like she couldn’t decide what to wear. A blow dryer pluggedinto the outlet beside the dresser. Some spicy, earthy perfume lingering in the air.
It makes me wish I had been able to spend the evening with her at Matty’s tonight instead of with my coworkers. That she had been the one to crush me at darts. That it had been her laughter floating over the sound of the music.
I palm the back of my neck as the thought hits me square in the chest. As I stare into her room, picturing her getting ready for a night out, realization washes over me. And it’s not welcome.
I think I like Stevie.
Shit.
I don’t see Stevie at all before I have to leave for my night shift, which is probably for the best. I’ve spent the entire day thinking about last night. About the weeks we’ve spent together in this too-small cabin and how I’ve slipped without even meaning to.
One thing I know for sure is that nothing can happen. Mindless flings are easy with my job. I move to a new city, stay eight to thirteen weeks there, and spend time with whomever is okay with knowing that when my contract is up, I’m leaving. Friendships and flings have been pretty easy thus far. I don't typically stay in contact with any of them. But with Stevie…
Things with us are different. We live together and spend more time together than I have with anyone in any of the places I’ve lived. I know if I started something with her, it wouldn’t be a fling. And I also know I don’t want to lose touch with her when I go. I want…I’m not even sure what I want. I want to know how her grandma is doing next year and if she likes the renovations she’s making to her Airstream. I want to know how her newrecipes have turned out and if she ever gets to go back to book club. I want to know that she’s happy.
And none of that feels stringless.
So I won’t do anything about this crush I’ve developed, not when I’m leaving and she’s staying. Like she always has. It’s something I admire her for, even though it makes me feel guilty for the way I tucked tail and ran from my hometown. Even if I want her to leave, to go out and experience life somewhere else—somewhere bigger and more vast—to get the experiences she’s always dreamed of, I know she won’t. And so I won’t jeopardize what she has here by being selfish. Again.
The hospital parking lot is packed when I pass the ER lot and pull into the one for employees. It’s going to be a long shift, I already know, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I rub my palms over my face and square my shoulders before heading in, emptying my mind of everything besides work. Or at least trying. It used to be easier than this, mindlessly losing myself in the work.
I see Bethany as soon as I clock in, but before I can figure out what to say to her, Gita, the charge nurse, is putting me to work. We have a waiting room full of patients and beds that need cleared.
The shift passes quickly, a constant rotation of patients ranging from minor to severe. I’ve worked in a lot of EDs in my time as a nurse, ranging from rural to big city, and this one is surprisingly busy for being such a small town. But more often than not, the patients are tourists who underestimated the wilderness around them.
It’s not until hour eight that I get a short break. I’m feeding coins into the vending machine in the breakroom, shifting my weight from one sore foot to the other, when Bethany finds me. She’s got her blonde hair tied back in a tight bun slicked down to her head. She looks tired, and I’m guessing she probablyindulged a little more than she should have last night, but not enough to leave her hungover. The smile she gives me is small, testing.
“Hey,” she says, coming to lean on the drink vending machine as my candy bar clanks to the bottom of the machine.
“Hey.” I bend, picking up my candy bar.
“So about last night…”
I palm the back of my neck, thinking about how to have this conversation. Swallowing, I say, “Bethany—”
She cuts me off, shaking her head. “No, it’s fine, really. I misread things.”
“No,” I tell her, meaning it. “You didn’t. I like you, I really do. And usually…” I trail off, realizing how it makes me sound. I shake my head, hair falling in my face. “God, I sound like a dick.”
She laughs softly. “No, I don’t think you could if you tried.”
“I travel a lot,” I say. “I never stay in one place long. So I don’t usually like to start anything that will go anywhere. Friendships, relationships.”
Her brown eyes meet mine. “Sounds lonely.”
A breath heaves out of me. “I didn’t used to think so.”
“And now?” she asks. “Are you still looking for something with no strings?”
I think of Stevie on the couch, her feet tucked beneath a throw pillow, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Hair falling from her braid and over her shoulders. Blue light from the TV illuminating her cheeks, making her freckles look like constellations in the night sky.
The answer should be yes. I shouldn’t want something with her or anyone, not when my job is the way that it is, not when the only thing I can offer is fun for a few weeks.
I shake my head. “I’m not looking for anything right now. Strings or no.”
