7 months?That doesn’t make sense; it doesn’t happen like that here in Cascadia.
“What? Janice, that has never happened. We don’t even have enough jobs happening in all of Cascadia to be that big. We are growing, but we aren’t anywhere close to that.”
“I know, dear, this is very strange. I’ll look into it. But you know how it is these days, the computer runs everything.” Janice sighs as she reminisces about the simpler times of pencil and a calendar book. “I will put you on the wait list and make sure to fit you in as soon as something comes up.”
I thank her and hang up.What the hell is going on?I try to shake off the feeling of something bigger happening. Hoping it’s just a computer glitch and I can follow up again tomorrow. Before I can move on to my next task, I get a notification on my phone.
Rick
Having inspector issues? Too bad. I can make those go away
.
How does Rick have access to the inspector's office? Then it hits me, he doesn’t. But I bet Yarrows, Inc. does. I can’t get us any more involved in this. I will call the inspector’s office every hour, or hell, deliver chocolates and roses to Janice daily, but I won’t get myself further involved with this man. I can’t put Becca or Holly at any more risk than I already have.
Not interested
Rick
Prime real estate like that cabin property doesn't stay overlooked for long. Make sure it's being looked after.
I stare at Rick’s message, the blood in my veins running cold.He’s not threatening me and my business; he’s threatening her property, her dream she built herself.That’s worse.
33
BECCA
The leaves are starting to change, and there’s a crispness in the air. I love summer, but there is something about the shift of new seasons that has always brought joy to my soul.
Being at home without Sam these last two weeks has been strange, but healing. Working in the garden, sleeping in my sheets, I feel settled, not only focused on survival.
I am not obsessively checking my bank account five times a day to see what transactions have occurred. Between my paycheck and Charles’s commission, I’ve started to let the anxiety ease.
The soft launch opening date for Holly’s salon has passed, and progress seems to have stalled. For Sam’s part, he has moved on completely to other jobs but still checks in for inspector issues. The few times I have seen him since I moved back into the house, I have asked about the salon. He brushes it aside and tells me not to worry; inspector issues can happen.
Rick’s text sits in the back of my mind like a splinter needing attention. But tonight, Sam asked if I could clearmy schedule for a date he has been planning. I sit on the porch swing he built, waiting for him to arrive. It’s a weird feeling waiting at home for your husband to pick you up.
I shove that thought aside and focus on our growth. My heart does something embarrassing when I see my husband pull up in his Cascadia Bucks shirt, backward Mariners hat, and jeans that are so perfectly worn, designers would try hard to replicate them.
Sam just looks at me for a moment, one leg on a step, not quite stepping on the porch, and smiles.
“What?” I ask.
“Stay right there.” He whips his phone out, and I start to laugh when he snaps a photo.
“This is what dreams are made of, baby, you, sitting at our house, on the swing I built. This is what I imagined.” Sam smiles fondly at me.
My feelings are more complicated; this is not what my dreams were. When I asked for a porch swing, I imagined both of us on it. But I shake off that feeling and ask what I start every date with: “Since I don’t know where I’m going, is this okay?” I point to my outfit.
Sam walks over and grabs my hand to give me a twirl.
“Need to check every inch,” he explains as I laugh and spin in my knee-length butter yellow sundress.
“Almost perfect. You just need one thing,” he confesses.
“What?”
“My old Bucks hat. Believe it or not, tonight is the first game of the local playoffs, and they actually made it!” Sam’s excitement radiates through him.
