“The faster you clean it, the faster I can give you more things to do for the summer, and maybe I’ll let you pick your group.”
“Oh?”
“You and I both know you have a favorite age, and you’ll get to pick if it’s done quickly and efficiently.”
“Yesss, Mom!” I shout, squeezing her in a hug and kissing her cheek, just how she hates it. Maybe she secretly loves it, who knows. Either way, I do what I want.
“Now if that’s all…” She shakes herself away from me. “I have work to do, and you have a shed to organize.”
DidI get anything done in the shed? No.
Did I get lost in opening boxes and finding memorabilia? Yes.
Did I find a collection of opened paints that needed to be used or thrown away? Also, yes, which is perfect, because now I’m wired, and there’s no way I’ll be able to go to sleep. Painting sounds just about right.
The beautiful, vast night sky is the only indicator of the hoursI spent in there, getting lost in the bazillion knick-knacks I found, in the possibilities, daydreaming and dancing, just like I did every time I tried to clean or do anything requiring focus. My report card growing up was filled with ‘Brilliant but distracted easily. Smart but talks too much. Could excel if she could focus’, and that hasn’t changed.
I continue to trek to my cabin, arms full of paints and supplies I found in the shed, ready to make a home in what will be my art room. The top floor of my cabin is more like a loft. It stays empty with only the ghosts of memories there floating around. Until today. Today, I’m ready to uncover the space and make it my own, claim my own ghosts and dance with them instead. Or paint.
I should probably figu— “Ah!” I shout, bumping into a wall. Or a tree. Or something. And straight into the ground. Goddamn it.
“Are you okay?” a deep voice says, snapping me back to the moment. So not a tree. Just tall, strong muscles from— holy shit?
It’s the guy who saved me yesterday.
“Yup! Peeeeachy!”
What are the chances? Why is he here?
He offers me his hand, a hand with more cuts and calluses than I’ve seen in a while, and that’s saying something. I take it either way, and, in one quick pull, I’m vertical again.
“Thanks.” We both try to pick up the paints I dropped, bumping into each other instead.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“Sorry,” I echo. We take our turns picking things up from different spots until everything is back in the oversize tote I was attempting to carry. The tote he now has in his arms. Where the tote covered me completely, it barely covers him at all.
“I can take that for now. Thank you.” I try to pull my tote from his arms, but he won’t let go. “You already saved me once. I can take it from here.” He won’t budge, but also, what in the world is he doing here? “What are you doing here?”
He clears his throat, not letting go of the box. “I work here.”
“What? Where?”
He looks around. “Here. At the ranch.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. I could ask you the same. Were you stealing supplies from the shed?”
I look at the box and then at the shed, then back to the box he won’t give me. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“You think I stole those?”
“I’ve never seen anyone go into that shed, and, well, you either, other than yesterday.”
“So youdoremember that.”
“How could I not?” he replies, and although there shouldn’t be any reaction, his choice of words sends shivers running down my spine. It makes me feel unforgettable, even if for a split second.
