Page 6 of Maneater

I let out a long sigh. Welp. Might as well head back to the café, embarrassment be damned. This time, I think I’ll order three servings of chicken and dumplings.

Chapter Three

Darien

Okay, so maybe the start to my new life isn’t going as well as I hoped, but it’s early days. It’s only been a week since I arrived in Arkansas with whatever belongings I managed to stuff into my Jeep. The motel at the edge of the park is crappy, but still pricey for my budget now that the tourist season has begun.

On the bright side, I still have savings to fall back on, and the summer season also means employers will be looking for extra help. Plus, I have at least three leads on a job.

I watch with dismay as the ancient coffeemaker in my room sputters and spits out some vague version of coffee. Maybe Kade was right. I was too impulsive. I could’ve waited another year, saved more money.

I shut off the coffee machine and unplug it. I’m still not convinced it won’t explode and burn the place down. After powering through a few sips of the toxic brew, I dump the rest into the sink. One bed, a counter with a sink, and a small room with a walk-in shower stall and toilet are the sum total of my lodgings. The fake wood paneling from the fifties and saggy mattress with a chenille spread on top are another charming feature.

After showering and getting ready, I check the list one more time to plan a path that takes me in a straight line from closest to farthest. However, the straight line is more of a curly queue.

One of the places, an inn, is way off the beaten path. I doubt they get much business, but hey. They’re hiring. If I get the job, I might even be able to finagle my way into lodgings.

My phone buzzes with a text notification as I climb into the Jeep, and I pause to check who it’s from. My younger brother said he’d check in on me from the University of Florida, but it’s Kade. I may or may not be avoiding him. Not that I don’t miss my best buddy and ache for a friendly voice, but I’ve been saving our first post-move conversation for the great news that I’ve found an amazing job.

Although I don’t want him to think I hate him either. I tap on the screen to open the message and groan. Yeah. He’s pissed.

Quit treating me like a bill collector. You could at least pretend we’re still friends.

Sorry, bro. Not trying to brush you off. I was hoping to have something earth-shattering to announce when we talked.

This isn’t talking. Call me tonight, or I’ll tell the guys you left because you think they're all pathetic losers.

Harsh. Ok, ok. Chill. I’ll call later.

Your word is your bond.

I roll my eyes and toss the phone on the passenger seat. Talking to Kade will probably help my mood, so I vow to make it happen.

As I set off on my quest, my thoughts turn to this incredible day. The windows are open, and I take in deep lungfuls of air that smell nothing like freeway exhaust. I’m so over that. I definitely won’t miss the pungent aroma of baking asphalt in the scorching summer months, or the stench of too many people squashed into too little square footage.

A measure of peace settles over me as I drive toward my first destination. The gas station convenience store needs several clerks, but is my last choice of the three options. The local natural market and that remote inn are much more my speed. But at this point, a job is a job.

As I pull into the small parking lot, I note that they seem relatively busy. Seems like a good sign. An obnoxious buzzer sounds as I push open one of the glass double doors. A few people are in line at the register, and two boys around eight or nine are in the snack aisle, loudly arguing over which flavor of chips they should get.

“Shut up and get over here now!” bellows one of the customers in line.

The boys yell back, arguing with who I assume is their dad, and I grit my teeth. The peace I was reveling in only a few moments ago is obliterated like an egg falling off a cliff.

You need a job. You need a job. You need a job.

It’s not like I have to keep it forever, right?

The shouting continues with the man behind the register joining in the fun. The arguing turns into an insult-ridden shout fest, and it becomes clear that the employee is actually the owner—who would be my boss.

Nope.

I’d rather camp out in the woods than subject myself to this anxiety-producing nightmare.

After that debacle, I set my sights on the inn. Hopefully my potential boss there won’t be so hostile

And loud.

It takes me another thirty-ish minutes to travel from the grocery store to the inn, and it’s clear I can’t accept the job unless I can find someplace closer to stay. The smattering of homes I’ve passed are single-family homes or little cabins that already appear occupied. At this point in my journey, I’m already over an hour from the decrepit motel.