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Miri
Ithrow my shoulder-length brown hair up in a messy bun and strands immediately fall out. Searching through my phone’s playlists, I put some music on and crank it up as loud as it goes. Who’s going to complain? This is my place. No neighbors are even close enough to hear, even if all the windows were open. I dig through a few drawers until I find some sheers and begin snipping and trimming back overgrown plants.
Sweat trickles down my back and before long, my shirt clings to me from the humidity of the room. I work for a few hours, pulling out weeds and getting rid of the dead foliage. I dance to the music as I get lost in the task, loving the soreness in my shoulders and legs that builds up the longer I work.
I nearly yelp when my music cuts off. A man’s voice calls out, scaring the hell out of me.
“You’ve done an incredible amount of work in such a short time.”
I whip around to see who’s interrupted my clean up, keeping my face calm as I spot a stranger in my house. My heart isn’t so easy to control, and it pounds madly in my chest. There’s a man standing at the top of the short set of steps that leads down into the conservatory from the kitchen.
He’s leaning against one of the French doors, looking far too casual for someone who just broke into my new house. There’s a hint of superiority that leaches from him, a cloud that wafts around him like overpowering, old-lady perfume. The charcoal suit he’s wearing looks expensive, not that I have any knowledge about shit like that, but it fits him to a T and off the rack clothing isn’t made that way. He must be around fifty, but his light brown hair hides most of the grays that I can just barely make out around his temples.
“I’m sorry, but how did you get in here?” I smack my hands together over the plant in front of me, trying to knock off some of the dirt covering them.
The man smiles, but it doesn’t comfort me. It sets off my hackles, although I doubt that’s his intention. His head tips toward the entryway. “The front door was open. I heard someone new had moved in and wanted to come say hello.”
I stare at him for a beat, certain I locked the door behind me when I got here earlier. Since it would be rude to call this stranger a liar, I merely nod instead. “Hello.”
My terse response seems to amuse him because his smile stretches further over his face. He might be a handsome man, but there’s a coldness about him that warns me to stay away like a giant flashing neon sign.
“It’s been a long time since anyone’s lived here. It’ll be good to get some fresh blood in town, really revitalize and charm it into life again. Don’t you think, Miriam?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask how he knows my name, but I get the sense that’s exactly what he wants me to do. I don’t really want to trot down the path that he’s laying out for me like I’m a puppy hoping to please its master. Archer as much as admitted he’s told every person he’s come in contact with that I’d moved to town—except Davis apparently—not to mention the fact that I’m big news on a small island like Wild Haven. Sure, lots of tourists come and go but people don’t permanently move here. Not often, at least.
“It’s Miri, actually.”
That puts a sour look on his face, and I fight to stifle my smile. “And you are? Not to be rude, but you do have me at a disadvantage.”
The man quickly schools his features and offers me another of those uncomfortable smiles. It’s like he rarely makes the gesture and has a hard time remembering how his muscles should move.
“Anthony Hatcher. I’ve known your family for a very long time.” His chest puffs like his name should mean something to me, but I’ve never heard of him.
I bristle and nearly take a step back when he moves down into the Conservatory to inspect some of the plants. It’s a mess in here now that I’ve ripped half of the plants out, but sometimes you have to make a mess before you can put things back together.
When his eyes gaze at me expectantly as if I should be impressed or beg him to tell me how he knows my family, I press my lips together and nod my head as if to say, “interesting”. Really, I want to tell him that regardless of who he is, it still doesn’t give him the right to barge into my house.
“Do you like to garden?” He picks up a dried piece of mud between his fingers, quickly dropping it and dusting his fingers together to get rid of any trace, like it’s a foul substance. I’m surprised he didn’t flick out a handkerchief and wipe his hand. I rest my hip against the long work table beside me and cross my arms as I turn toward him.
“I do. And it’s my work as well.”
“Your work?” Anthony raises his brows in question. He’s mining for information. Maybe he’s president of the Wild Haven Island welcome committee or something. Although I think between Archer, Lena, and Rhys, they’ve got that covered. Even Davis being an asshole is way better than being around this guy.
Spending my life hopping from one town to the next and getting rushed away from my mother in the middle of the night, hasn’t led to me being a very trusting person. I always suspect ulterior motives, and Anthony isn’t making me change my mind about any of that. Even though my shop will hopefully open up in town soon, I’m not going to bother telling him. He seems the type that looks down on jobs that require labor. You know, like every job that isn’t inheriting buckets of money.
I make a soft humming noise, trying to reign in my naturally prickly attitude. “I make beauty products, shampoos, body washes, face creams, lotions. That sort of thing.”
Anthony pauses before speaking, looking like he smells something bad. Maybe it’s me. I am pretty sweaty. “That seems… an interesting use of your talents.”
We stare at one another, neither of us looking very impressed by what’s in front of us. Who is this dude to wander into my house and cop a superior attitude at my job? No, my life’s calling. Because I love what I do. I love mixing up scents and herbs, concocting new lotions and scrubs. I put a little bit of my magic in everything I make because I want people to feel good about themselves. If some awesome as hell smelling shampoo does that or my lotion makes them more comfortable in their own skin, or even sexy as hell, then that is my small contribution to society.
“Well. Thanks for stopping by.” I finally say after I get sick of making eye contact with the guy. I turn my back on him and start picking up all of my discarded cuttings, effectively dismissing Anthony.
“My pleasure, Miriam.” Anthony croons as he makes his way back toward the kitchen. “I’m sure we’ll see one another soon around town.”
My teeth clench at his use of my full name, especially after I told him to call me Miri. Old saggy ball sack. I wave a hand over my head but don’t bother to turn around to see him out. I know the moment he’s out of the house. It’s almost as if the whole place sighs in relief, like, thank the stars that douche is gone.
“Miriam, my ass,” I mumble to myself, grabbing an armful of leaves, twigs, and sticks and then rolling my eyes at myself because I didn’t open up the door before I loaded up. By some miracle I get the glass door that leads out into the backyard open without dropping too much stuff. A quick search of the yard and I find a little stack of stones forming a fire ring just off a stone patio and deposit my load before taking a minute to suck in the chilly air and check out the backyard.
