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The hours after Agent Todd leaves drag by. I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I wake up the next morning, dry-mouthed and with a dusty sheet balled up on the couch next to me. I’d used it as a pillow and now wonder if my neck will have anything to say about it later.
So far, the only thing that hurts is my pride. Well, that and my broken wrist and fingers. I look down at my cast and read the only note on it.
Get well soon, dear! XOXO, Grandma.
It was Agent Todd’s idea to use an alias when signing my arm. The smiley face he wrote next to the name barely resembles a face. It’s sort of a metaphor for my life right now, barely what it’s supposed to be but somehow still in my face.
I take one more look around the ancient furniture and bolt for the door. I fell asleep with my shoes on, so leaping over the busted front porch steps is no problem. I keep a steady pace as I hustle down the dirt road, not particularly heading for anything or anywhere but invigorated just the same.
The slight morning breeze carries hints of the salt water along the coast. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth and let it turn into a grin. Running makes me feel free and alive — the opposite of being rolled up in a carpet and thrown into a sinkhole.
I blink away the images of me climbing out from my itchy tomb almost one-handed while using my legs to kick my way to freedom. I grit my teeth at the memory of climbing out of the unofficial dump, soaked in sweat and defeat.
The crunch of rocks and dirt beneath my feet is a satisfying sound, one that fills me with adrenaline and a sense of familiarity. The sweat drips into my eyes now, and I wipe the beads away with the back of my palm while picking up speed.
I’ve always been a runner and make a mental note not to inform Marshal Todd about every single outing I might take. Though the over-the-top agent strikes me as someone who’s well-meaning, I don’t look forward to his next check-in. I get the sense the agent is trying to prove something, maybe to himself or his superiors.
Or maybe he just is one of those old-fashioned types who think a woman can’t handle herself. The kind that doesn’t understand why any adult woman isn’t someone’s wife, because who else is going to tell her what to do all day? I don’t really know.
Jogging every couple of days to get my thoughts straight won’t be an issue here, at least in terms of scenery. The way I see it, so long as I keep my activities vague from Marshal Todd, there won’t be any reason for the excitable agent to worry.
A few birds sing out a greeting as they sail over my head and dip down into the neighbor’s garden. The palatial but rustic house I noticed on my way in looks just as good in the morning light.
I catch myself gawking at the large bay windows on the second story, then flinch as I notice my pale but dashing neighbor working in his garden. We’re just a few yards away from each other, which gives me the perfect opportunity to take note of his chiseled form. Wearing nothing but a pair of loose shorts and an oversized hat, his eyes meet mine and I almost trip.
He notices, too, given his sudden jolt as I correct myself. Our eyes stay locked on each other, and I think I might still be smiling. His perfect grin stares back at me as I lift my hand in a slight wave. I don’t know if my hot new neighbor sees it or not, since he continues to watch as I pass but not much else.
And don’t look out these curtains unless you have to!Agent Todd’s words echo in my mind. I push them away and pick up speed.
The handsome stranger and I might have only been locking eyes for a few seconds, but I can still picture the vampire’s stunning blue eyes as I jog in the direction of town. I’m glad I slept in my clothes, though I probably didn’t make the best first impression on my neighbor.Which is good. You’re here to lay low, not pick up a man.
In any case, I hope the stores in little old Aura Creek take cash. Purchasing a trinket or two for the cottage while I’m out might put me in a good mood. Then again, I’m already a little giddy, and for no reason at all.
4
EMILE
The satisfying whir of metal piercing wood rings through the air as I drill holes to install cleats to the motorsailer’s deck. It’s almost melodic. It’s an exciting point in the ship’s build, and it means soon I’ll be able to set up the rigging. Until now, the boat has been all hull and bare deck, and I smile to myself as I imagine how the vessel will look when she’s done.
There are still a handful of cleats left to do before then though, not to mention the winches and blocks, plus the engine, meaning I have my work cut out for me today. However, it also means I have plenty of time to think.
While my hands take care of the marine hardware, my mind slowly wanders back to yesterday’s interaction with the new neighbor, and with it comes a strange flutter in my stomach. I know it was barely anything, really. Just a glance lasting a second or two, no more. I shake the feeling away, knowing that it’s foolish to dwell on something so insignificant.
Instead, I grab a couple of bolts, hold the cleat down by its bridge, and push the bolts through.
The woman’s face flashes in my mind the whole time though. It wasn’t just a friendly look or a wayward glance. I already know how silly it sounds, but I felt like we reallysaweach other.
“Stop it,” I mutter to myself, trying to push away the absurdity of this feeling.
As the morning wears on though, I find I can’t stop thinking about her. So much so that I end up putting two of the cleats on backward and have to start again.
By the time lunchtime rolls around, I’m way behind on my work. At the same time though, I’ve somehow managed to memorize every feature of the new neighbor’s face. Not as if that was my intention.
In fact, I don’t even know her name. She could be married. Maybe the guy with her yesterday really is her husband. What do I know?
I’m still fiddling with one of the backward-facing cleats when Marcel shows up.
“How’s it going?” he asks as he saunters up to take a look at my handiwork.
