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Once I’ve cleaned out her backpack and prepared her lunch for tomorrow, I step outside to shovel our driveway and sidewalk. With Lola and dozens of other kids walking to school, shoveling and putting salt down is important to prevent any potential accidents.
After finishing at my house, I go over to Marlow’s. This routine started a week after she moved in. There was a massive snowstorm, and when she never came out to remove the snow, I ended up doing it for her. Now, whenever there’s heavy snowfall, I shovel her driveway.
Like most nights, the lights are on in her loft. Whenever I have a late night in my home office, or Lola gets up in the middle of the night, Marlow is usually awake. It makes me think she must sleep during the day to make up for her nocturnal routine.
She’s lived here for over a year, but I still don’t know what she does for a living. Aside from taking Waffles on his daily walks and trips to town, she doesn’t venture out much. I wonder what made her impulsively rent a pink house in a small town in Maine when she could live anywhere in the world.
I’m in a sour mood tonight as I toss snow off to the side. It’s late, and I still have a financial report to finish before bed.
I glance up and spot Marlow standing at her window. Her golden blonde hair is tossed into a messy bun, and she’s wearing her signature oversized overalls with a long-sleeved neon orange shirt underneath. Even from here, I can spot a smudge of paint splattered across her cheek, which can only mean one thing—she’s been painting.
Like she does every time I come over, she gives me one of her infectious smiles and mouths the words thank you, pointing to the driveway.
Without thinking, I raise my hand to wave at her. Her mouth falls open in shock before waving back.
I quickly pull my hand to my side, frowning as I avert my gaze from the window. As I return to shoveling her driveway, I mentally scold myself for my unusual interaction. For a reason I can’t explain, it’s difficult to resist the captivating effect Marlow’s smile has, momentarily changing my mood, and bringing a lightness to my step.
3
MARLOW
“WAFFLES, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I mumble, my voice hoarse from sleep.
I pry one eye open and am met with his nose pressed against my face, accompanied by the sound of his heavy panting.
“Can I help you?” I ask teasingly.
He barks gleefully when he realizes that I’m finally awake.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand and groan when I see that it’s only 7:55 a.m.
“How come you’re up so early, boy?”
I was up until 3:00 a.m. last night, finishing a commissioned hydrangea piece that was supposed to be shipped out a week ago. Inspiration strikes at the most inopportune times—like when I’m getting ready for bed. I planned to sleep in this morning, but it seems someone has other ideas.
Waffles barks louder, reminding me he’s waiting.
“Okay, okay. You win.”
He jumps from the bed and makes a mad dash into the hall, yipping with excitement.
I reluctantly climb out of bed, a shiver coursing through me when my feet touch the hardwood floor. To combat the cold, I put on a pair of fuzzy socks and slip on my cardigan, which was hanging on the colorful patchwork chair in the corner. One drawback to living in Maine is the long, bitter winters, but I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to live in such a charming home.
Shortly after adopting Waffles, I was scrolling through a rental site and stumbled upon this adorable pink house in Aspen Grove, complete with a white picket fence and a porch swing. It felt like the perfect place for Waffles and me to start our new adventure together.
A little over a year later, and we’re still here. This is the longest I’ve stayed anywhere since leaving my hometown.
I’m what my parents like to call a free spirit. I’ve always been easily distracted, impulsive, and constantly on the move. As college professors who ran their lives like clockwork, it was challenging to raise an exuberant child with a short attention span.
Throughout middle school, while they deliberated which extracurricular activities would look best on my transcript, I struggled to commit to a hobby for more than a week. I was always ready to explore something new. In high school, they invested countless hours reviewing my options for college while I daydreamed of taking a trip around the world.
Despite my parents’ disappointment, I chose to travel after high school. Against their better judgment, they gave me a check for ten grand—a portion of my college fund. The rest was contingent on me pursuing a bachelor’s degree, an opportunity I ultimately declined. Instead, I traveled the country, taking international trips when I wanted something more adventurous and chasing my artistic ambitions.
I’m standing in my kitchen waiting for Waffles to finish his business out back when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I groan when I see Gavin’s name light up the screen.
“Hey, Gav. Any particular reason you’re calling me before noon?” I tease.
