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Rainy
Starting over wasn’t what Rainy McAllister had in mind at this point in her life, but since she had to do it, she was going to make the best of it. Getting a place in Portland’s Grant Park neighborhood was a bit of a break. She couldn’t afford to buy the house on 47th Avenue—not yet anyway—but the rent was reasonable. It helped a lot that her new employer secured the lease for her. The cheeriness of the neighborhood and the relatively easy move had to be signs that the tough financial times were behind her, and the sun was going to start showing through the dark clouds.
The neighborhood in Grant Park wasn’t much different from the one she left back in Baltimore. Her home was the typical restored baby boomer cottage, like the ones in neighborhoods all over the country. So she wasn’t sure why she felt like she had moved to the edge of the earth, but she did.
She’d made a deal with herself—mostly for her parents—that if she didn’t make a decent living by the time she turned thirty, she would put the guitar down, say goodbye to her musical aspirations, and get a real job. And now she’d reached that age.
It was ironic that Rainy moved to Portland, the birthplace of alternative rock—her drug of choice. She took a job geographically located in the heart of creativity and music. She was positive it was the universe’s way of taunting her to plunk her right in the middle of the music scene directly after the death of her dream. No matter how hard she wished it wasn’t true, Rainy wasn’t a musician anymore, although in her heart she always would be. In the back of her mind, she caught herself scheming to fit gigs on open mike nights into her schedule. She’d have to bury those ideas and focus on her new life as a corporate lawyer, at least until she got back on her feet and paid her parents back. Between them and her new employer who’d found her the house and paid for her move—a move that did not make her happy—she was stuck. If only she could go back in time and do it all over again…
The Uber dropped Rainy off at her new home. She stared at the front door, trying to feel connected. It had picture-perfect curb appeal with its gated picket fence and slate stone walkway that led up to a generous front porch.
Rainy felt like she was walking onto the set of an old-fashioned movie when she stepped into the gate. The yard and the house were so quaint, so perfect, and yet she felt empty. It just didn’t seem real. She opened the front door and cut through the kitchen to the backyard. It was green and rich due to Portland’s humidity. She just needed a moment to herself. A moment to adjust to her new life. A moment to let the disappointment of a failed dream die. The air was filled with amazing aromas. Someone had a grill going in the middle of a Friday morning and Rainy was suddenly starving. She turned her head in search of the source, and saw wisps of smoke curling into the air next door. She peeked through the wooden slats of her fence and saw her neighbor—at least she thought it was her neighbor. He was tending skewers on an open grill. He took a dramatic swig from a bottle and then dumped a fair amount of liquid on the flames, causing them to rise and lick and hiss like a dragon.
Rainy blinked. If she didn’t know better, she would swear the man looked just like Benjamin Brock, the lead musician for the Septempermentals. It was one of the weirdest moments of her life, like she was dreaming. There was no way it was him, though her body reacted to him as though it was.
She had that instant longing that ached in her chest—a feeling she reserved for musicians and the occasional movie star. She chalked up her vivid mirage to disappointment and the stress of so much rapid change.
She tiptoed up to get a better look over the fence.
The man turned to her. Rainy tried very hard not to stagger, or overreact in any way, though it was tough. It was indeed Benjamin Brock, and he stared back at her with a devilish expression. She could feel his charisma all the way from where he stood, and it made her stomach twist and her core clench. All sorts of naughty, bold thoughts raced through her mind.
He gave a half-hearted wave so she returned the gesture. It was all so surreal.
“I’m your new neighbor,” stammered Rainy.
She did not faze him at all
“You sound sad about it,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“I think I am,” The emotion of her predicament threatened to make her cry.
“All right then,” he said with a shrug.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful.”
