Page 17 of Timber Ridge
“I’m not sure you’ll find the Nutella, but Rhys is sure to have bread and a few other options.”
Hailey’s already bouncing. “Can we take her, Daddy? Please? I’m her helper for the day, and she’s going to need me in there. Besides, Uncle Rhys always gives me a sucker.”
“Alright, let’s make a quick trip out of it.” I tell myself it’s the neighborly thing to do, but that’s a lie. I wouldn’t offer to take anyone else to the store. The truth is, I wouldn’t mind spending a few more minutes with Timber.
The store on the dock is quiet, a gentle buzz of fluorescent lights welcoming us inside.
Behind the counter stands my brother Rhys. He folds up a magazine and tucks it into his back pocket. If it were anyone else, I’d guess it was this month’s Hustler with how quickly he hid it, but knowing Rhys, it’s probably a bait and tackle catalogue. Everyone has their thing, and my brother’s passion is flies called Dolly Llamas and Wooly Buggers.
“Welcome,” he says. “I’m Rhys.” He pulls a sucker from a basket and hands it to Hailey before offering one to Timber, who declines.
“He’s my little brother.” I don’t know why I need to make a point that he’s younger than me, but I do.
“Hello, Rhys,” Timber says. “I’m Timber Moore.”
“Welcome.”
“Thank you.” She grabs a basket and starts down the closest aisle.
I try to see everything through her eyes. The first thing I notice is Rhys is wearing jeans and the same flannel shirt as mine. It strikes me as funny that we are wearing what would seem like a uniform. I turn to look at the store, which has been in my family since the beginning. Rhys took it over when he was eighteen. To an outsider, it probably doesn’t seem like much. There are only seven aisles to the store with everything vying for space on the shelves, but it’s a lifeline for most.
Timber starts with the basics: bread and peanut butter. When she turns the corner, she picks up a few pieces of fruit. I notice each item she chooses requires no refrigeration, a reminder of her new off-the-grid lifestyle. It’s easy to forget how out of her element she might be, yet in the couple of days I’ve known her, she’s never voiced a complaint. “It’s not like a big-chain supermarket,” I say as I catch up to her. “But we make do with what we have. If you want something special, Rhys can order it.”
“Something special like Nutella?”
“Let’s see if he can get that for you. It’s important to have the things that comfort you—things that remind you of home.”
She laughs. “Currently, home is about 130 degrees, and it seems like your skin melts off your bones every time you step outside. I’m happy to be here, but the Nutella would be a bonus.”
Hailey tags behind her with the sucker from Rhys in her palm. “Can I help?”
“Do you know where the hot cocoa is?” Timber asks.
Hailey nods and races to the front of the store and points to where two boxes of cocoa remain. Timber takes one.
“That should do me for now.” As we reach the counter, Timber stops at a postcard display. She pulls out one with an image of the dock.
“Those have been here for decades,” Rhys says. “You’re welcome to take whatever you like. I don’t have the heart to throw them away, but people don’t mail postcards these days.”
“I imagine they don’t, but there’s an old-world sweetness to them. Imagine getting this card from the one you love? It’s kind of romantic.”
“What do we know about romance?” Rhys says.
“You know a little more than you did a few minutes ago.” She slides the postcard of the dock away and pulls out one of the ridge and sets it on the counter. “This is beautiful.”
What Timber doesn’t know is that the image is of my land.
“I forgot instant coffee. What aisle is that on?”
Rhys tells her aisle three, and as soon as she’s out of sight, he lets out a low whistle. “My teacher never looked like that. Mrs. Miller had less hair than Dad and she was missing her front two teeth. She used to spit when she talked.”
“This isn’t Mrs. Miller.”
“I can see that. She’s pretty.”
There was no doubt in my mind that every dude in town was going to have the same reaction as Rhys, and I’m not sure how to process that. Young, pretty women are a rarity here.
“She’s here for the summer. She’s not staying.”