Page 2 of One More Chapter
At least hanging out with Juliet and Lucy at the middle school baseball games has paid off somewhere.
I paste on a tight-lipped smile, willing my crossed arms to hold it all together for me.
“Yep.” I answer his question with a curt nod. “I’ll be giving them a call today. As soon as I…”
I gesture to my boat house with a flick of my wrist as if to sayhandle all of this. His sweet, sad smile finally has me releasing some of the pent up frustration.
Notsadness, though. I will not cry. Ido notcry.
Tipping my head back, I run my hands over my face, up into my scalp, where my three day, unwashed red mane hangs behind me to my waist.
“It’ll be okay,” the gruff voice of the firefighter says as his hand squeezes my shoulder. When I tilt my head back up, icy blue eyes zero in on mine, and all of a sudden, the squeeze is a little less comforting and a little more friendly. The smile is a little less sympathy, and a little more,How can we make this sad go away, darlin’?
Once upon a time, I would have taken him up on his offer.
Once upon a time, I would have called sex with this stranger a pay day—book research.
But I can’t do it.
Not after the last time.
Not afterhim.
This is exactly how I always end up breaking my own heart in the first place. But not anymore.
“You got a girl at home?” I ask. Immediately his hand pulls back like he has been scorched. In the early morning light, I can make out the tan line left behind by a wedding band.
They all do. They always do.
For some reason, I seem to have a stamp on my forehead that attracts men who are already committed and want to make me the woman on the side.
He clears his throat, and the rest of his squad starts to trickle from my front door like clowns out of a Volkswagen beetle.
“Power’s shut off, as is the water. Off-limits rooms are sealed. One of us can walk you through for essentials.”
“Noted,” I say, giving him a two-finger salute, telling the fireman of grandpa age that I’ll be a few minutes, before I walk to the fence around my back yard, turn my back to the chaos, and exhale.
Luckily, my phone was spared from the waterfall in my bedroom, and I had the foresight to grab it on the way out.
It’s five in the morning in the middle of the summer. Thumbing through the list of people I’ve carefully curated over the years, the bow around my heart cinches.
Juliet and Sam took their kids to a bee-themed theme park in Georgia.Can’t call them.
Claire texted me around one that she and Nathan had just finished painting the new library.Scratched from the list.
Lucy and Aaron are in Disney World again.Nope.
My little brother Connor is on vacation with his dad’s family.Remember? Because his dad stuck around?
Which leaves me on my own to clean up the mess.
It’s no matter. It’s what I’ve done my whole life.
The downpour continues—as I sit on my front lawn watching the clean-up crew enter and exit my house in hazmat suits, my insurance informs me that, since the issue was preexisting, they won’t be able to cover the costs. Fate blows me a kiss when I hear the quoted repair costs. The number that will fix my house could be easily covered by the contract I have yet to sign with my publisher. The one I can’t sign yet, because I’ve been plagued by writer’s block for the past several months.
But, problems don’t solve themselves. Like I’ve done since day one, I stand, brush myself off, and make the best of it. I shoot Claire a text to call me when she wakes up, head to the closest Dunkin’ with my laptop in tow, and open the document labeledStory Idea Dump, hoping that I can make magic happen before I get too close again to drowning.
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