Page 3 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

“Looks like everybody’s coming back sooner than they’d planned.” Cujo rolls down his window and waves back.

“I don’t understand why Shadow doesn’t leave during the festival. He hates it, but he’s always here for it.”

Cujo gives me another nonchalant shrug. “Maybe there’s someone who used to be a regular, and he’s always hoping they’ll show up again.”

“Is that the deal? You know there’s someone he’s hoping will come back?”

“I don’t know shit, man. I’m just talking.”

“Right.” I hop out and grab my fishing pole and tackle box from inside the shop. The wind changes direction. It’s early March and there’s another cool front headed our way. It’s warm enough to fish in a t-shirt today, but we might all be wearing jackets again tomorrow. Maybe before the day’s over. I grab one off a hook by the door, just in case.

The elderly twin mediums walk past as I climb back in my truck. Cujo waves to them, too. He’s in a damn good mood today.

“You ever talk to the Spirit Sisters?” he asks. “They’re a trip.”

“Not if I can help it. I call them the spooky sisters because they creep me the fuck out.”

“They know some crazy shit sometimes. I used to think psychics were all a scam, but they’ve told me some stuff . . .” He trails off, and frankly, I’m glad.

“You going to be weird all day?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He sits taller in the seat. The spread of his shoulders reminds me just how much bigger he is than me. I’m always aware when we lift weights together, but outside the building that says plumbing on the front, where we keep our equipment—and old bench and disc weights, some dumbbells, and a kettlebell that neither of us ever picks up—he seems less intimidating. Usually.

We drive past two more seasonal residents returning to Ivydell. More waves are exchanged through the windshield.

I better enjoy fishing today. By tomorrow, they’ll all have punch lists of things for me to fix or replace. Staying busy is good. Keeps all thewhat-ifsat bay. Mostly.

Ivy

Judging a Bottle by Its Label

My shower may besmall, but the water is hot. And the heat feels incredible on my aching shoulders. When Petra says we’re having a workday, I now know she means aworkday. I’m happy to be here and happy to contribute where I can, but damn, when I let her put that rake in my hand, I didn’t fully realize what I was getting into.

I got to watch prairie dogs play, and we didn’t see any rattlesnakes or scorpions, so it definitely could’ve been worse. But the time didn’t exactly fly by. Unfortunately, Petra is not a talk-while-she-works woman.

Myrna, on the other hand, had plenty to say. Petra watched her like a hawk, though. Every time Myrna brought up Jensen,whom she, like everybody else here, calls Stinger, Petra would cock her head like a warning.

What wasn’t she supposed to say in front of me?

She said enough that I know he came here after a major heartbreak. I knew something traumatic had to have happened, but he told me he inherited his family’s winery, so I assumed his parents died and that was the reason he ended up here.

Myrna definitely made it sound like his heart was devastated by more than the loss of his parents.

I’ve had my heart broken, too, and it’s not like I thought I was the first woman he’d ever spent time with, but I’m feeling weirdly jealous of the unknown.

No, that’s not it, not jealous. But I feel like I have a right to know what happened in his life, which I don’t.

This unwarranted entitlement to his history keeps nagging at me, though. I can’t help it; I want to know everything about him. He’s more intriguing than anyone I’ve ever known, and I hardly know anything at all.

What if there’s something terrible in his past? Something that would make me not want to be around him anymore. It would have to be something pretty bad to quell my infatuation with him.

Sweet goddess, I hate admitting that, even to myself.

I breathe in the lavender-scented steam of my shower and try to decide if there’s anything in my history that I wouldn’t want him to know. Every memory I call up feels like it would be safe with him. I can’t imagine him judging me for any of my past fuck-ups or embarrassing moments.

Teasing me, sure. But despite his initial gruffness, he’s one of the most easygoing people I’ve ever met. So accepting. Adaptable.

---