Page 10 of Debt of My Soul

“I see.”

Adam sighs and pulls himself out from under the sink, a pipe in hand. He holds my gaze while grabbing a greasy rag from under his armpit. Wiping his hands, he takes several steps toward me.

“They deal in drugs and run an underground gambling circuit. They’re dangerous. You don’t bother them; they won’t bother you.”

Drugs? Gambling? What the hellisthis town I’ve moved to? Worry seeps into his expression, it tensing with—shame? He shakes his head, backing up and smirking.

“Wouldn’t want to run you out of Ruin just yet.” He winks at me, and I offer a shy laugh. “Now I’ve got your pipes replaced. But if you’re planning to refinish this sink, we’ll need to wait on it before moving forward.”

“What do you think?” I ask. Because I don’t know. I’d love to refinish it, but this is not my forte.

“I think …” Adam pads over to me, hands shoved inside his jean pockets. “I think you should do whatever you want, Fleur.”

My breath hitches at his tone, but giddiness jolts through me at his words. He’s right. Nine years of decisions made together. This ismytime.

“I’d like to refinish it.”

Scrubbing toilets is part of the job, but this particular bathroom toilet is full and gross. The work today is not as fun as it was three days ago with Adam.

He stayed for another five hours on Saturday to help me gut more of the kitchen. We talked the entire time. He filled me inon how long he’s lived here, which is all his life. Both of his parents moved here from Tennessee after college, setting down roots with him and his siblings, and they haven’t left since. Adam mentioned that after he graduated from high school, he made the choice to stick around town, working odd jobs before starting his own business.

I laughed more with Adam than I had in the past month, and it was cathartic. I needed that; to laugh without restraint. To have a reprieve from the hurt.

It may be bold to presume, but I think he had a nice time too. I almost forgot we were working until I had to hand over the cash advance I took out to pay him. Hopefully, in another week, I’ll have my first paycheck.

I’m supposed to meet Adam at the home improvement store later this afternoon to look at cabinets and countertops. Last night, while curled up in bed scrolling through old high school photos of Chris and me, Adam messaged over several options to consider. His text came at the perfect time. Right before I was going to snap.

I smile, thinking about the weekend as I unload half of a spray can of cleaner onto this porcelain seat, gloves squeaking as I wipe it down.

Once the toilet has new life, I move on to the vanity and floors, scrubbing the white tile and making all the brushed nickel shine. Two hours later, I pack up the supplies. Then I return everything to the supply closet and toss the linens and towels down the laundry chute like a pro.

Skipping down the stairs, I fly into the kitchen where the scent of cinnamon blankets everything. Mrs. Northgate is bent over the oven and using a spatula to flip pecans.

“I’ve finished the north and south rooms. They’re all set for check-in. What are you making?”

“Oh good. And candied pecans. Here, try one.” She wipes her hands on her blue checkered apron and moves a plastic container to the island while I scrub my hands practically raw at the sink. She extends the bowl to me, and I pop a couple in my mouth. My eyes go wide, utterly moved by the explosion of sweet, nutty flavor on my tongue.

She laughs. “I knew you’d love it. I should send some home with you. You need some more meat on those bones.”

I chuckle along with her, but inside I deflate. Between my rapid dodge out of Michigan, my emotional state, and the busy renovations here—I haven’t had much time to focus on fueling my body properly. Yesterday, the jeans I pulled out of my newly delivered dresser were a size too big.

I chew the inside of my cheek.

Hope feels so far off, yet so close at the same time. Something big is coming. I can feel it. This state of despair and pain won’t last forever. The past several days have proven that.

So I don’t dwell on her comment and change the subject. “I’m off to pick out more items for the house.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Fleur. I can’t wait to see everything you do to it. It’s about time that beautiful place was made to shine.” Mrs. Northgate lets down her silver hair before adjusting and pulling it back up into a clip again.

“I’m just grateful Adam is able to help me. He’s been a blessing for someone like me—I’m renovation challenged.” I snort.

“Adam? Adam Parker?” she asks, her face contorting into an expression somewhere between curiosity and concern.

My jaw drops open as I attempt to answer before realizing?—

“I don’t know his last name. I met him at the home improvement store about a week after I got here. He came to the house to check it out. Said he was the handyman around town.”

“Adam Parker,” Mrs. Northgate says matter-of-factly.

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