Page 5 of From Nowhere

“You’re a beautiful mess.”

What. The. Hell?

Why did I say that? It just came out of nowhere.

Maren lifts her head. “Thank you, but you’re too kind.”

Kind? Perhaps.

An idiot? Definitely.

“So, bicycling in the snow?” Maren furrows her brow.

“It’s a fat-tire bike. And honestly, when we had that heavy snow in January, I walked.”

“Wow. You must live close.”

“Four miles.”Six from Lola’s school.

Her head draws back. “You walked four miles to work? In the snow?”

“Guilty.” I lift a shoulder.

“That’s . . .”

“Manly. And complicated.” I playfully puff out my chest.

With a slow nod, she echoes, “Complicated, indeed.” Then she smirks when mymanlyreference registers. “I was stressed out. I get snarky when I’m stressed. Sorry.”

I brush it off with a tiny headshake.

“Are you new to Missoula?” she asks.

“No.” I leave it short and sweet while tucking the rag into the pocket of my coveralls.

“Oh? Where were you previously employed?”

Behind me, Miles turns on the angle grinder, making it hard to hear, so I smile until he’s done. “It’s a long story. I’ve been at home caring for my daughter. Her mom died in a car accident two years ago, right after I was offered a position here,” I say. “And luckily, another position became available when I was ready to work again.”

Maren frowns. “I’m so sorry.”

Her mom.I called my wife “her mom,” and I did it because I’m attracted to this woman. And it’s the first time the thought of another woman has crossed my mind in two years. I don’t know if I should celebrate this moment or berate myself for needing to avoid the wordwife. My thoughts are far from idle. They dig up that seemingly innocent statement from Lola this morning.

If you want to have sex again before you die, I’m okay with it.

“Thank you,” I say, rubbing my neck. “It’s been a rough road, but it’s good to be working again. Normalcy is refreshing.” I don’t know if Maren buys it. But I keep telling myself this while riding my bike to work, the grocery store, the bank—everywhere. That’s not normal.

“My brother, Brandon, died three years ago,” she says with an empathetic smile. “So I feel you.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” I say.

Maren nods several times. “Thanks. I’ll, uh”—she jerks her chin toward the engine—“let you get back to work. Again, thanks for your help earlier. If the stars align and we never see each other again, my pride will have a chance to recover.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Your idea of the stars aligning is a lot different than mine.” I can’t look at her. She’ll see right through my stupid schoolboy crush. So I think of Lola and the car I no longer drive or the date I will never ask Maren to go on with me. And with that sobering reminder, I lift my gaze from the floor to her one last time and offer a platonic, non-schoolboy-crush smile. “See ya around.”

Maren smiles until tiny crinkles form at the corners of her blue eyes. “Maybe.”

She’s flirting with me or busting my balls; either one is fine with me.

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