Page 44 of Chasing You

I just drop my bags inside the door, the sound echoing across the hardwood floor. “Thank you, this is plenty big enough for me.”

The Lost and Found bed and breakfast is the only place with vacancies, except Hotel Dolce. But I wanted to stay somewhere different, somewhere that wasn’t the place where my sister found herself here. And this place has plenty of charm, making it hard to want to stay anywhere other than the wooden bed and breakfast tucked away in the corner of Ruby Cove.

Donna just smiles, nodding her head before she turns around, but just before she’s out the door, she swings around once more. “Oh, and there’s Scrabble nights every Thursday, and movies and hot cocoa on Fridays, just in case you have nothing better to do than spend your evenings with some of us old folks.”

My mind does me the favour of playing me the image of Scrabble nights with this woman and her friends, and all I can dois smile. “I might take you up on that.” I can’t say I’m very good at Scrabble, but maybe they could teach me a thing or two.

She shoots me a little smile back. “Well, be prepared, because Thursdays can get pretty competitive.”

“Oh, I’m prepared,” I say with a smile. “I love a good competition.”

She nods. “Good.” And then she turns to leave me to my room.

“Oh!” She stops, turning back around. “And is there somewhere I can park my truck? I’m going to pick it up tomorrow, but I was hoping to do some work on it while I am here.”

Donna just nods once more, a warm look in her eyes. “There’s a spot on the far side of the building, just drive around the back and you’ll see it. No one parks there, so it’s all yours.” And with a wink and a knock on the wooden door frame, she’s gone again, leaving me in the silence of my empty room.

I turn around and take in my temporary home. It’s cozy, with the pastel blue quilt tucked into the corners of the queen-sized mattress, and the arched stained glass window sitting just above the metal bed frame. It feels like something Isla and May would love. The type of room where they would walk straight in and lie all over the bed, just like they did to my bed when we were teenagers. Always finding themselves in my room and on my bed for their little gossip sessions.

I miss those days, I miss them.

I sigh as I pick up my bag and drop it at the end of the bed. I’m going to be here for just over two weeks, so I may as well unpack.

I decided to take some time away from work for a refresh, just like Isla and Wesley suggested. I don’t know if it will be much help, but I’m here. Chief Jones didn’t hesitate to grant my leave request, not when I hadn’t taken any in over a year—aside from Isla’s wedding last week.

Yes, Marina is here. And yes, I want to find her around every corner I turn, but she doesn’t want to see me; she made that clear last night. So I’ll try my best to keep out of her way.

I don’t know why I thought I’d have any luck in getting her to talk to me, she has no reason to. I’m the guy who broke her heart, and now I've shown up in her hometown with an agenda. No wonder she wants as much distance from me as possible.

I’ll do my best to stay on the outskirts of town; the area around the Lost and Found is beautiful, so I can occupy myself around here. Even if where I really want to be is in the center of this perfect little town.

Part of me came here for Marina—a big part—but the other part of me came here because Ruby Cove has a unique grip on me. Ever since I first came here for Isla’s birthday, it pulled me in, and I didn’t want to leave even then.

I lie back on the bed, giving up on unpacking as I hang my head off the edge and close my eyes.

Sometimes I wonder if I've done this all wrong. If I’ve done life all wrong. I’ve dedicated my entire life to flying, to working. It’s a job that I love, but I barely take a second to smell the roses in the countries that I visit, let alone finding hidden treasures like Ruby Cove. What is the point of having a successful career if I never take the time to acknowledge the amazing things I get to see while I do it?

My life has been all about being the best, reaching the top, but what’s waiting for me when I get there? What’s the point in all of this, if all I get at the end are empty hotel rooms and complimentary sparkling water? Isn’t there more to this life than that?

I hear a burst of laughter from downstairs, and all it does is make me feel empty. Like I’m not even lying on this bed, but floating above it. Lost. I feel lost.

Everything in my life is temporary: the closets I put my clothes in, the beds I sleep in, even the ground I walk on. How long can someone survive floating around like I do, with nothing to ground them? I’ve been doing this for nine years, I think that’s as long as someone can survive. How far above the bed will I float when it becomes ten, twenty? I’m not sure that I want to find out.

I puffout short breaths as my feet land heavy on the dirt path that leads through the forest behind the Lost and Found. Exercise is the one thing that grounds me where I am, and that’s all I ache to feel right now, grounded. Even if it’s only momentarily.

So I turn to running. I don’t know of any boxing gyms in town—not that I’ve really looked into it—so running is the next best thing, and when I saw the trail weaving between the big trees behind The Lost and Found, I couldn’t resist the temptation to explore.

I slow to a stop, puffing as I drop my hands to my knees and curl over, trying to suck air into my lungs and get my breath back. I breathe in the smell of the forest floor with every inhale. Feeling like I can taste the damp leaves trampled into the soil on my tongue.

I’ve probably been running for the better part of an hour with no break, I don’t think I’ve done that in a while, focusing more on boxing than running these days. But there’s something about running that makes me feel free; my mind either slows to a stop, or it runs with me. But either way, it calms me down. I feel centered.

I stand up straight and throw my head back, resting my hands on my hips. If my eyes were open, I’d be staring up at the canopy, but they’re closed, blocking out the slivers of sun that are peeking through. So I just listen instead. When I tune in, I realize just how many different birds are tweeting away up there. How many of them are having their own conversations with one another? I wonder what they’re saying? I wonder if they think about the meaning of life?

Probably not.

When they fly, it’s instinctual, they’re built with wings. They aren’t taught to fly, they’re not worried about being the best bird out there. They just jump off the edge and hope for the best.

There’s still pressure; if they don’t fly, they fall, but if they getit? They’re solid, set for life. They will fly until they die, it all seems a lot simpler.

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