Page 26 of Awaiting the Storm
“I’m helping pick out your outfit,” Shelby says sternly. “No barn boots. Something with a little sparkle. And lipstick.”
I groan. “You’re all monsters.”
“We’re monsters who love you,” Charli says, already reaching for her phone to text half the county the news that Matty Storm is coming out of hibernation.
“Fine,” I say again, standing and gathering plates. “But if I see one camera flash or TikTok being filmed, I swear I’ll fire you all and sell this place to the first developer who wants to build a cookie-cutter neighborhood with a swimming pool.”
They all laugh at my weak threat.
As everyone finishes eating, I start stacking dishes while Evelyn shoos the others back to work.
“Go on. You’ve got horses to exercise and tack to clean. If you’re getting Matty dolled up for a night out, you’d better get to it.”
“Charli, town,” I say as she grabs her keys. “Don’t forget the deposit. And fill the truck up with gas.”
“I got it,” she says, snagging her purse.
She heads out the door, Shelby and Cabe trailing after her, bickering about something or other, and Grandpa retires to the living room for his afternoon nap in the recliner.
The kitchen falls into a comfortable quiet, just me and Grandma.
She stands at the sink, washing the last few dishes by hand, like she always does, even though we’ve had a working dishwasher since I was in high school. I dry.
“You really okay, baby?” she asks without looking over at me.
“I’m fine,” I assure her.
She hums. “You know, fine isn’t the same as happy.”
“I’m not chasing happy right now, Grandma. I’m just getting by one day at a time.”
She dries her hands on her apron and turns to face me, leaning against the counter. “Well, maybe tonight, let someone chase you for once.”
I shake my head and grab a dry dish towel, wiping my hands. “You’re all impossible.”
“We just love you.”
“How lucky for me.”
She smiles again, warm and indulgent, and I realize I am lucky to have this—this table, this kitchen, this loud and nosy family. Even if they do drive me crazy.
Especially when they do.
The pharmacy smells of floor wax and antiseptic spray. I stand across from an older gentleman, who is arguing with an employee about the price difference between name-brand joint cream and the generic version. I patiently wait, browsing the selection of shaving supplies, when I hear a familiar voice coming from one aisle over.
“No, if she tries to wear those old boots, we’re not letting her step foot in The Soused Cow. Shelby and I are on a mission to get her drunk and find her a sexy cowboy to spin her around that dance floor.”
I glance over, and sure enough, there’s Charli Storm, all confidence and sass in a faded ball cap and fitted jeans, leaning against the pharmacy counter. She’s talking to one of the girls who works here—Elise, I think—who’s trying hard not to burst into laughter.
Charli pulls a sheet of paper out of her pocket and waves it. “Also picking up blood pressure meds. And these.” She sets a jumbo box of condoms on the counter.
Elise snorts, covering her mouth. “Charli!”
“What? Better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them, right?”
Elise turns bright red, and I nearly choke on the breath I’m holding. The old man continues to gripe about his ointment, and I give up on getting any help. I grab the sandalwood shave soap, a shave brush, a bowl, and a set of five stainless razor blades, and I jump in line directly behind Charli. I glance at her items and can’t stop the laugh that slips out.
“That’s quite the combination,” I say.
