Page 74 of Van Cort
“Yes. Slippery.”
I pull until she’s right up close to me. “Sure?”
She nods. I look her over briefly, satisfied she really is okay, and choose a less strenuous path. “Don’t let go again. At all. Yes?”
She nods. “It was only a little slip.”
“Little slips lead to big fucking falls around here. Hold tight.” She nods again, frowning this time.
After a while of walking in silence, we get out onto the road behind the gas station. Cutting through, I lead her over the road to one of the new coffee shops. The young server looks up at me blankly, probably unaware of who I am, so we give our orders and collect our drinks before heading a few shops over for the bakery.
Time seems to disappear as we wander the streets, and I tell her some history of the place. It’s easy, hassle-free in some ways, and reminds me of another life I could be living.
“I swear, this is the cutest town I’ve ever been to,” she says, as we walk arm in arm. “It looks like a lot of work has been done recently. Thanks to you?”
I nod. “It needed updating. A lot of younger families were wanting to move away when their parents died – lack of work, relocation etcetera, so I bought back everything that had been taken from us. Most of it’s owned by Van Cort again now.”
“Wow.” She blushes and sips at her coffee. “You have all of this. And everything in Seattle, and you’re interested in me, sharing this with me.”
I frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well,” she ambles me along. “I’m just me. No means or family legacy to restore. It seems to me that someone like you might be better suited with someone more akin to your status.”
“You mean some princess who’ll bleed me dry with her wardrobe and beauty habits?” She smiles. “Believe me, you’re far more appealing than that kind of woman has ever been to me. I like a bit of bite, and I like someone who knows their own mind.”
“Oh, I see, you need me to be mean on occasion?” She mock-punches my arm.
“I wouldn’t push your luck, but, yes, I suppose so. A challenge is always intriguing.”
I lead her away from a few of the older stores and towards a gift shop. There aren’t many that know about my past left here now, and most wouldn’t even know about West, but Hilda Brancaster at the hardware store is still running it, despite her age, and old John Grainger at the hauliers, is still going strong, along with his sons.
“Hey, wait here,” she says, stopping us by the blue cottage that houses a gold museum and art gallery. “Let’s get a selfie.” Jesus.
I look up at the camera as she snaps a few shots, unsure when the last time I had a candid shot of me taken. She looks through them, smiling, clearly pleased with herself. “Well, it’s real now. I have proof that you’re an actual man.”
“What?”
She chuckles and moves us on again. “I have a friend. She checks up on me. It’s a girl thing. I can, at last, show her that you’re a real person.”
“You couldn’t have just told her to google me?”
“Well, yes, which she’s probably done, but we wouldn’t have been together in any of the shots online, and certainly not in the town you own in Canada.”
I look up at the town, feeling some sentiment towards it considering the investment. “Fair point.” The old buildings have now been refurbished, and the pastel colours the marketing people chose for tourists work well despite the rugged outlook around it.
Fuck.
I move us sideways, changing direction at the sight of Hilda coming along the road in her beat-up Chevy. She might be old, but she always was sharp as a tack, and she can talk for weeks about years gone by – including the two little boys who used to steal her sweets and play havoc with knock and run for our own amusement.
The moment we’re in a side street, I push her up against a wall, shielding both of us from prying eyes that I don’t need to see me here, and kiss her. Her arms wrap around my neck, and before I know it, I’m as lost in the kiss as she is. I pull back a little after a while, chuckling about the thought of such a moment. It’s been a long time since I was that invested in a mouth. A very long time. Twenty years in fact.
“Wow. More passion? You’ll be talking wedding vows next,” she says, giggling. I tighten my hold on her, pulling her in closer.
“Maybe I will.”
She stiffens in my arms.
Not the reaction I was hoping for.
