Page 12 of When We Were Us
Ginger
Uh-oh… Do you want to talk about it?
Wrenley
That’s the exact opposite of what I want to do.
Ginger
You do not know me at all if you think I am letting this go.
Wrenley
You’re so annoying.
Ginger
That’s what you love about me.
So…is he still hot?
Wrenley
Hot and still pissed, apparently.
Ginger
Call me when you can. ??
CHAPTER SIX
wrenley
I spentthe next week cleaning and sorting through things on the main level of my grandparents’ house. Every morning, I’ve been gloriously sleeping in until eight or nine before eating a quick breakfast while shooting off texts and emails to both Ginger and the clients back in California—updating one on life in Timber Forge and the others on the status of my leave.
I could always count on a return text from Ginger. It was something I looked forward to since I’d been spending so much time alone. Unfortunately, I’d also gotten a couple more texts from Derek, which I left on read.
The process is slow going, and with the exception of my argument with Hank, it is actually kind of nice being back here. The familiarity that had me choking on guilt and regret just a week ago now has me feeling nostalgic and more content with each day that passes.
I finally got the mountain bike fixed. I rode the three miles into downtown Timber Forge and back twice this week, balancing grocery bags on each handlebar. Luckily, the humidity was low and it wasn’t too hot for late June, so I didn’t have to add looking like a drowned rat to a sore ass.
Every time the tires hit the dirt of Chicory Lane, I pictured the Wicked Witch of the West, cackling about getting Dorothy and her little dog too. Anyone who might have seen me laughing probably thought I was nuts.
Yesterday, I finally managed to secure a rental vehicle. Fortunately, the drive back to the house was short because I had to deal with the bike hanging out of the back of the Jeep, hoping the whole way that it wouldn’t fall out and damage someone else’s car.
Three days ago, I finally sat down and went through the paperwork Harold gave me. As much as I wanted to continue putting it off, I knew it had to be done. I was surprised to discover that, in addition to the house and all my grandparents’ possessions, there is also quite a sum of money in savings.
I called Harold’s office in a bit of a fog to confirm what I was reading. Our conversation was short, in which he assured me it was real. Needing a minute to process it, I told him I had to go but promised to follow-up with him in a few weeks after speaking to the realtor. Thinking about it now takes my breath away. It’s not millionaire status or anything, and I don't need the money, but I am immediately reminded of my run-in with Hank and his accusation.
As hurt as I had been, I couldn’t stop thinking about the gut reaction I had to being near him again. Even the little bit of dirt under his fingernails had added to his rugged bullshit attractiveness.I’d been offended and turned the hell on all in one fell swoop. It wasn’t lost on me that I had fallen asleep thinking about him every night since.
My stomach growls and a quick glance at the clock on the wall tells me why. It’s just after two p.m. and I haven't eaten since breakfast. I could really go for a latte and a sandwich or something, and I need to make a proper trip to the grocery store.
Grabbing my bag and heading to the Jeep, I make the short drive downtown. The pine, fir, and spruce trees that cover the entire surroundingmountain range are replaced with maples, oaks, and chokecherry here downtown, and stand sentinel over most of the city.
Downtown Timber Forge used to be a one-brand-of-coffee kind of town, but just judging from the small stretch of Main Street, it’s undergone some upgrades. It’s still small and quaint, and the two-lane road is peppered with buildings, mostly old and a few new. Some businesses I recognize, but there’s now a medical clinic where the old hardware store used to be, and the Main Street Diner is now a place called Timber’s Treats and Café. I haven't been there yet, but if anywhere will have a latte, it's that place.
I park in a space across the street and walk over. The bell above the door jingles merrily as I pull it open and step inside. The smells that hit me are enough to make my eyes roll back. I need coffee and carbs, STAT.
