Page 11 of Make Me Swoon

“I like being creative and daydreaming. I like setting up the shelves at the Mystery Cabin and I like that it’s not some boring store or restaurant.”

Iris nods, biting her lip as she thinks for a moment.

“Maybe you should do something creative then? Be a writer or go into advertising or graphic design? Or even interior design if you like setting up the gift shop?” she suggests.

“I don’t think I want to work in a corporate office. It would suck my soul dry,” I say with a wry smile.

“What about writing? Or can you draw?”

“Not well,” I say with a laugh.

“We’ll come up with something,” Iris promises.

I nod, but I can’t help wonder if there is something else out there for me. Iris still has her family, though they don’t see each other much since they moved to Arizona to retire and help with her grandparents. She has Madelyn and Flynn in town though, people who she loves and are basically family.

“What else is it?” she asks gently.

“I want what Teller and Sutton have. She was so lost when she got to town too.”

“And you think that it was Teller that helped find herself?” Iris asks, leaning against the wall next to me.

“No, not just Teller. I mean, Stan is her family and she loves this place. She has a job now and a man who loves her and she still has family, even though she thought that she was all alone. I just want that. I want some area of my life to feel settled.”

Iris nods but doesn’t say anything and I sigh.

I have friends here but no real family left. I can’t help but wonder if deep down, I want that more than a career path?

My chest hurts as I think about my dad and I blink back tears. All of this rolls into this lost feeling that I’ve had ever since his funeral. I’ve been telling myself that if I just had a career or some idea of what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, that everything would settle, but maybe that’s not accurate. I didn’t have a real career with my dad and I was happy.

The truth is that I want what Sutton and Teller have, what Madelyn and Flynn like to pretend that they don’t have.

I want to belong somewhere. Maybe then this feeling will finally go away.

“Are you coming with us to Honey Peak tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m riding up with Madelyn and Flynn. Want to join us?”

“Maybe, I need to head to the market here for some groceries but I’ll let you know when I’m done and see where you guys are.”

“Sounds good! See you soon,” she says as a couple starts to browse some of the items that she has out front.

I wave and leave her to help her customers as I head back down the sidewalk to the Falls Market, grabbing a basket as I make my way up and down the aisles. I grab the staples, bread, eggs, milk, moose tracks frozen yogurt, and then throw in some pretzels, a few frozen meals, and some macaroni and cheese.

Eggs, frozen pizza, and macaroni and cheese are pretty much the only meals that I can make without something getting ruined or getting horribly burned. My dad always did the cooking when I was growing up. He tried to teach me on more than one occasion, but each time ended with something going terribly wrong. He never minded, just laughed and helped me clean up before we ordered takeout.

A wave of grief hits me and I blink back tears, wishing that he could still be here with me. I hated my receptionist job back in New York but I would work there every day if it meant that I could go back and hang out with him at the end of the day in our tiny closet of an apartment.

I check out, carrying my groceries out to my Jeep and hopping in so I can drive the few blocks back to my apartment. Hudson is by the maître d stand and he looks up as I park and head to grab my groceries from the back. He comes outside, meeting me at the trunk, and I step back and let him reach past me and take some of the grocery bags.

“Hey, I thought that you were getting real food,” he says with a frown as he looks down at all of the frozen meals.

“I did.”

“This is… not real food,” he says, still staring down at the frozen boxes in the bag like they’ve offended him somehow and I wonder if he’s ever eaten them before in his life.

“We’re not all five-star chefs like you,” I remind him primly as I try to grab the bags from his hand.

“Take me up on my dinner offer then. I can feed you better than this.”

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