Sunglasses

“Thanks,” I muttered. He handed me the sign. I took it while looking up at his face, but I still couldn’t read him. Damned sunglasses. All I could see was a reflection of myself. Brown curls flying in every direction, pink robe barely covering the ridiculous teddy I’d slept in. “If you change your mind, why don’t you give me a call?” he said. Then he handed me a card that he seemed to produce from thin air. This guy was either charming or eerie. I hadn’t had time to decide which. “I won’t.” I put the card in the pocket of my robe without looking at it. Unfortunately, that pocket had come unstitched a month ago when I’d caught it on the handle of the bathroom door, so the card fell to the ground at my feet. The man scooped it up and leaned forward, holding it out to me. “Maybe the other pocket?” I took it and tucked it into the pocket on the other side of my robe. As he walked away, a lingering scent of pine and cinnamon floated by. He smelled like the mountains. And like coffee cake. I just stared. Because pretty much every last vestige of dignity I’d imagined myself to have that morning had dropped with the card to the dusty ground through the stupid hole in my pocket. “Well then,” I said. “If we’re all done here.” I turned and marched back up the rickety stairs of my trailer and slammed the dinky door. It barely made a sound.

As I made coffee with the previous day’s grounds, I heard both cars drive away. When I was sure they were gone, I pulled open the shades and stared out into the wall of dark green trees across the road from my lot. Alone again. Really, truly alone. Just me and my stupid unfinished house and my stupid trashy trailer. Living my stupid, stupid life.

I probably should have just stayed away. After all, I had a house in Kings Grove already, and it wasn’t exactly my policy to run around introducing myself to people. I liked my privacy. I worked hard to maintain it. It was part of why I lived in a remote village in the high Sequoias in the first place. That, and the fact that of all the places I’d been in the world, Kings Grove was the only place that had ever really meant anything to me. And that particular property? I knew it was ridiculous, but owning that actual piece of land would be like coming full circle, closing a loop. But when I’d spoken to the guy on the phone—what was his name? Jack something?—the Scottish brogue didn’t charm me. I could feel when someone was disingenuous from miles away. And this guy was smarmy AF. That said, I’d been willing to meet with him to take a look at the property, see the state of the house. I just hadn’t expected her. I’d seen the trailer there the few times I’d driven by, but I’d never seen the woman with the wild curls and the fiery eyes. I would have remembered. The woman next to the trailer should have been comical, maybe pitiable. But instead, as I watched her —Maddie, I think the Scotsman called her—march around in her terrycloth bathrobe, railing at her ex-husband, I didn’t pity her. I couldn’t help but admire her. In fact, if anything, I was drawn to her.

First of all, no one had yelled at me in years, and when she’d screamed at us both to get off her property, a little thrill went through me at being treated like a regular person, like a nobody, even. When you’re famous, people tend to be nice to you even if you’re a complete fucktard. And I was pretty sick of that. But besides her anger, Maddie was beautiful. Her flying curls and those light brown eyes pulled at something inside me. And couple her beauty with the fiery glint of her anger, her indomitable spirit . . . I didn’t care about the house anymore, or the property. I just wanted to see Maddie again. “Get off my property! It is not for sale!” She had said emphatically, her small pointed chin raised in defiance. I couldn’t help but move closer to help her remove the For Sale sign. And when I leaned in over her shoulder and stood behind her, nearly embracing her and inhaling the floral scent of her shampoo, an electric charge filled the space between us, and I wondered if she felt it too.

Then again, I suppose it could have been considered pretty fucking creepy to get up right behind her like that and help tug the thing out of the ground. But I didn’t always do the right thing around other people. I was bad at peopling. I was a writer. That’s all I was good at. Imaginary peopling. I didn’t make a habit of giving out my card, but I hadn’t been able to stop myself, practically shoving it into her hand before she managed to disappear from my life again. As I’d climbed into my car to drive back down the rutted one-lane roads through the residential village of Kings Grove, I found I no longer really cared about buying the property. I didn’t want it nearly as much as I wanted her. Of course, there were a few other things standing between us, not the least of which was that I was currently being investigated by the police. But maybe once that blew over. Maybe.

When the morning’s excitement was over, and I’d had three or four cups of almost-coffee, I felt prepared to move forward with the day. Which, for me, meant pulling a long shift at the diner in town. Kings Grove was actually a wide spot in the road at just over six thousand feet up a California mountain. We had the necessities—a post office, a market, a library, a restaurant, and a hardware store. There was an old lodge, and the town saw its fair share of tourists, thanks to the towering trees that clustered in thousand-year-old groves to watch over us like sentinels.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***