The house was cozy, in an extremely ‘welcome to my man-cave’ sort of way. The floors were planked with hardwood, with a dark rug spread in front of the fireplace in the living room - which was where he led her directly. There was a grey sofa, a mahogany rocking chair and minimalistic décor furnishing the area. A few frames of what she supposed were family lined the fireplace mantle, cabinets with old dining sets catching dust beside a curtained window. The door towards the far-end was left ajar, giving a peek of the kitchen and the backyard that lay beneath. The staircase to the upper floors was perched towards her far left. The place sort of said a lot about him while saying nothing at all. He kept things simple, uncomplicated and uncluttered, which sort of put him directly at odds with her as far as she was concerned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d properly organized her room back home, before she’d been evicted that was.
She dropped her bag at the foot of the sofa, her body sighing at the warm reprieve of his house. She knew she would fall asleep within seconds.
“You don’t need to call anyone, do you?” He asked as he came downstairs after having put a shirt on, a heavy blanket in his arms. He had disappeared for a few minutes without warning, leaving her alone in the living room.
She almost laughed. Who did she have to call? Her best friend Sarah, after suffering from a mid-twenties life crisis, was off doing God knows what in the jungles of India, on a never-ending trip around the world in an attempt to find some sort of purpose in her life. Her other buddy Jessie, after falling in love with his professor in a 16th century theatre course, was currently honeymooning in Fiji.
And she knew nobody here, just the name of the lawyer who had called her to let her know of her dad’s passing.
He looked at her strangely, and it was then that she realized that she’d forgotten to answer him after having been so lost in thought.
“No, I don’t need your phone.”
“Good, because the phone isn’t working.”
“Why?” She found that strange. Didn’t he have a landline of sorts? Didn’t those things always work?
He picked up on her change of tone and gave her a smirk that left her feeling a little off balance. “There was a storm, didn’t you check the forecast when you flew in? The local cell tower’s been down for the day.”
“Ah,” was all she said as she took the blanket and splayed it on the couch. She was glad that he’d put on a shirt. It put everything in a little bit more focus. “Well, thanks.”
“Sure,” was he all he said before he gave one, lingering glance and turned to leave. She waited till his footsteps disappeared somewhere on the second floor before she kneeled down to unzip her duffel bag to pull out her pajama shorts and top.
The house was eerily silent as she got changed, and after she was clad in her comfy cozies, she went in search for a bathroom.
She didn’t know why she felt a little on edge. Well, perhaps because she was literally crashing on the couch of a complete stranger’s. But aside from the fact that he was unnervingly handsome in a really arrogant way, he didn’t seem like a serial killer. It was probably the fact that he’d told her that his landline wasn’t working, which sounded like the perfect set-up of a horror film. But she still had her cellphone, and if he did a complete 180 and decide to show her a little interest then she always had that to call 911.
The bathroom was at the end of the hallway by the stairwell, and she quickly dipped inside to use the toilet and refill her water bottle from the tap. He’d made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t free to wander, so she almost felt like that ruled out the kitchen or literally anything besides the bathroom and living room.
By the time that she was finally under the blankets, having turned all the lights off save for one by the door, it was nearly four in the morning. What time did he say he went to work and expected her out by? Seven, was it? That gave her literally only three hours to sleep. More like nap.
She didn’t even realize how exhausted she was, but the moment her head hit the pillow, she was out.
x.x
And it felt like only seconds had passed before she heard an alarm go off upstairs and her eyes fluttered open.
Her head hurt, and it felt like every muscle in her body was aching from the exertion of the night before. She swore under her breath, hating every fibre of her being and every aspect of her life right now.
Seeing that it was still dark outside, she closed her eyes but then forced herself to wake up when she heard the creak of his footsteps upstairs. He was already up and about, and she didn’t want to piss him off more than she had last night.
It was only when she confusedly clambered out of her makeshift bed that she realized that she’d survived the night. Hurrah! He hadn’t been a serial killer after all!
She snorted, not really even believing her own train of thought. The fact that not having been murdered overnight was the highlight of her morning was a severe indicator that she needed to get her life back on track pronto.
She quickly scuttled to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, and changed into the same clothes that she’d been wearing the night before. After trying her hair in a messy bun atop her head, she came back into the living room to gather her belongings and get the hell out of dodge.
She neatly tucked a twenty dollar bill under his keys near the front door, and five minutes later, after having folded the blanket neatly on his couch – something she’d done for the first time in probably years – she was out in the biting, freezing cold of a proper Canadian morning. She hadn’t bumped into him on her way out. In fact, she was sure he was just about to descend the staircase when she quietly left the house from the front door.
Her body was protesting against the sudden exercise, but she braced herself against the wind and descended down the side of the mountain so that she could find the road again. The sun was still hidden beneath the horizon, but she could spot a few streaks of purple beginning to tint the endless black sky overhead.
Fifteen minutes, was all that she chanted in her head. That’s all that remained before this ordeal was over. Fifteen more minutes, and she should hopefully find either a) a motel where she could stash her things until her car was fixed, b) her father’s old street, and her new house, or c) the local auto-shop.
She could do fifteen more minutes.
The remainder of the walk wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. Despite feeling physically exhausted, the harbor came into view soon enough, and the sight of civilization cheered up her mood considerably.
The town was nestled by the harbor, a sprawling expanse of twisting and turning streets, with homes nestled around the water or within the mountains that surrounded it. The town centre, which was what the main road led to, was comprised of city hall, a few shops, bakeries, and supply stores. From what she could remember, and she didn’t remember much, there was supposed to be a farmers market every Friday on the harbor but she didn’t recall whether that applied to the winter season. To add, she had no idea where the local grocery store was.
By the time she was walking through the streets, the sun had begun to rise and people were getting started with their daily grind. Just as she assumed, more than a few people turned to look her way. In a town where everybody knew everybody, when you were new – you stuck out.
She bulldozed on, and perked up when she saw the sign for the local auto-shop. She was in no mood for making the entire trip back to get her car, but there was no way she was going to survive here without it and she needed that stupid new tire.
So when she walked in and saw her rusty, old jeep parked in the garage with a new tire in place of her flat, she simply stopped dead in her tracks.
And literally, the entire auto-shop with its seven workers stopped to stare at her, as if they’d never seen a woman before in their entire lives. The machines stopped whirring, the sound of metal clanging on steel ceased completely and the engine of a car turned off.
“Who’re you?” Eventually someone called out from the back.
“Um,” Emma walked in slowly, not really knowing how to best approach this topic. She brushed a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, and then vaguely pointed in the direction of the jeep, “that’s my car.”
“Is it now?” a man’s head popped out from beneath the jeep, his body levelled on a sort of rolling device to keep him steady under her car. He was older than the rest, his hair a dusty grey and his skin battered from the wind and sea salt from the harbor. “Stone brought it in, said it was for a family friend.”
“Stone?” she decided that the man working on her car was the one to speak to, and if the others wanted to watch – so be it. “I had to leave it on the side of the road last night since I didn’t have a spare tire and I just walked into town this morning. I’m sorry – I really didn’t need anyone to tow it into town just to change a spare tire.”
The men around the two of them were beginning to get back to work, but Emma could still sense a few pair of eyes on her as she walked into the garage. The man pulled himself out from under her car and stood up, his blue eyes crinkling into a smile as he held out his hand. “My name’s Cody Thatcher, I run this shop. You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
She assumed this would be the main topic of conversation for a while, “yeah, I’m uh… I’m John Callaway’s daughter.”
“Ah,” a sliver of understanding passed his face, and he simply took her in with a twinge of amusement in his eyes before changing the topic altogether, “I was told to repair the engine, fix the brakes, install snow tires, new shocks and give it a new coat of paint. It’ll be here for a while, for at least a week.”
Her face paled almost instantaneously, “No, that’s okay – I don’t need any of that. I’ll just pay you for the tire and the cost of having it towed -.”
“Oh, sorry ma’am. I didn’t install no tire or have it towed. Stone brought it in himself early this morning, around six-thirty. Signed it off himself and said it wasn’t good to go until he saw himself that it was good to go. I won’t be able to let you have it unless he signs the consent.”
She stared at him blankly. This couldn’t be happening. “But it’s my car.” How had this Stone person even driven it here?! Unless…
Unless Stone was Hunter, and had picked up her keys from the living room table. Found her car, fixed her tire, and had towed it into town himself.
“As I said, Ms. Callaway, I can’t just release the car to any random person that comes walking into the shop…”
“My last name isn’t Callaway, it’s Adenson, and look - my name is on the insurance,” she fished into her pocket to pull out her driver’s license, and basically shoved it into the man’s hands, “look. That car is mine, and this Stone fellow had no right bringing it in here and asking you to do any of those repairs.”
He simply gave the license back, “my hands are tied. Look,” he gave her an apologetic frown, which almost looked sincere. “Stone is the town’s sheriff. He said this car wasn’t fit to be on the road, and I’m not going to go against that. If you have a problem with that, you can go to him. The station is just down the street to your left, on Peddingtons crossing. And while you’re here, let me just ring up the estimate for how much all the repairs will cost, seeing as he didn’t really fill you in on what was going on.”
Emma simply stood there, so at loss at what was happening that she didn’t know what to say or what to do.
That man from the night before was the town’s sheriff!?
A man who had purposefully gone out of his way in this morning to fuck her over, whether he knew he was doing it or not.
She simply raised her hands to face and breathed into her palms for a good few seconds and tried to regain her composure.
She hadn’t even been here for a full day, and things were already going wrong. How was this even possible?!
“You okay?” someone asked from behind her, and she turned to see a boy her age, muddied from the dirt and dust from the garage looking at her sympathetically. His hair was a soft brown, his eyes a deep green, and he was wearing a sweater that was easily twice his size.
Nobody had asked her that question in so long, she didn’t really know how to answer. “I’m fine,” she said, completely disinterested in conversation.
“If you say so,” he frowned and went back to what he was doing. He paused, “it’s tough being new in town, but you’ll get used to it.”
She didn’t even say thanks. She wasn’t really in the mood for motivational inspiration.
“And Hunter pisses everybody off, one way or the other,” he added, without any invitation from Emma to continue the conversation.
“Then how the hell is he sheriff?” she still felt a little gobsmacked. That pretentious, uninviting, callously cold jackass was the sheriff?!
“Because he keep the town safe, and out of trouble.”
She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure adding a new paint to her car was helping her stay safe in any way shape or form. He was doing this for fun. To annoy her. What she’d done to get on his bad side, so quickly and easily, she had no clue, but she’d already decided in the thirty seconds that she’d been standing there, that she wasn’t doing to take this lying down.
Cody came back, a flimsy receipt in his hand. “Here you go.”
As she read the receipt, one eyebrow arched slowly.
She scoffed. As if.
Three thousand and forty dollars.
Yep.
She wasn’t paying this.
That was three thousand and forty dollars she didn’t have.
“Where did you say the Sheriff’s station was again?”
The boy behind her spoke again, “it’s on Peddington’s crossing.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m Clayton, by the way.”
“Emma,” she didn’t even look at him as she walked out of the auto-shop, a new destination in mind.
Oh, she was pissed. And she didn’t give a rat’s ass if he was the sheriff, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.