That does, actually, sound amazing.
“You’re terribly good at this,” I observe out loud.
“Putting drunk girls to bed?”
“Taking care of people.”
He gives me a curt look. “Don’t move.”
“So bossy.” I yawn.
Braxton vanishes into the subdued shadows of the house, into the kitchen. I can hear him quietly moving around—opening and closing drawers to find what he needs.
I find myself drawn to the large window in the living room. Moonlight spills through the rounded arch, illuminating the owl-shaped clock, the cabinet with retro holiday-inspired collecting plates, and the stuffed fox curled up in a napping ball in the corner. I give the fox a scratch between the ears (he’s a very good boy) and peek out the window.
I have the perfect view of the barn from here. In the dark, it looks even more spooky. The whole thing is filled with shadows and foreboding.
I frown. No wonder Cora and Ray are having premarital troubles. They can’t envision it! Is this dump of a barn where they’re supposed to start their new lives together?
I think about the yards of twinkling lights we picked up from the thrift store. If I just wound it around the railing of the balcony, it would bring the whole thing to life. Dead-in-the-water becomes rustic-chic. It’s the small touches…a little flair of life.
I smile as the image comes to me: Cora and Ray waking up, walking downstairs, and seeing their barn—lit up like a Christmas tree. Their Hallmark moment. What’s not to love about that?
“Braxton!” I call out, half-hushed. “I’ll be right back!”
No response. Probably didn’t hear me? No matter—it’ll only take a second.
I slip out the front door and quietly close the door behind me.
There’s a little chill in the air that I didn’t remember being there, and I immediately wish I had Braxton’s jacket.
No time for simple worries like weather. I make my way through the overgrown lawn and cross to the barn. The grass is wet with nighttime dew. The door is already slotted open, and I slip inside. It’s dark in here, with only a warm glow coming from the main house, so I take out my cell phone and use the light as a flashlight.
No living things in here, but it still smells musty, like farm animal. The inside is mostly empty, the ground littered with straw, and there’s a line of horse stalls beside me. Our decorations lean against the wall like little pointed tombstones, RIP.
I dig around the pile before I find what I’m looking for; piled up in a repurposed wheelbarrow sits my long string of lights. It’s in a neat twine, so I loop it around my shoulder. There’s a rickety staircase that leads to the hayloft, no bannister, and I know I’m asking for trouble, what with not being the most sober I’ve ever been, but—pah. I’m a woman on a mission! I carry the roll of lights up the stairs.
It doesn’t look like the loft has been used for anything but storage in a while—straw litters the ground, and there’s a few large boxes and bags of feed in the corner. I have to nudge a box to the side to access the wall outlet and plug in the lights. Immediately, they come to life and cast a honeyed glow on the room.
My heart lifts. It’s already magical. This is going to be perfect.
I unfurl the string and walk out onto the narrow balcony. It’s short, barely room for two or three people here, and I immediately set to work. I wind the lights around the wooden railing, looping circles from one end to the other.
The work is tedious, but it feels good. It feels good to be actively doing something to pull it all together. With each loop, it feels like I’m slowly, meticulously stitching the couple back together.
Sometimes, people just need a little reminder. A little nudge in the direction of true love.
I feel like a fairy godmother, sprinkling her magic around in the middle of the night.
“And that,” I murmur to myself as I make the last loop, “is how we get it done.”
And then I hear a crack! and my feet go out from under me.
21
Braxton
I’m obviously losing my mind.
That’s the only answer. The only reason I can’t stop taking care of this woman who refuses to take care of herself.
I should have left her at the bar. I should have let her find her own way home. I should—
I should stay out of it. I should stop getting close.
It’s dangerous, closeness. Leaves too much room for ugly things like disappointment and heartbreak.
And Susie, with her honey eyes and gentle smile, might as well be a gun to my head. Guys like me can’t take a chance on…you know.
That ugly four-letter word that I refuse to let enter my thoughts, let alone leave my tongue.
Fixing the pot of tea helps. It takes a minute to turn water into steam, which gives me time to cool down. Calm, collect, and reassess. Put my armor back on before I go out there so I can withstand the assault of her sweet eyes and needy kisses.
I fix her an Earl Grey and pour the tea into one of the Dalton family’s many novelty mugs. This mug has a cat popping out of the cup, and the cat’s tail curls into the handle. I picked it because it seems like something Susie would like.
When I walk back into the living room with Susie’s tea and her nauseatingly cute mug, however, she’s nowhere to be seen.
At first, I think she must’ve put herself to bed, until—
Out the window, I see a flicker of movement. I squint. It can’t be…
No. Definitely is.
The piece-of-shit barn is finally falling apart. The balcony has half-collapsed, the railing snapped. And…there’s Susie. Hanging from the second-story balcony, clinging desperately to what’s left of the railing, her legs flailing.
Goddammit, Susie.
The novelty cat mug hits the floor. Immediately, I run outside. I dash from the main house to the barn, where Susie dangles like a fish on a hook. The yawning barn doors are open, and I run inside. It smells like animal inside, thick and musty. I find the stairs and scale them to the hayloft. The wood creaks with every step—no doubt moldy, ready to snap—and I nearly trip on the hay-laden floor.
Finally, I’ve reached the balcony. There’s a long string of lights connected to an outlet at the top. The lights snake around the floor and out the open door. I follow them and lean around the door, careful not to step on the balcony itself. I’m not sure it’ll be able to hold my added weight.
“Susie!” I call out her name to get her attention. Her eyes snap to me—those sharp greens, flickering in the dim moonlight like sea glass.
She’s okay. But maybe not for long. My heart pounds in my chest, and I reach out toward her. I can almost reach her, but not quite. “Can you take my hand?”
She hesitates. Her eyes flicker from me to something flying in the wind. My eyes catch on it. A string of lights flutters in the wind, half strung up on the balcony.
You have to be kidding me.
“Leave the lights,” I tell her. There’s no wiggle room in my tone. She’s getting out of this alive—whether she wants to or not.
I can see her waver. She has to be the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. “I think I can reach it—”
I give her an ultimatum. “Do you want the lights, or do you want to live?”