Page 18 of Sunset Catchers

Next on my list: a quick stop to the grocery store to stock up on some sustenance for the next few days. When I get there, I take a cart from the neatly stowed away rows.

I am pleased that it’s the model with two smaller baskets, which I preferred tenfold to the model with one huge basket. They were the superior carts.

With the kitchens of both cottages already fully stocked with all the necessary appliances; small sized oven, full-sized refrigerator, microwave and coffee maker, I could pick out anything I want to eat without restrictions.

I grab a pint of my favorite brand of oat milk, coffee pods and a bag of ice to be able to make iced coffee every morning. A necessity to get my days going in any way. Junie knew not to even mind me before my lips were wrapped around a bent glass straw.

Stopping at a row of open refrigerators, I find myself pleasantly surprised by the vegetarian options. I even score some of my favorite products and load them in my cart along with fresh fruits and vegetables.

My last stop is the soft drink aisle—I have a thing for bubbles. Iced coffee in the mornings, then a crisp soda in the afternoon.

Skimming the options, I decide on a locally produced brand of sodas. Pushing up on my tip toes, I reach for the rows of perfectly placed cans, but they remain slightly out of reach, with the tips of my fingers only grazing them.

“Come on!”

I push even further on my toes, ordering them to grow a few inches; they disregard the command. The cans end up even further away from the ledge. I huff out an annoyed breath, evaluating my options. I’m about to give myself a boost by stepping on the lowest shelf when, suddenly, I am engulfed in a strong smell of fresh paint.

My nostrils inhale deeply without prompting.

My rescuer easily reaches the top shelf. I turn and find Levi’s smiling face. He’s still wearing his coveralls, and the top part is back on, hiding away his biceps. I notice a new light grey paint stain on the fabric covering his torso.

“It looked like you needed a few extra inches over here,” he pointed out while handing me the soda. I scowl at him, annoyed. Is he some kind of country odd job man who just pops up anytime someone might need help?

“Gas station, my client’s home, the cottages, the grocery store…you’re everywhere.” I dropped the soda into my cart.

“Small-town perk’, he explains, shrugging.

“I’d argue it’s more of a downside.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Do you want me to grab some more for you?”

I unenthusiastically point toward the other flavors I want to try, and he hands them over. He eyes the selection of food in my cart while I add my sodas on top, and it suddenly feels too personal to have him peruse through my nourishment preferences. Let’s cut this impromptu meeting short, shall we?

“Thank you for the help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

This amuses him. As if he’s having the last laugh to a joke I’m not privy to. My grip tightens on the handle of my cart as I push it away from him, heading toward the cash.

“Love the t-shirt, by the way,” he calls out. I’m wearing the shirt I bought off Etsy with my favorite pop signer’s faces all over it.

My middle finger gets thrown over my shoulder, my teeth coming together against his laugh. What an ass. Once I’m back into my car after loading my bags in the trunk, I make the fifteen minutes’ drive back to the cottages.

Loading my forearms with bag handles—there is no way I’m making more than one trip—I haul my groceries inside my cottage in one go.

I’m not really hungry, and it’s still pretty early, so I decide to sit outside on the porch swing to do some roaming online and see what the locals want to get rid of.

Kit has given me complete free rein on which pieces of furniture to buy, a thing that had surprised me, since she loved antiques. She didn’t even want any updates—we were under strict orders to keep everything a surprise until the final reveal.

I’m not about to complain, though, because it did make my job easier. That is one part of my previous job I will not miss; some days, I could spend hours waiting for a client to get back to me on approval for purchases. It also feels good to know that Kit trusts my opinion and vision enough to be this lenient.

I sit with my legs crossed over on the cushions, admiring the fabric of the cushion: red roses with a deep pink background to match the exterior of the cottage. The other swing cushion is covered in a purple hydrangeas print to match the lavender shade of the cottage’s siding.

After spending an hour or so scrolling online and sending a few “Is this still available?” messages to buyers for potential pieces that could work for the cottages, I’m ready for a shower. I’m sticky from my earlier bout of anxiety.

In the bathroom, I discard my dirty clothes on the floor. For this room, we opted for basic and easy-to-clean amenities. This is a rental, after all, and hopefully, it will get a lot of guest traffic so everything needs to be durable. We still hadn’t skimped on important details; a luxe shower head with great water pressure to remove the sand that was bound to be everywhere on your body after a day spent at the beach. A vanity with enough counter space to hold toiletry bags, which is a thing ignored by rentals and hotels, way too often. Enough hooks and bars to leave a bunch of towels to dry. We really had done our best to make these cottages as user-friendly as possible. My staying here also serves as a kind of test run to discover any potential lacking we’ll be able to prevent before they are made available to rent.

After washing my body with my favorite cherry scented shower gel and lathering my curly hair with conditioner, I get out of the shower feeling brand new. I towel dry my body, brush my hair, then apply the array of products that keeps my curls somewhat manageable, and go back to the bedroom to pick out an outfit from my bags.

After slipping on clean panties and forgoing a bra, I put on my matching light-pink pajamas with the lettuce hem. Then I throw on my zip-up hoodie and a pair of plush socks to fight off the evening chill. I send a picture of myself to Junie. She sends one back, wearing the blue version of the same set. It hasn’t even been a day, and I already miss my best friend so much. I think the last time we were separated for as long was the summer when we were nineteen; she’d spent two months visiting some family members. Since then, we’ve been attached at the hips except for a few days here and there, a week at most.