Page 19 of Sunset Catchers

Living with your best friend means unlimited sleepovers and always having a shoulder to cry on. It’s the best.

Slippers on my feet, I go grab a soda and crack it open, letting the sweet bubbles slide down my throat. An appreciative hum meets them.

Spending the next few weeks in this cottage while I work and exploring this beautiful piece of Canadian grounds is exactly what my therapist has prescribed me. Junie had reasoned right through my reluctance to take on this job on my own, pushing me to see how great of an opportunity it truly was when my brain was trying to convince me I wasn’t deserving of it.

She was right. So were my bosses.

I feel nothing but gratefulness when I think about Petra and Maurice, who own the store where I work. What started as a temporary part-time job had transformed into my full-time profession. This couple of middle-aged Italians quickly became two steady pillars in my day to day.

When my mom fired me as her child, subsequently shoving me right into adulthood, they were there to soften the blow and offer me a permanent position to help me pay all the bills that came with being on my own. I’d been nervous to ask them for this time off, but they’d been nothing but overjoyed for me.

It was always mind-boggling to me when people could manage to find happiness for you, even if they were inconvenienced.

Looking out the kitchen window, I empty my lungs.

Everything is still and silent in the cottage.

It’s so peaceful.

So very, very quiet.

A moment later, my favorite playlist of the moment is playing from my headphones. And by playlist, I mean five songs from the same artist playing on repeat.

Admittedly, I know it’s an annoying quirk of mine, but I am who I am. Junie always complained at having to listen to the same songs over and over again, weeks at a time, until she’d been so sick of it, she’d decided we needed to each get headphones and do our own thing music-wise. I didn’t argue with her decision; I wasn’t the biggest fan of her own music choices, which tended to veer toward romantic laments that felt too depressing for me.

Signing along to the tunes, I get started on fixing myself something to eat. Since the only place to sit inside is the bed, I decide to take my dinner outside to sit on the porch swing again. I’ll also be able to catch the sunset. A thing I do every night without fault.

Tucking the book I’m currently reading under one arm and slipping my phone into the band of my pants, I grab my plate with one hand and a glass of water with the other. It’s a struggle to open the front door of the cottage, but I manage it without dropping anything.

A scream tumbles down from my throat when I find Levi standing at my doorstep. It activates my limbs into doing something totally legitimate; they tucked themselves closer to my body, ready to defend my most precious organs from potential harm. The whole content of my glass of water splashes right onto my front, soaking up the thin fabric that clings to me instantly.

I look down at my chest. Oh. My. Fuck. My nipples are on display, even more so, they are perky from the impromptu cold shower. I am serving wet t-shirt contest!

Levi’s gaze lands on my chest.

His eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back, but thankfully, he has the decency to look elsewhere quickly.

But then he does a U-turn.

I get it! I’d do a double, triple take even, too! I think breasts are a beautiful thing to look at!

And listen, I’m not ashamed of my body or anything. Sure, I get self-conscious sometimes that I’m too soft, well, everywhere, but nothing too crazy. Just your regular run-of-the-mill bout of self-loathing that happens to oh, I’d say, every woman alive. At any moment on any given day.

I’m not even a prude. Far from it. A lot of guys have seen my boobs. But for fuck’s sake, he’s my coworker. I’m basically offering a peep show to my coworker.

I sigh. His mouth open but no words come out. And truly, what could he say in this situation?

“What are you doing here?” I ask first.

His lips move, but I can’t hear him over the loud pounding of my heart and the music still playing from my headphones.

He reached a tentative hand toward me and slipped my headphones off, leaving them to hang around my neck. Since our spontaneous encounter at the grocery store, he has changed into a pair of blue jeans and a dark grey crewneck.

As a general rule of thumb, I feel that before you can determinate if a guy is truly good-looking, you need to see him in a casual outfit.

And gosh, this guy, standing in front of me, must’ve been handsome even during his prepubescent years when the rest of us were at our ugliest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Thought you’d hear my car roll in.” He ruffles his hair lightly. “Clearly, you didn’t, with the way you screamed and almost busted my ear drums.”