Page 15 of Where We Stay

Less than five minutes later, Georgie is knocking on my front door with a fresh coffee in one hand.

No broom.

I assume they’ve called a truce.

“Babe, this is seriously the best news,” she announces when I open the door.

“This place hasn’t had a permanent tenant in ages. Hardly anyone moves to Hartwell unless they were born here or fell in love with someone who was.”

“Comforting. Not cult-like at all.”

“Also, call me G,” she adds, walking inside like she owns the place. “Georgie makes me sound like someone’s eighty-year-old aunt.”

“G it is.”

She smiles. “See? Practically best friends already.”

I’m surprisingly not mad about it.

“You always enter strangers’ homes without being invited?” I ask, closing the door behind her.

“We worked an entire shift together. We’re hardly strangers.”

“Right. Practically family.”

“Exactly,” she replies without missing a beat. “Now show me around.”

I give her a quick tour before we settle on the back porch with our coffees.

I love it out here. The little porch is perfect for mornings like this, with wide steps leading into a yard bordered by a white fence. Beyond it, a wall of autumn trees separates the cottages from the distant shoreline.

The grass is greener than any lawn has a right to be, and beneath the rustle of leaves, I can hear waves crashing somewhere in the distance.

An oasis I’ve never had before.

One I already don’t think I could give up.

“So,” G begins, tucking one leg beneath herself, “what did you think of The Breakwater? Didn’t get scared off?”

“No, not at all.” I wrap both hands around my coffee. “I actually loved it. The atmosphere is completely different from where I’m from.”

“Where are you from anyway?” she asks. “We didn’t get much time to talk last night.”

I freeze.

Of course, I wasn’t naïve enough to think no one would ever ask about my life before Hartwell. I just thought I’d have more time to practice giving answers that were truthful without revealing anything that mattered.

“New York,” I answer, taking a sip of coffee to give myself something to do.

“I lived in the city.”

G waits, probably expecting more.

I don’t give it to her.

“What about you?” I ask instead. “Have you lived here forever?”

Her eyes linger on mine for a second. She noticed the shift. I know she did. But instead of questioning me, she leans back in her chair.