Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
But the guy smiles at me. He’s young. Like… maybe not even thirty. His hair is light blond and he’s got the blue eyes to match. But there’s a bit of stubble on his jaw, marring the near-perfect clean-cut appearance just enough to make him interesting. He’s about my height, maybe a little leaner than me, and his face is bright and projects optimism. Possibly even pride, though that might be a sin in his version of the world. “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting anyone this early. But that’s OK. Come in.”
He backs away, giving me room to enter. So I do that and quickly pull the door closed to stop the wind.
He beckons me forward. “Take what you need.”
I ease past him and enter the first aisle, allowing myself a moment to process the room. Comfy. That’s the word that comes to mind. All the shelving is made out of wood. Like actual lumber. Unfinished. Rustic, which fits this town—it is Northern Idaho. And all the produce is in crates.
It kinda reminds me of my old time. My own time. The Fifties. Back before the world changed and settled into the darkness it is now. I might not remember much about my life before Paul, but the world around me didn’t change when I woke up from the blood lust that very first time. It was a good time to be alive. Even if I was already dead.
“Do you need a whole box? You’re new here, aren’t you? I’ve seen you walking around town. You’re staying at the old cabins, right?”
I look at the church guy and nod. He’s mostly wearing regular clothes. Jeans, white button-down, but it’s untucked. Still, he’s got one of those religious collars pressed up near his neck.
He must feel my scrutiny, because his hand goes up and pulls the collar off. “It’s new.” He kinda huffs these words out. “I hate them. They are so stiff. I was trying to break it in.”
I don’t know why I find this funny, but I do. So I laugh a little. “It’s cool. I’m the last man to be judging you.”
The corners of his mouth slowly lift up in a smile. Like he was hoping I wasn’t a serial killer, but it wasn’t a high hope. Until I spoke, and then he knew it to be true.
Kind of like Syrsee.
Damn. She’s just on my mind, isn’t she? Everything is going back to her right now.
“I don’t judge anyone.” He points to the ceiling. “That’s His job.”
“Right.”
I get another smile. A more knowing smile. “You’re just here for the food. I get it. Don’t let me stop you. There is no commitment required to help yourself.” He pans his hands wide to encompass the entire pantry. “Take whatever you want.”
“Thanks.” I look around and realize it’s all like… fresh. As in… ingredients. As in… I will need to cook this shit using things that are not a microwave.
I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s not like I even have a microwave in the cabin to heat up frozen food, but I guess I was expecting a more convenient method of nourishment. Bags of cookies, or something.
“You don’t cook, do you?”
“No.” I look over at him and chuckle. “I don’t. But I’ve got a hungry woman at home and she wants me to feed her.”
“Ohhhh.” He processes this. “I see. She’s… someone you care about? Or this is just an obligation you feel?”
“First one.”
“Ah.” And this comes with a grin. “Wait. She’s not the woman who just moved in above the hardware store, is she?”
“Wow. You know everyone.”
“This town is home to a hundred and fifty people. So. Yeah. But the church owns that apartment. She’s our tenant. It is her, though, right?”
“Yeah. It’s her.” And I grin.
“You like her.” His brow furrows. “But she just got in last night.”
“I’m not quite sure how it happened, either. She went to the diner looking for food and kinda had a little breakdown in the parking lot. So I went across the street to see if she was OK. And she was.” The guy nods, relieved. Because he might’ve been getting concerned. “And then…” I sigh and throw up my hands. “The next thing I know, I’m picturing a life with this girl and going out in the snow to hunt her down some food.”
Part of which isn’t technically true. The part about picturing a life with her. This is new. But now that these words have spilled out of my mouth, they are manifest.
He puts up a finger. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just turns towards a doorway covered by a sheet, pushes through it, and disappears.
I let out a breath and take in the pantry. It’s so… nice. It’s not what I was expecting. The shelves are stocked with bags of flour, rice, sugar, and nuts. Plus glass jars filled with all kinds of other stuff. Jams, and meat, and vegetables. Not the glass jars you find in supermarkets, but the old-fashioned kind. The kind a woman from my first life might have in her cupboards because she canned it all herself.