Page 27 of Whispers and Wildfire
With a gasp, I sat up in bed. My heart still raced, and my tank top was drenched with sweat. I flipped on the light tochase away the grasping darkness and blinked at my surroundings to ground myself in reality.
A nightmare. Just a dream.
I sat for a long moment, catching my breath and waiting for my heart to slow. My body tingled with fear and adrenaline, frightened by the monster who lived inside my head. And in my past.
“Just a dream,” I said aloud, as if speaking it would make it more true. “It wasn’t real.”
Pressing my palms into the mattress, I felt the reality of it—the solidity. I swung my feet to the floor and stood, pausing to press my toes into the carpet. That was real, not the swirling confusion of my recurring nightmare.
So was my clammy skin and sweat-soaked tank top.
Gross.
“Hot flashes will be a breeze after this,” I muttered as I stripped off my damp clothes and tossed them in the hamper. I changed into a clean tank top and stumbled into the hallway to find a fresh set of sheets. It certainly wasn’t my first middle-of-the-night bed-changing session, but I didn’t usually have to search through a half-unpacked house to find what I needed.
By the time I’d put on clean bedding, I was wide-awake. Still tired, but I knew better than to think I’d fall asleep again.
Which was fine. I didn’t particularly want to.
Stupid nightmares.
Instead, I went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. That would give me something to do while I waited for the sun to come up.
Several hours later, I was dressed and looking cute, with renewed gratitude for good concealer that could mask the dark circles beneath my eyes. The summer weather was hot,so I’d chosen a pink-and-orange sundress with strappy beige sandals. I’d painted my own toenails—this broke girl didn’t have the budget for a proper pedicure—but I figured no one was looking that closely at my feet anyway.
I left the little house I’d rented feeling optimistic, hoping my quest to find a part-time job would push the previous night’s unpleasantness from my mind. The nightmare wasn’t new. I’d suffered through it more times than I could count. It had been a while since the last one, though. I chalked it up to sleeping in a new place. Once I got used to my surroundings, I was sure the bad dreams would go away.
The past couldn’t haunt me forever. Even though it seemed intent on trying.
I headed downtown and parked at Home Slice. My plan was probably a bit old-school. Job applications were usually submitted online, but I thought a bit of personal contact couldn’t hurt. I’d stop in the businesses that looked like the sort of places that might need part-time help, introduce myself, and see if they were hiring.
The Copper Kettle didn’t need anyone, but Rob, the owner, did take my information and promised to get in touch if anything changed. Not ideal, since I needed a quick turnaround, but better than a hard no. I checked the pet store, Happy Paws, and got a vague maybe. Same with the florist, Blossoms and Blooms, the little soap and candle shop, a housewares store, and a clothing boutique I didn’t remember seeing before.
Undaunted, I tried a few more but had no immediate luck. How was that possible? It was summer, which meant tourist season throughout the mountains. The shops were bustling, the sidewalks full of people. How could no one be hiring?
I stopped outside the Steaming Mug. Growing up, I wouldn’t have set foot inside that coffee shop. In the days of the Haven-Bailey feud, it had been enemy territory. I’d been on the Haven side—particularly because I’d dated Luke—andfrequenting the wrong business was something you just didn’t do.
But the feud had ended years ago and the rift that had divided Tilikum for generations had gradually mended. Which meant the Steaming Mug was an option, both for a midday caffeine boost and as a potential source of employment.
I walked in to the scent of espresso and acoustic guitar music in the background. A large black chalkboard with the menu hung on an exposed brick wall behind the painted teal counter. Round tables and a few armchairs gave the place a homey, comfortable vibe.
After waiting in line, I ordered a latte and struck out again when the barista said they had just hired two new people and weren’t looking for anyone else.
While I waited for my drink, I indulged in a brief fantasy of one of the new baristas angrily dumping scalding-hot coffee on her ex-boyfriend—a guy at one of the tables working on a laptop played the part in my head—only to be immediately fired. Cue Melanie jumping in to save the day and being rewarded with a job on the spot.
“Melanie,” the barista said, sliding my latte across the counter.
“Thanks.” I smiled as I picked up the cup, only feeling a tiny bit guilty that I’d been low-key wishing she’d get herself fired in dramatic fashion.
Another voice from behind me said my name. “Melanie?”
I turned, and a familiar face appeared. Luke’s sister, Annika, stepped through the people in line. Her dark blond hair was cut shoulder length with curtain bangs, and she wore a tank top and shorts.
“Annika Haven,” I said. “Sorry, you’re Annika Bailey now. My bad.”
From what I’d heard, she and Levi Bailey were the reasonI stood in what had once been an off-limits coffee shop. Their love had ended the feud.
She stepped in for a hug, and I happily hugged her back. In what felt like another life, she and I had been good friends.
