Chapter 8

"Why doyou go all the way to Tillamook to buy lumber? Newport has to have some options."

Dell glanced in his rearview mirror before backing out of the drive.

The real answer was that the employees at the lumberyard outside Tillamook never gave Dell shit about his nails. An employee at the place in Newport had, once. And even though, in general, Dell didn't find Tillamook a necessarily more welcoming place than Newport—like any city, even on the coast, he preferred to simply avoid it when he could—he had learned you could never fully trust the way any place anywhere would treat you. So he stuck to the places that worked. Let go of the ones that didn't.

"I like the place in Tillamook."

Mae grunted.

They'd only been in the truck for five minutes, but Mae's grumpiness was apparent. Dell tried to ignore it. Just like he tried to ignore his awareness that this was the first time she'd ever ridden in his truck. That he was closer to her, now, than he generally let himself be for any serious amount of time. That she'd be close enough to smell and touch for the next hour.

"I want to say something you're going to give me shit for," she said five minutes later, once he'd navigated onto 101.

He glanced over to find her glaring at him.

And here he was, thinking her grumpiness might actually equate to a peaceful drive.

"Well," he said. "With an intro like that?—"

"I would kill for a matcha latte right now."

It was then Dell realized Mae hadn't been glaring at him at all, but at the travel coffee mug he'd been sipping from. Dell huffed out a breath.

"You have to get used to living without things like matcha lattes here. Unless you make them yourself."

"One, I knew you would say that."

"Then why did you?—"

"And two, I don't want to make them myself." Mae's voice stretched into an actualwhine that Dell would pay good money to never have to hear again. "They never taste as good."

"There's a Starbucks in Lincoln City you can always drive to, if you want one so bad."

"That's the thing, though." Mae sat straighter in the passenger seat, sounding abruptly more awake. "Why do matcha lattes have to be a city thing? How come people in Greyfin Bay can't enjoy some matcha? Why do I have to drive to Lincoln City for a treat?"

Dell rubbed a hand over his forehead.

"You know you moved here on purpose, right? You knew there wouldn't be matcha in Greyfin Bay. It feels like you're baiting me into a fight here."

"I know." Mae groaned, closing her eyes. "I'm just…so fucking tired."

And Dell knew she was. He was goddamn impressed with how much she had accomplished at the shop already. Today was the first day since he'd offered to build the bookshelves six days ago that she'd actually had enough time to venture to the lumberyard with him. She'd been busy supervising Gemma's murals and Andy's work on the water damage upstairs and Bay Heating and Cooling, whom she'd hired to update the HVAC systems.

It was irritating, how impressed he was.

Her voice retreated to a pout again. "I want a treat."

"What you're telling me," Dell said slowly, "is that I'm going to have to stop at the Starbucks when we drive through Lincoln City."

"Oh, absolutely." Mae opened her eyes. "If they make it weak and I have to ask them to put more matcha in it, will you push me out of the truck?"

"Possibly."

And when Mae's head rolled toward him with a lazy smile, well, that was a touch too close to flirtation for Dell. The mixed messages between the two of them were starting to give him a headache. Jesus. He couldn't believe he was taking her to the lumberyard. And listening to her city whines as he did it.

He placed his right hand at the top of the wheel and focused on the road.

She smelled like something bright and sharp. Like lemon but not quite. Grapefruit, maybe.

"It makes it more special, sometimes," he found himself saying, some minutes later. And when he felt her eyes on him again: "Having to go out of your way for something." He shrugged. "It…makes it kind of a fun thing, when I drive to Lincoln City for a matcha latte."

The truck was quiet for a minute before Mae inevitably asked, "You like matcha lattes?"

"I'm allowed to like matcha lattes."

And Dell could hear the smile in Mae's voice when she said, "That you are."

* * *

"This is better than the lighting aisle," Mae breathed an hour later. "It smells so fucking good."

Dell made a small hum of agreement as he scanned the stacks. And like he kept doing, each time Mae said something nonsensical, even though he knew he should just let it go, he asked, "The lighting aisle?"

"At Lowe's. The best place in the world. Well, other than the plant store. And my favorite dive karaoke bar."

Dell released a shudder at even the idea of a Portland dive karaoke bar.

"So not actually the best place in the world, then."

"Oh, shut it." But it wasn't even said with much heat. Dell told himself he didn't find that somewhat disappointing.

But he bit back a smile when he heard her mumble, "I bet you love the lighting aisle, too."

Ignoring that—so what if he did?—he led them around a corner to his favorite spot.

"Here." He nodded to the shelves in front of them. "This is all their remainders and reclaimed. Leftovers, odd sizes, things that don't fit elsewhere. Stuff recycled from somewhere else. I normally get wood for my pieces from somewhere in this corner. Probably not the best place to get what we actually need for your shelves, since we'll need enough for consistency. But you can look around and tell me if there's anything that speaks to you."

The corner of remainders at the lumberyard wasn't his very best place. That would be his house, followed by Luca's cabin, followed by the stretch of sand at the state park up the road from Greyfin Bay where he took his morning runs, more rugged and less crowded than Greyfin Beach.

Still, this corner of the world was up there.

Mae leaned down, picked up a square chunk of reclaimed cedar to examine it.

"Your pieces? You mean the things you make in your workshop?"

As Dell made another hum of assent, a glint of gold caught his eye. Leaning down to the bottom shelves had finally knocked the chain she always wore free from the confines of her T-shirt. It was possible he'd spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering what kind of pendant hung from that chain, always locked away underneath fabric, resting on top of her skin.

He saw now that there were actually several pendants, all tiny, all gold, knocking against each other in a petite bundle. It was difficult to make out what they were, they were so small and intricate, and he needed to stop staring at her chest, like, pronto, but if he could only shift an inch closer?—

Flowers. The pendants were, of course, flowers.

"What kind of things do you make?" Mae, blessedly, was still examining the block of cedar.

Dell shrugged, blinking away.

"Small things easy to ship, these days. The question is"—he lifted a board of red oak—"What's your plan for the shelves? I'd imagine you want them pretty uniform. Do you want them painted? Stained?"

Mae bit her lip.

"I was originally thinking they'd be all white. I want the store to look bright and clean, you know? But now that you're making them, and we're here…" She placed the hunk of cedar back on the shelf. She took a minute before she spoke again. "This is all so beautiful. I don't think I want to paint them anymore. Just show the natural wood, you know? And maybe they don't have to all be uniform, either."

Dell nodded. He liked the sound of that.

He liked the sound of that a lot.

"How thick were you picturing the shelves themselves?" he asked, already plotting.

"Maybe…" Dell determined he should just stop looking at Mae at this point. Being that she was clearly going to be chomping on that damn lower lip for the entirety of the trip. Being that her eyes lighting up over reclaimed wood was too much for him to handle just then. "Not super thick on the shelves themselves, but maybe we could get some of these thicker reclaimed pieces for floating shelves that I could put on the wall next to the counter? To display cards or candles or whatever other merchandise we'll feature. Or to display picture books in the children's area."

Things we'll feature. Most of the time, Mae used the singular when talking about the shop. I'll put the children's area over here. But sometimes she slipped into the we. And Dell always wondered what that meant, exactly. Who the we entailed.

Because he was pretty sure her graphic designer friend back in Portland wasn't planning on moving to Greyfin Bay any time soon.

"I like that," he said out loud this time. Floating shelves with reclaimed wood were always, in his opinion, a good idea. He liked picturing 12 Main Street full of natural wood. Maybe it would offset the hipster wallpaper enough that the rest of Greyfin Bay wouldn't hate it, either.

In the end, they grabbed a variety of remainder and reclaimed pieces, for either floating shelves or Dell's own projects; he'd keep track of the receipts. After lusting after some mahogany for a while, Mae ended up choosing a gorgeous knotty alder for the actual bookshelves. She'd truly been sold when a worker who happened to amble by told her it was more sustainable than other hardwoods, being more abundantly in supply, especially in western Oregon. At which her eyes had gone wide in gratitude. "Oh, good. Oh damn, I wasn't even thinking about that." And then, to Dell, eyes serious: "I'm not setting out to have some, like, ancient redwood kind of shelving in my store, you know? I don't want any part of that shit."

To which Dell found himself laughing.

"George is right," he assured her. "Alder's a sustainable choice."

"Perfect," she said, eyes steeling in resolve. "Let's go spend a shit ton of Jesus's money on some alder."

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" Mae asked an hour later as they headed south on 101, the bed of Dell's truck full of red alder and remainders.

Dell was in the middle of muttering, "You're gonna ask me anyway," when Mae said over him: "Freddy Hampton."

Dell glanced her way.

"My neighbor. Owns the bar. What about him?"

"He's your neighbor?"

"Well." Dell raised a shoulder. "So much as I have neighbors. He lives down the road."

Mae mumbled an unintelligible something under her breath.

"Has he ever seemed…homophobic to you?"

Dell frowned as he thought it over.

"Not really. At least…not outwardly, I guess, to me." By which he meant, Freddy had never given him shit about his nails. But then again, Dell didn't interact with the man much. A dark bar on Main Street that had to be half filled with tourists most of the year wasn't Dell's idea of a good time. And other than a passing wave out the truck window, he didn't talk much with the other folks who lived along his road. It was possible Freddy had never gotten a good look at Dell's nails. "But I've learned to never fully trust anyone I haven't at least shared a meal with. And I've never broken bread with Freddy Hampton, so."

He shrugged when he felt Mae staring at him.

"He do something to you?"

She shook her head, breaking her stare.

"I mean…if you count giving off vibes that he really fucking hates the flags in my window as doing something, yeah."

Dell blew out a breath. He tried to figure out what to say to that, but found he didn't have anything. If there was anyone who was going to change a person's views on something like that, it wasn't a Portlander with pink hair who liked being incongruous. That was just the truth of things. And Dell simply didn't have any interest in talking to bigots, so he wasn't going to sit Freddy down to parse out his views, either.

Unfortunate his bar was right next door, though.

"If he threatens you," he eventually said, "let me know."

Mae rolled her eyes. "I don't need you to protect me, you big burly man. I was just…curious."

Dell frowned deeper at that. Big burly man. He didn't like her thinking of him that way. He was big, yeah. But the rest rubbed him in all the wrong directions.

"I wasn't protecting you," he said, a bite in his voice he couldn't hold back. "I just like to know who the assholes are."

They stared out the windshield in silence. Dell was about to turn up the music when she spoke again.

"Speaking of assholes. I have to talk about the candy store."

Somehow, a surprised laugh huffed out of him.

Sometimes, people were so hateful, all you could do was laugh.

"Oh, yeah. The Millers. They are ugly people."

"Thank you." Mae threw up her hands. "But they own a candy store. It just…"

"Feels wrong?"

"Yes! I fucking love candy! I live on the coast now. I should be able to get some salt water taffy if the mood strikes me without being assaulted with a God made two genders sign!"

"They switch up the signs, sometimes." Dell's smirk grew. "I never step foot in the place, to be clear. But Liv sends me an update when they put up a new one."

"I should ask Liv to add me to that chat. Except—no." Mae shook her head, voice sobering. "I wouldn't be able to handle it."

Dell took a slow breath through his nose.

"Living here," he said slowly, "requires you being able to handle it."

He wasn't trying to start a fight. He wasn't trying to be an asshole. He was just trying to tell the truth.

Mae Kellerman had gotten him excited about red alder bookshelves. If she couldn't handle the Millers, she wouldn't last even a few months, let alone the year he was holding her to for the lease.

And Dell wasn't ready to be proven right just yet.

But Mae only looked out the window.

"I'm too tired to argue with you about that," she said after a minute.

And, well. Dell wouldn't let that break his heart.

"I'm thinking I should set up out back," he said.

Mae glanced back at him. "What?"

"Out back, behind the shop. On that nice deck the Gutierrez boys built for you. Probably makes the most sense for me to build the shelves there."

"Oh." Mae stared out the windshield again. "Whatever works best for you."

Dell rubbed a hand along his jaw, contemplating.

"I'll have to bring over a bunch of my equipment, but…it'd probably be better than having to transport the shelves from home and risk them getting damaged on the way."

"And you think it'll all be safe back there?"

Dell almost made an annoyed comment about Greyfin Bay not being Portland, but somehow he stopped his tongue. He understood the concern. Mae had just paid a pretty chunk of change for the wood in Dell's truck bed. He'd be nervous, too. But?—

"It'll be safe." And then, "I'll be able to start on Friday. Got an appointment in McMinnville tomorrow."

He didn't tell her that the appointment he drove all the way to McMinnville for was his monthly manicure and pedicure.

A ritual almost as sacred to him as his monthly date with Luca.

Maybe more.

"That's fine," Mae said, voice increasingly soft. After a minute, she added, "I really…I really appreciate you doing this."

Dell shifted in his seat. Adjusted his hands on the wheel. He didn't know how to process the vulnerability in her voice. It made it feel like…like he was offering more than he was. Like she was offering something in return.

Something he wasn't entirely sure of the shape of. Or if it was something he wanted in the first place.

"Sure," he managed, after a possibly awkward amount of time.

They rode the rest of the way to Greyfin Bay in silence.

* * *

Three days later, Dell hummed as he refilled his mug with coffee in the kitchen.

He still wasn't quite sure if building the bookshelves on site was the most efficient option, but the weather had been beautiful, these past few days. Cool and crisp, but still with a surprising, lingering summer warmth at the peak of the day. Good days to spend on a deck, working with your hands.

As he'd suspected, there was something satisfying about coming back to furniture, to large scale work. Mae had requested small cabinets be built into the bottom of each shelf to hide extra stock; he thought he might integrate even a small bit of carving into their doors. Function and art. Solid pieces of woodworking.

Mae, meanwhile, plugged away at putting up the wallpaper while he worked outside. He had to admit, the pattern was classier looking than he'd expected. A mostly white background with subtle gold accents and an occasional sage-colored leaf. It would look good, Dell thought, next to the bookshelves. The wood warm, the walls clean.

"Well. Just wait until you see what I have planned for the bathroom," Mae had said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, when he'd ill-advisedly decided to give the walls a compliment.

It had altered his daily routine, spending most of the day on Main Street instead of at his house, but it'd been okay. Good, even. It was peaceful in the quiet of the shop's back deck, in the muted world of his headphones and the whir of his circular saw.

He took a sip of his coffee, tapping awake the laptop that lived on a side table just off the kitchen. He'd spent the morning back in his workshop with one of the pieces of reclaimed wood they'd brought back from Tillamook for floating shelves; it only required some sanding and prep for the wall mount. Maybe he'd install it today before he got back to work on the larger shelves. Might be exciting for Mae, to actually get something on the walls.

Opening his emails, there was only junk on the personal and real estate side, and one custom order from the online shop. He'd make time to fit that in over the weekend. Shutting the laptop, he took an extra second to rub the velvety pittie head of Nash, who had wandered over to rest his jowls on Dell's thigh.

The dogs had been a touch clingier, confused at Dell's days away from home.

"We'll go on a run tomorrow morning, all right, boy?" he murmured, giving Nash's head another pet, taking another sip of coffee, before moving to stand.

And that was when the shots rang out.