Page 14 of Letting Go

Would he?

"What's wrong?" says Devon wrapping up her hair into the little bun she does for the night shift. Though she's always been wired for anything, she very rarely talks about her job as a firefighter. After serving as a smokejumper in Colorado, being in Maine must be pretty boring. She's always been the thrill seeker. I'm still shaky from my twenty minutes in hell wait and then drive down 131. Jumpy.

She's hurtled herself into flaming Ponderosa pines.

"Nothing's wrong," I say, shucking a few extra wine bottles out of their paper bags.

"God. Every time I see one of these bags, I remember how you'd have us all turn them into puppets. Yarn hair and all."

"We always had about a zillion of them."

"You looked like a deer in the headlights when you came barreling in and then basically ran into The Inn."

"I did not."

"Yeah, you did." She pauses. Then with certainty: "Oh. I know. It's Bryce."

"What? No."

"Yeah. I get it. He's got you all hot and bothered." She feigns wiping a hand across her brow.

"No," I set a bottle down sharply, "he doesn't."

"Well. All I have to say is, Bryce sure likes looking at your ass." Devon grins.

"Stop it." I'm becoming so flustered I can't remember which side of the cupboard I liked the reds on as opposed to the whites. I don't serve rose. They always seem too compromising. Declare red or white and pair it!

"I think you should let him in," she says moving closer.

"He doesn’t really like talking with me, Devon. Usually, he just runs upstairs to the office."

"He's working, you dope."

Our arms brush against each other as she helps place the bottles on shelves. I take a step back, but this doesn't stop her. Devon's not real smart when it comes to body language and she doesn't care. She's right up close to me.

"Listen. I think you should give him a chance. I think you should, you know, leave the door open." Her voice shifts to a whisper. "I know you're not used to doing that, and I know you've been burned, but that's all behind you now. Chloe, I think this could make you happy."

"The idea that one person can make you happy is too much to lay on one person."

"You could try. I think he can handle it." She grabs my forearm and presses on. "If a guy can't make you happy, what can make you happy?"

"I have to learn to be happy by myself." I self-correct: "With myself."

"That's asking a lot, Chloe," and reaching over she tenderly, very tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

Her tenderness catches me off guard and I just stand still, listening.

"Sometimes it can be helpful to have someone holding your hand along the way, and Bryce is a good guy. I've known him for almost a year. He's the real deal." She waves a hand. "Crack that veneer girl."

"His or mine?"

"Yours."

My heart flutters just enough to make me aware of the widening pit in my stomach—that's how hope is with me. It starts and then dies before it ever gets a chance to grow wings.

"What do you actually know about him?"

She shrugs. "Enough to know he's a good person. "He's been in and out here a lot since Finn fell through the roof last fall and then all that mess with Claire."