Thank you to everyone who makes this possible. And also, thanks to those who joined my new group, Fic and Fit. It's already such a great place to be!
So...are we ready to meet this neighbor?
"Bad day?"
For a moment, I don't know how to answer my neighbor who is standing outside of the car. Not because I'm too frustrated about the events of the day, but because I haven't spoken to a man without my estranged husband by my side in so long, I can't remember.
I purse my lips together, fingers gripping the steering wheel in front of me, as I try to remind myself I'm on my own now, which means I am free to talk to anyone I want.
This includes tall strangers with a jawline that could cut glass and hair that holds the sun's rays within each strand.
I have to remind myself not everyone is a monster like he was. It's okay to talk to him. Maybe even safe.
Clearing my throat before I dare speak, I take my eyes off the steering wheel and look back up at my neighbor.
"You could say that," I utter in annoyance - not at him, no, but at this whole situation in general.
"Mind if I look?" He asks, pointing towards the hood of the truck. "I heard it try to turn over a few times."
"Sure, sure. Go ahead," I nod with caution, suddenly aware that a truck that can't go anywhere is dangerous in more ways than one. I feel trapped, suddenly suffocated, and I swallow the panic in my throat as I step out of the vehicle. "Thanks."
Even though my voice is shaky, and I'm glancing around, searching for a place to run, I don't want to sound ungrateful to my neighbor—even as I now realize our cabins are the only two in the immediate area. A few more are located further away on the lot, but none close enough to suspect I was in trouble or help me if I were in any immediate danger.
It's just us.
Him and I.
Turns out distance is not the only thing I need to find my true self again.
It's also time.
And I know I'm not ready to trust anyone yet, even if he's a harmless, helpful neighbor with his head beneath my hood in the afternoon heat.
"Looks like the timing chain," he mutters, still staring at the parts beneath the hood of the truck. He wipes his hands on the bottom of his shirt and then reaches up to shut the hood with a loud bang. "Maybe. I would have to really inspect it to be sure."
I try not to do a little inspecting myself, though it's difficult considering how untrusting I've become of everyone and everything. My helpful neighbor is tall and lean, his plain white T-shirt sticking to his skin from the sweat of the sweltering day. His jeans are dark and spotted with whatever dirt and dust he brought over with him from his cabin to mine. His hands, large and greasy from whatever he was touching under the hood, tell me today isn't the first time he's inspected cars before.
His possible, quick diagnosis of my failed car still takes me by surprise.
"Oh, wow. Okay. That was fast," I reply.
He continues like I haven't said anything. "I know a guy you can order the part from."
Sighing, I lean back against the driver's side door of the truck, pulling my hair off my neck and into a messy bun as he watches. "At the risk of asking a stupid question," I pause defeatedly. "This means I can't drive this today, can I?"
My neighbor stranger nods. "Correct."
"Fuck," I mumble, remembering the importance of my errand today to get the bullets for my newly acquired gun. "Sorry."
"It's okay. I get it," he answers, chuckling lightly at my word vomit.
Since I know nobody, and he apparently knows at least one person around here, I wonder if he can point me in the right direction as to what I should do next. I point to the car. "Do you know a guy who would be able to tow this into town?"
He shakes his head, and I'm momentarily crushed again. "No need. I can do it right here." He looks around the yard of my cabin. "Plenty of space."
"Really?" He can't be serious. "I can't ask that of you."
"It's nothing," he shakes his head and puts his hands in his back pockets.
I'm not used to this neighborly kindness, and I don't know if it's because of my isolation over the last few years or if it's just him. "I don't even know your name, and you're offering to fix my car for me?"
He's looking down at the dusty dirt and stubbled grass when he smiles at my words. Next thing I know, his head is raised, and his hand is open towards me, ready for me to shake.
"Edward."
When our hands meet, my hand isn't the only thing completely shaken.
"Bella."
To those of you thinking The Husband could have been Edward...rest easy, my friends. I had posted in my group several weeks ago that I had FINALLY written the name 'Edward' in this fic. It felt so good to finally write his name :)
See you tomorrow!