Page 50 of Heartland

“No idea,” she says. “Did you look at your email?”

“Nope!” I say cheerfully. “It’s too soon. If we look now, we’ll only be disappointed.”

“When can we look?” she demands.

“Eight o’clock,” I say, choosing a number at random.Somebodywill order caramels tonight, right? At least one person? I don’t want Chastity to be disappointed. “Let’s get a pizza to kill the time. I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” she points out. “We haven’t made any money yet, so we shouldn’t splurge.”

“That’s not how it works. You have to celebrate when you can, because you never know when the bad times are coming.” It’s basically my whole outlook on life. “Let me buy us a pizza. I want ham and olives. And a six-pack of beer.Goodbeer. The kind of beer that successful candymakers drink.”

“Okay. Fine.” She laughs. “I will prematurely celebrate with you. Would it be awful to ask you to look at my algebra homework while we wait for it?”

“Not awful at all. What are we dealing with?”

“There's some dreadful polynomials I'm stuck on.”

“Polynomials. No problem.” I feel invincible tonight. October is always a suckfest, and this year is no different. But today was a good day. And sometimes that’s enough.

* * *

When I reach Spruce Street, there’s a firetruck blocking the road. I roll down my window. “Is there a problem?” I ask the young cop who’s minding the intersection. “I live on this street.”

“The wind took a tree down,” he says. “And the tree took out a telephone pole. You could try going around to the other end. But there’s no power anyway. Gonna be a few hours until they get the log cut up, because there’s trees down all over town. And then the power company has to do their thing. Might want to go somewhere else tonight.”

“Okay, thanks.” Power outages are a frequent occurrence in Vermont. And I doubt Rickie has a generator. I ease the truck past Spruce Street, wondering where to go. “Change of plans. Pizza at your place?”

“Sure,” she says.

“Did, uh, Kaitlyn hang around for the long weekend?” I have to ask. Tomorrow is a federal holiday, and there aren’t any classes.

“Nope. She packed a bag and left,” Chastity reassures me.

We lapse into silence as I drive slowly down the street, wondering where I’m going to find a parking place. At least I don’t have to see Kaitlyn. Dating her was an error in judgment, and I’d rather not come face to face with her wrath if I don’t have to.

She was mad atmefor breaking up with her. Ridiculous.

“Do you miss her?” Chastity asks softly.

“No!” I say quickly. “Not really. We were a horrible couple. I miss the sex, of course.” I snort. “But you don’t want to hear about my constantly horny state. And sex isn’t a great reason to stay with someone who’s mean to you.”

“I’ve heard worse reasons,” Chastity mumbles.

I finally find a spot big enough for the truck. Thank goodness for that. After parking, I drag Chastity into a corner store for beer, and by the time we’re walking toward her dorm, the wind is howling, and we’re pelted by sleet.

“Gross,” Chastity says as we hurry the last half block toward her door. “Do you think they’ll even deliver a pizza in this?”

“Oh, hell yes. I’ll beg and plead,” I promise. “I’m really looking forward to it.” I pull open the door to her building, and the wind tries to yank it out of my hand.

We finally get inside, where the power is still on, and it’s warm and dry. Chastity unlocks the door to her suite, and we walk in to find everything dark and quiet. Thank goodness. No Kaitlyn.

I order a large pie from my favorite pizza place, and then I sit on Chastity’s bed, propping my back against the wall and patting the spot beside me. “Okay, let’s see these fearsome polynomials.”

Humming to herself, Chastity retrieves the book and a notebook off the desk. Then she sits beside me. “Here we go. I did the first three, but I’m not sure I did them right.”

I take the notebook, scanning her work. I’m a little distracted, though, by Chastity’s proximity. Her shampoo has a fruity scent that’s familiar to me, probably from the night I pushed her up against a wall and kissed the hell out of her.

That was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Because now I’m thinking about it again. We fell into kissing the way I once fell off a dock into Lake Champlain. Suddenly and without warning. And even though I’d been skunk drunk when I’d kissed her, I can’t forget how good it was.