Scarlett, the Found One

Chapter 43: Maya

I found Scarlett at the cash register, chatting with an older woman who had a thick Irish accent. Scarlett was trying to hand her some money, but the woman was having none of it.

"Visitors don't need to pay on their first visit," the woman insisted, her smile warm and genuine. "Coming to our beautiful town is enough."

Scarlett, giddy with gratitude, kept trying to give her the money. "Please, take it. The bread is wonderful."

They went back and forth for a bit, Scarlett's determination matched by the woman's kindness. Eventually, Scarlett relented, accepting the free gift but promising to return with a bigger purchase.

"Thank you so much," Scarlett said, her smile radiant. "What's your name?"

"Ruth Murphy," the woman replied. "I opened this bakery after immigrating to the United States. My husband passed away last year, so it's just me and my daughter now." She nodded toward the girl at the sweets display.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Scarlett said, her tone sincere. "Your bakery is lovely."

"Thank you, dear," Ruth said, patting Scarlett's hand. "It's people like you who make it all worthwhile."

I felt slightly uncomfortable about the older woman's overly friendliness, paired with the inquisitiveness of her daughter. I wanted to chalk it up to being distrusting in general, but something didn't feel right in my core. I watched how Scarlett ate up every word the woman said, her eyes shining with gratitude and excitement.

With a shrug, I pushed the paranoia aside and walked out of the bakery, holding all the ingredients in a paper bag. "Friendly town, huh?" I commented, trying to sound casual.

Scarlett just grinned. "You're so grumpy sometimes, you know that?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help a small smile. "What's next on the agenda?"

"Let's take the bread back. She gave us a whole loaf," Scarlett suggested. "Then we can head back out this evening."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, even though a small part of me couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. As we walked back, I kept glancing around, taking in the small town's quiet charm and trying to reassure myself that I was just being overly cautious.

After all, with everything we'd been through, a little paranoia was to be expected, right?

After dropping off the freshly baked bread at the motel room, we found ourselves standing outside a janky arcade inside an old building on Main Street. The neon sign flickered, giving it a nostalgic charm. Scarlett's eyes lit up as we walked in, the sounds of old 80s music and beeping machines filling the air.

We purchased some arcade coins and I immediately suggested a zombie shooting game. Scarlett laughed, saying it was typical of me, but eagerly joined in. I took the shooting a little too comically seriously, crouching and dodging as if the zombies were real. Of course, I ended up winning, breaking the highest score on the game.

Next, we moved onto Whack the Weasel. Scarlett nearly broke the game with how hard she hit the robotic animals, each swing of the mallet filled with enthusiasm and strength. We laughed and cheered, feeling like kids again.

We played over a dozen more games, each one bringing back memories of simpler times. Scarlett made a remark about how it was just like when we went to the arcade in Chicago as young girls. I smiled, remembering those days fondly.

As we walked out of the arcade at night, ice cream cones in our hands, the cool evening air felt refreshing. The street was quiet, and the town seemed to settle into a peaceful lull.

Scarlett took a bite of her ice cream and nudged me playfully. "You still take those shooting games way too seriously... it's an arcade not a war."

I chuckled, savoring my own ice cream. "And you still hit those weasels like they're real threats."

That night, after our adventure at the arcade, Scarlett and I returned to our motel room. We showered together, the warm water washing away the day's excitement. There was a certain intimacy in the shared silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts but comforted by the other's presence.

Once we were clean and changed, we sliced the loaf of bread we had baked earlier. The aroma filled the small room, bringing a sense of homeliness. Deep down, I wished we could do this forever—stay hidden away in this random small town, just the two of us, eating bread and enjoying each other's company.

Scarlett sighed, lamenting, "Damn! I forgot the butter. It would be perfect with butter."

I smiled, half-listening to her complaints. Her voice was soothing, a constant in the unpredictable chaos of our lives. As she continued to groan about the missing butter, I found myself tuning out her whining. Instead, I was mesmerized by her beauty, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke, and the warmth of her presence.

For a moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. Scarlett was happy, and we were together. It felt like a dream—a fleeting moment of peace and joy in the midst of our turbulent lives.

Scarlett glanced at me, catching my dreamy expression. "What are you staring at?"

I shook my head, a soft smile playing on my lips. "Nothing. Just thinking how lucky I am."

She raised an eyebrow, her annoyance fading into curiosity. "Lucky? We're in a run-down motel in the middle of nowhere with no butter for our bread."

I laughed, a genuine sound that felt foreign after all the tension. "Yeah, but I'm with you. That makes it perfect."

Scarlett's expression softened, a shy smile forming on her lips. "You're a sappy weirdo."

"Maybe," I admitted, cutting another slice of bread. "But it's true."