We pull up to a store and park, Noah backing into a space and turning off the bike.
“I’ll teach you to ride if you want,” Noah offers as we climb off and remove our helmets. “If you stay.”
I follow his lead, leaving my helmet on the other handlebar and turn my cap back around, following him onto the sidewalk. “You barely know me, and I’m not friendly,” I mumble. “Why do you want me to stay?”
“Because nothing changes up on the peak. Not ever.”
What does that mean?
I enter the store, not responding, because I’m not sure what he’s talking about.
“Hey, Sheryl,” he calls out, and the lady at the counter smiles back at him as she hands a customer her bag.
I look around, seeing the store is really small. For crying out loud, there’s like six aisles. They better have ramen.
“Grab what you need,” Noah tells me. “I’ll meet you at the register.”
And he heads off, disappearing down an aisle to the right.
I take a basket from the stack, thankful he’s headed in the opposite direction, and veer off to the back, toward the pharmacy.
The store is small, but it’s kind of cute. It has the turn-of-the-century vibe with an old-fashioned register and polished wood everywhere. I pass a bar with an old soda fountain and a menu of sundaes and other treats, a couple of patrons sitting on stools and enjoying homemade milkshakes.
Stopping at the counter in the back of the store, I quickly look around for Noah before I address the pharmacist.
“May I help you?” he says with a smile.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I’d like to have a prescription transferred to here, if possible. Do I just give you the phone number of my pharmacy back home?”
“Oh, yes.” He pulls a pen out of his white jacket and slides a pad of paper over. “That’s easy. I’ll just call your pharmacy. We can have it refilled for you today.”
Cool.
“The number, please?”
I dictate the number, watching him write it down. “213-555-3100.”
“Your name?”
“Tiernan de Haas. Birthdate eleven—one—of oh one.”
“And what is the prescription for?” he asks.
I glance around for Noah again. “Um, it’s the only prescription I have with them.”
He raises his eyes, laughing a little. “I just need the name, so I know what to confirm with them.”
I tap my foot. “Tri-Sprintec,” I answer quickly without moving my lips.
He nods as if he’s never had an overly nosy and playful cousin who would just love to know why I’m on birth control and why-ever would I need it, locked on a mountain all winter without access to men.
I watch him make the call, enter things on the computer, and finally hang up.
He looks over at me. “Give me ten minutes,” he says before he turns around to head into the back.
I’m tempted to ask him to fill several months in advance, but I don’t know yet if I’m staying, so if I need more to get me through the winter, I’ll just come back. With the truck and without Noah next time.
Honestly, I don’t even need to be on the pill, much less on it all winter, but it’s easier to stay on the routine I’ve been on since I was fourteen than to stop and have to start again.
I move through the store, finding a few things on my list here and there. Some snacks I like, more sunscreen, the multi-vitamins I forgot, and some candles. I grab a spare set of ear buds, some pens and paper, and I find the ramen in the last aisle. It’s the cheap forty-seven-cent stuff, but I want it.
“Hey,” a female voice says behind me.
I turn, seeing a woman about my age staring at me.
“Hi,” I say back. But I retreat a step, because she’s close.
She’s in tight jeans, work boots, and has long, dark hair hanging down in loose curls. Her hands are tucked into a fitted camo sweatshirt, and her full red lips are slightly pursed.
“Nice hat,” she says.
Is it? I don’t think I even read what it said before Noah gave it to me, and I put it on. It’s not new, though.
“Thank you.”
Her red lips are tight and her eyes narrow on me. Does she know me? I haven’t met anyone yet.
I continue around her, moving down the aisle.
“Are you one of the racers’ girlfriends?” she inquires, following me as I walk.
I glance at her as I pick up a loofah and some body wash. Racers’ girlfriends?
Oh, right. There’s a Motocross scene up here. Not sure why she would think that has anything to do with me.