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Still, that was the last I had heard from Tor.
For nearly three weeks.
Short of a trip into the city, which would be useless because I don’t even know where Tor lives, there is absolutely nothing I can do. I let out a sigh, physically shaking off my distracted thoughts as Main Street comes into view.
The town of Whisper Wells is small; it never really expanded so much as the neighbouring towns expanded into it. We are the last stop on this side of the Whisper Woods, and a popular cosy destination for hikers and day trippers into the “safe” neutral zone of the gigantic forest that take up most of the country of Carconnois.
The town is almost entirely encircled by the mountains and trees that gave the town its name. The one road leading out of town, Whisper Road—because the town founders were nothing if not incredibly creative—threads through small subdivisions and eventually farmlands before joining into connecting towns.
Whisper Wells is simple enough, with one main street, with the standard bar, a cafe-slash-bakery, a small market, chemist and hardware store. A few other stores had popped up over the years: a clothing store, a witches’ apothecary (which had gone down like a tonne of lead bricks, but was popular with out oftowners and the tourist dollars made everyone happy) and bookstore. A small bed-and-breakfast is tucked in a side street with a magnificent view of the sunrise over Whisper Woods in its premier suite.
Also tucked in one of the side streets is my first port of call, Lou’s Things, a small shop run by my Pop’s old friend.
Shunning retirement, Lou had opened up an artist’s collective, selling local crafts and wares from regional makers. He is a good man and my stuff always sells well out of there, making me a good little income. I unload my truck while Lou unlocks. Armchairs and side tables are the most popular, but they aren’t the quickest to turn out.
This past year I have also been tinkering with some metal and jewellery so there is a collection of handmade blades, rings and bits and bobs I had fiddled with. Personally, I don’t think I have quite perfected the craft yet, but I have a natural gift at working with these things.
Like someone, okay Tor, had once said, I have quitecapable hands.
Getting the goods arranged in the spacious gallery takes longer with Lou’s insistence on helping, but we get it sorted, chatting about our winter and how long it’s been since we’d seen each other.
I’m soon back in my truck, checking my phone,again. The disappointment of my empty notifications settles like a lead ball in my stomach.
I pull up in front of the market, and then head on over to the chemist to restock on some much-needed supplies. Sure, it would be much cheaper, and inconspicuous, to wait until I head over to Kingston later in the week; it’s our closest big town with a larger variety of shops. But some things, like pain killers and lube, can’t wait.
Plus, the pharmacist, Reginald Calper, hates me for both my heritageandmy sexuality, so seeing his face when I buy the extra big bottle of lube is satisfying.
He doesn’t need to know I am probably only going to be using it on myself.
After that, I pick up some nails and bits from the hardware store that I don’t really need, but buy just to keep on the good side of Joe McIntyre, the owner. I had gone to school with him and we aren’t overly friendly. It just helps if I frequent the businesses around town and remind them I am “one of them”.
Last on my list, before lunch at the bar with my actual friend Dave Walchek, is a stop at the market for some basics. Things are running low on the home front.
As I wander the aisles, my small janky trolley filled with food, toiletries and other things I need to top up on ASAP, I flick my phone unlocked again and check my messages, just to hurt my own feelings.
Nothing.
We had switched to regular messages soon after beginning to chat, but now that I am truly having to face the fact that I’ve been ghosted, I decide it's time to check out his oldGlitterballzprofile. I probably should have checked it back when the radio silence began, but truthfully, I just didn’t want to face the rejection, or acknowledge that he still had his profile up while I’d quietly deactivated mine during the winter.
And there it is.
The last login is dated more than two weeks prior. That lead ball in my stomach expands to fill my body, my legs heavy, heat flashing through my body, too many emotions to chase.
I never expected anything to come of our friendship. Gods, he lives on the other side of the country. And Tor is, well, Tor. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen, and he lives in the city, several hours from me.
I spend my days tinkering around my farm and playing with my chickens.
He spends his going out partying every other night with friends. Beingsalmostas beautiful as he is.
Not to mention his parents are richer than the Gods. He has everything at the tip of his fingers.
What on earth would he want with a loner farmer from the literal backwoods, with sketchy mixed blood, a tiny cabin, too many sheds and some chickens? He has probably found someone real toactuallybe with. Someone he has something in common with, who lives in the same postcode as him.
Someone not on the other end of a phone.
Still… I am ready to put my dignity on the line one more time, even as the bile hits the back of my throat. I’m definitely going to need a beer with Dave after this.
So, next to the surprisingly large range of pasta sauces, I resolutely type out a message.
