Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(9)

I get why Van loves it here so much.

When I’m halfway through my coffee, I top it up and make use of my brother’s printer so I have hard copies of my résumé. I don’t have my fun résumé paper, but the plain white stuff works in a pinch. I head back up to the apartment to put on makeup.

I’m going for subdued today, because this isn’t the city and I don’t want to come across as too flashy. I’m wearing a pair of white capris, a pale-pink blouse, and wedge sandals in taupe. I check my reflection, give myself the thumbs-up, grab my purse and keys, and set out on my first ever adventure in Pearl Lake.

My first stop is town hall so I can check out the job board. There are a few requests for farmhands in the next town over. I’ve never so much as taken care of a fish, let alone livestock—which will eventually be turned into a meal—so I don’t know that I’d be very good at that job. There’s another advertisement for a childcare helper, but again, I don’t have a lot of experience with children, so I don’t think that would be a good fit either.

There’s also a position at the town hall customer service desk, so I make a stop there before I head for the downtown area, where all the shops are.

An older woman sits behind the desk, typing away on her keyboard. I wait until she drags her gaze away from the screen before I say anything.

“Hi there, my name is Teagan Firestone, and I noticed you’re hiring for customer service.”

She gives me a once-over, her arched brow denoting her skepticism. “It’s not a seasonal position.”

“Okay. That’s great. I have a résumé.” I pull one out of my purse and pass it over.

Her expression grows impatient as she scans the front page. “You need to be a permanent resident in Pearl Lake to apply for a position in town hall.”

“Oh, I am. I’m Donovan Firestone’s sister. He lives on the lake, and I’m moving here too.”

“You’ll need to update your résumé, then, and your driver’s license before you can apply.” She hands me back my résumé, and her gaze returns to her computer screen. Obviously I’m being dismissed.

Undeterred, I leave town hall and head in the direction of the main street. My next stop is Pearl Lake Realty, which is looking for a part-time house stager. I’m greeted by a guy named Tucker Patrick. “How can I help you?” The way he looks me over and his tone are slightly off-putting, but I try not to judge a book by its smarmy cover.

“I was wondering if the position for the house stager has been filled.” I point to the window where the sign is displayed.

“Not as far as I know. Do you have a résumé handy? What kind of experience do you have in staging houses?”

I pass over a résumé and try not to fidget. “I’ve decorated a few houses, and I’m a very quick learner.”

“Firestone is your last name? You wouldn’t happen to be related to Van?”

“I am. He’s my brother.”

And just like that his expression shutters. “I appreciate your interest, but we need someone with experience.” He passes me back my résumé. “Have a great day.”

I stop at two more places, and twice more I’m turned down. Once because they don’t think I’m a good fit, and once again because my address is in the city. It’s hard not to be discouraged or to let the feeling that I don’t belong take root. I don’t want to have to go back to Chicago, at least not right now.

I decide to take a break from the disappointment and make a stop at Harry’s Hardware, since I need paint supplies and some light fixtures to cover the bare bulbs currently hanging from the ceiling.

I pull into the parking lot and notice that many vehicles are pickup trucks. Normally my car wouldn’t stick out, at least not in the city, but here it does.

I shoulder my purse and head for the front entrance. I’m feeling self-conscious at this point. And my outfit is drawing more attention than I’d like, even though I thought I toned it down this morning.

I push through the front door and take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh-cut wood, the chemical odor of paint, and the stinging bite of tire rubber. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a hardware store before, come to think of it. Thankfully, there are signs at the top of each aisle, telling me where everything is.

I grab a shopping cart and wander toward the paint department. For a small town it’s a pretty big store with a decent selection, although I’m assuming the mansion-size cottages on the other side of the lake have something to do with that.

I check out their wallpaper selection first, which consists mostly of country themes and floral designs. I stand in the middle of the aisle, tapping my finger against my lip as I browse their selection, looking for colors to complement the furniture I plan to bring back from Chicago.

I stop in front of a very cool geometric pattern in navy and white, which would look great with gray walls and yellow accents. I pick up several paint swatches, including a vibrant mustardy yellow. I can see the pieces coming together, especially with the neutral floors and the white country kitchen.

I bounce a couple of times on my toes and clap my hands once, squealing with excitement. I’ll need some fun art eventually, but first the basics. I stop at the paint desk, where a woman who looks like she’s fresh out of high school is standing, head down, clearly looking at her phone under the counter.