A month passes in a blink. Indecisive March, caught between winter cold and hints of spring, finally gives way to April, with hot days and rain storms. My bad mood settles around me like the growing humidity. Even fishing with the dogs fails to satisfy me.

I wish I’d said yes to hanging out with Marina. I wanted to, but she caught me off guard. Everything about her catches me off guard. I caused the impact that started us, but she’s crashed into me ever since. Barreling through my walls. Softening my rough edges. Bringing me out of the shadows.

Still, I fumbled the chance, too stuck in my mantra and my fears over spending time with her. Alone. The uneasy truth is that I ache for her. Feeling this way not only takes me off guard but also unnerves me. Making her think I don’t want to hang out was probably for the best—she’s fine, and, given her slight tone after it happened, she won’t ask again. Perhaps it’s my punishment for what happened, an insatiable yearning for a woman I’ll never deserve—that’s okay, however much it worsens my mood.

Nothing affects her, though. She’s been in excellent spirits, as always. The G&G’s transformation has been astounding. She posts photos and reels, archiving the before and afters and highlighting unique finds around the store, like the antique Budweiser sign she’s since fixed up and displayed. Roy and Christie looked like proud parents, standing in front of it with Buds in their hands. She’s also shared the store’s history whenever Wade divulges it. Stories about him and Maureen, my grandparents, and even my great-grandparents, the original owners, who traded ten cows for the “worthless swamp” and started the G&G as a produce stand for local farmers—a vibe Marina has vowed to recreate. Marina is rewriting public opinion of the place, humanizing it through stories. I created an Instagram account to follow her daily updates and keep tabs on her without physically lurking, hoping she doesn’t figure out PianoMan is me. How could she? My avatar is my piano, which she’s never seen, and I have zero posts or followers. Her followers keep growing, up by a few hundred since I started paying attention.

She doesn’t post the negatives, like finding a den of ‘water bugs’ under the ice cream freezer or the horrifically dirty bathroom—Marigold tells me about what she calls the unpostables. Marina took care of a dead rat found outside the dumpster and a questionable can of Spam, cracked at the bottom and oozing a bluish mold. The horrors have become a cautionary amusement between them, not to be shared with other people.

Good thing I’m not other people, according to Marigold.