You Belong With Me (With Me in Seattle 14)

Baby animals need their breakfast, and at the Oregon Coast Wild Animal Rescue, I’m the lucky woman who gets to feed them.

I stretch my arms over my head and then sit up, letting the blankets fall around my hips, exposing my naked body to the crisp morning air.

Summer is waning, and it won’t be long before I have to turn on the heat. But I’ve been clinging to the season with all of my might. Once winter arrives, we’ll have more rain and grey days than I care to think about. So, I plan to hold on to these nice summer moments for as long as I can.

I throw a robe around my shoulders, slide my feet into slippers, and pad downstairs to my small kitchen.

I live in what I lovingly refer to as a cottage. That’s probably too grand a word for my little cabin in Oregon. My bedroom is a loft upstairs, and down below, I only have a kitchen, a small living space, and an efficient bathroom.

But it’s only me here, so it fits me just fine. In the six years that I’ve lived in Bandon, Oregon, I’ve never needed more than this.

I come from mansions and a life of privilege, yet nothing has ever made me feel as safe as this.

I pop a pod in my Keurig, set my Blow me, I’m hot mug on the counter, and as my first cup of coffee brews, I step out onto the deck that gives me just a tiny peek at the ocean. The sky is clear today, and the wind is calmer than usual, so I make a mental note and promise myself I’ll take a walk on the beach this afternoon after work and lunch with my friend, Lindsey.

With another deep breath, I turn back inside and pour some cream into my coffee, then carry it with me into the living room.

This is my typical morning routine, seven days a week, whether rain or shine. I sit on a small pillow in the corner of the room, crisscross applesauce, close my eyes, and begin my meditation.

I go to my happy place in my mind.

It’s on a boat at a marina in Seattle with Archer. Even after all these years, following drama and hurt and more shit than I care to dwell on, it’s always Archer I think about when I go to my happy place.

His smile. His gentle hands. Archer was my safe place, my constant source of stability in a life that was anything but stable.

When you’re the daughter of a mob boss, life is damn scary.

Three minutes later, with a clear mind and relaxed shoulders, I retrieve my coffee and go about the rest of my routine. Shower. Makeup. Hair up in a ponytail.

When I’m dressed and have another cup of coffee in my trusty Girls rule! to-go mug, I set off for work in my old, rusted-out Buick. Saying it’s second-hand is too kind. It was most likely fifth-hand.

But it does the job and gets me to and from just fine.

It also doesn’t draw any unwanted attention.

It’s a ten-minute drive to the rescue. I park in my usual spot and walk into the nursery, which is dimly lit as soft music plays through Bluetooth speakers.

It feels like a spa. Like someone’s going to hand me a robe and a cup of tea and lead me back to a massage room.

But instead, we have mountain lion cubs, raccoon kits, and a baby sloth, all waiting for my attention.

“Hey, Ally.”

I smile, used to being called Ally now. I changed my name when I moved to Bandon, complete with a credit history, passport, and driver’s license. All after I spent two years in California under a different name. Unfortunately, I ran into a school friend unexpectedly at the vineyard that I worked at and had to run again.

The mob has connections for a girl who needs to disappear.

“Good morning, Chad.” I smile at the man, who’s feeding one of the mountain lion cubs with a bottle. “How did it go last night?”

“Pretty normal,” he says. “Cleaned up a bunch of poop and fed roughly four hundred bottles.”

I laugh at the exaggeration, although there have been times when it felt like that many.

“Is everyone healthy?”

“Raccoon kit red didn’t want to eat,” he says with a frown, nodding at the pen behind me. “Keep an eye on her.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

We tie strings of different colors around the animals’ necks so we can tell them apart from each other and keep accurate records on each one.

I love this job. It’s exactly what I always wanted to do, even when I was a little girl. I’m fiercely protective of it, and I don’t even care that I work six hours a day, seven days a week since we lost an employee last year and haven’t replaced her.