by J. L. Berg
“Yeah? Me either.” For a short moment, he paused, as if he was contemplating something. “Ginger—that’s her name,” he began. “She’s super picky about her food—or at least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the few times I’ve seen her at family events. Won’t eat anything but chicken fingers and French fries—like she’s a damn five-year-old.”
Just hearing her name took the breath from my lungs.
Ginger.
The blonde had a name, and it was Ginger?
I guess I’ll be naming my cat Clementine …
“That’s ridiculous,” I finally said, knowing he’d probably offered up the information in an effort to make me feel better about myself. I appreciated the gesture, but honestly, I could have gone my whole life, happily not knowing a thing about Ginger.
Or her peculiar eating habits.
“So, it’s serious then?” I couldn’t help but ask as he handed me a burger, still wrapped in paper. The smell of it made my mouth water. The wine dinner I’d made for myself had hardly done enough, and as it turned out, I was starving.
He merely shrugged. “I haven’t asked, but if he’s bringing her around family, I’m assuming it probably is.”
“You and Reed haven’t ever been close, have you?”
“No. We kind of do our own thing and keep to ourselves.”
“Is there a reason for that?” I pressed.
With his mouth full of food, I watched as he shook his dark brown hair, a lock of it falling in front of his face.
He pushed it back and answered, “Not really. I’m just not that close with anyone in my family. Is that weird?”
Um, yes, I wanted to scream. Instead, I played it cool. Or tried to.
“No. Well, I mean, kind of. A family is supposed to be your support system. Or at least, that’s how it’s always been for me,” I said as I tried to ignore the mess currently strewn all over, thanks to my mother’s abrupt departure from my life.
“To me, family is just a fancy word for obligation,” he explained.
“Is that why you’re going out on your own with this furniture thing? You don’t want to be obligated to your family anymore?”
He was nearly done with his massive burger, and I waited for him to finish the last bite before he responded.
“You’re seriously hung up on this, aren’t you? That I’m not working for my dad anymore?”
I shrugged, again trying to play it cool. With Reed, it had never been a question. He was a Gallagher, and Gallaghers worked for the family business.
Period.
“I just find it sort of fascinating. In my house, our family business was a source of pride. My brother went off to do his own thing, but he always came back during the summer and pitched in. For me, coming back to help my parents was something I was glad to do.”
“Even if it meant giving up your own career?”
I gave him a passive look, remembering the job I’d happily left to be at my parents’ side just a year earlier. It was honestly the only perk of my father’s cancer. “Working in a dead-end office job is not a career.”
“Then, why were you doing it? You were there a long time. I always assumed you enjoyed it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Working for a man who believed a woman’s job was either in the home or behind a receptionist desk? No. I definitely didn’t enjoy it.”
He nodded. “Yeah, we did some work for that guy a few years back—a reno on his master bath. His wife wanted a soaking tub, and even though I could fit it nicely in the budget without changing anything he’d requested, he flat-out refused. He said she didn’t need such frivolity in her life.”
“Sounds about right.”
“If you hated it so much, why did you stay?”
“Because my mom wanted me to try something else—to spread my wings further than the family shop. It was something she’d encouraged both of us to do. It’s worked for Jack but not so much for me, but I still gave it a try. I went to school and got an associate’s degree in business, but after I graduated, office work was all I could find in the area.”
“And you never thought of moving out of the area, like Jack did?”
I shook my head. “I had Reed,” I explained.
Silence fell between us.
“Why didn’t you go back and tell your mom you were miserable?” he finally asked. “Surely, she would have understood?”
I should have been bothered by his constant barrage of questions by this point, but I wasn’t. It was nice to talk to someone, and to my surprise, I liked getting to know Sawyer—the real version of him rather than the elusive version I’d known in the past.
“I tried—or rather, I had planned on it—but on the day I came in,” I explained, “I inadvertently overheard a conversation between her and my father and discovered the store wasn’t doing well. It was right around the time she started renting out space to vendors. She knew if she didn’t do something, she’d have to close.”
“So, you stayed in your dead-end job because you knew your mom couldn’t afford to take you on.”
I nodded my head. “At least, not with a salary. And at that point, Reed and I were already married, and I couldn’t go without the income.”
He shrugged. “You probably could have. I’m sure my dad would have helped you out.”
“Reed said the same thing to me when we talked it over.”
He merely shook his head. “Not surprising. Reed’s never been shy about asking for what he wants.”
I had a feeling there was more to that, but I let it go. I’d had enough Reed talk for the evening. Instead, I shook my head and answered, “I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to become dependent on someone like that, and thank God I didn’t, considering how it ended.”
With both of our burgers finished, we threw the trash back in the paper bag and settled into our seats. He sipped on a soda he’d brought in, and I finished my glass of wine. For once, I didn’t feel awkward with him around, and I wasn’t exactly sure what had brought about the change.
“Is that a cat on your computer screen?” he asked, pointing to the open laptop at the end of the couch.
“Um, yes. I was cat shopping before you came over.”
“Cat shopping?” His amused expression made me grin. “I didn’t realize you could do that. Is that something you can buy on Amazon, or is there a specific online megastore that ships furry pets directly?”
Grabbing the laptop, I began to show him. “It’s the local animal shelter, smart-ass. They list their current rescues, and you can look through them and then contact the shelter to schedule a visit.”
“And this Louisa is the one you’re interested in?”
“Well, I haven’t completely decided, but I was thinking about it.”
He rose from his spot in the green chair and took the laptop from my hands as he motioned for me to scoot over. I did, amazed by his casual attitude. It exuded from him, and I wasn’t sure if it was me that made him feel at ease or if he was like this with everyone, but I was beginning to think the man could make himself comfortable basically anywhere.
He gave the orange tabby a long, hard stare, as if he himself were trying to imagine the cat in his life. “I’m not sure you’re ready for a cat.”
“What?” I blurted out. “Why?”
Giving me a once-over, he tilted his head to the side. “You know this is a live animal, right? Something that needs to be fed and watered?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t seem convinced.
“Of course I do,” I said with conviction.
“Then, why are all your house plants dead?”
“What?” I asked, suddenly panicked.
I have houseplants?
Where?
My eyes scanned the room, and sure enough, there were several scattered around—a spiky brownish thing near the front window, a tired succulent on the mantel, and even a larger bush that I’d just always assumed was fake in the dining room area.
“You didn’t even know they
existed, did you?”
“My mom took care of those.” I felt like a total failure. How many things had she been quietly taking care of while I assumed I was running around like Superwoman for the last year?
“Look,” he said, his voice taking on a soothing quality, “give it a few weeks. Let things simmer down in your life, and if you still want Louisa—”
“Clementine.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what I was going to name her. Louisa is a horrible name for a cat.”
A slight smile played across his lips as he looked down at me. “Okay, Clementine it is then. If Clementine still tugs at your heart in a few weeks, or any of these other fur-balls do, contact them. But for now, water those plants.”
I couldn’t help but let out a laugh.
Even though he was a little overbearing and pushy, he wasn’t wrong. If I couldn’t even keep a plant alive, much less notice its existence, I didn’t have any business adopting a cat right now.
It didn’t mean I wanted the little fur-ball any less though.
Plants were not nearly as exciting.
Or cute.
Closing the laptop, I noticed his eyes had already begun roaming around the room, checking out the pictures on the mantel and then moving on to the items on the coffee table.
“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, pointing to the large binder I’d left there days ago.
At this point, I’d already begun to get used to his rapid-fire questions and innate sense of curiosity to the point where I was starting to find it charming, so I went with it and answered, “My grandmother’s journal. Or one of them at least.”
“One of them? That thing is massive. Can I look at it?”
I nodded but then added, “As long as your hands are grease-free.”
He held them up to prove his cleanliness, and I gave him a smile and a nod of approval before he picked it up and set it in his lap. I immediately appreciated the way he took care in opening it, folding back the old black plastic as if it were precious leather instead of a flimsy thing you’d pick up at a dollar store.
“Check out that handwriting,” he said, bending down to examine it. “That cursive is so intense. There is some of it I can’t even make out.”
I leaned in, trying to catch a glimpse at what he was looking at. “She had beautiful handwriting.”
“They definitely don’t teach that anymore,” he remarked. “Did she organize it by date instead of year?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I never really understood why. I guess I could ask my mom if she knew, but she always went by date, so see, you can flip to any point, and you’ll find all March dates from every year she wrote in this journal.”
“That’s actually kind of genius. It allowed her to look back as she wrote every entry. She could scribble out her entry for March 2, 1992, and then read what she did on that day five years ago without having to flip back.”
“I think she also enjoyed comparing the weather patterns,” I said, pointing to the almost-religious way she’d cataloged the daily temperatures.
“Wow, that’s cold!” he exclaimed, pointing to a chilly March low.
“The Midwest.”
“Ah, I remember you saying your mom grew up there.”
I nodded. “She didn’t move out here until college. And then she met my dad and never left.”
A wide grin crept across my face, and I felt a swirly sensation rising in my belly—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“And that’s how you became a Southern girl.”
“I guess so,” I answered, my voice a tad hoarser than it should be.
“You should transcribe these,” he announced.
“Transcribe?”
“Yeah, either by voice or the old-fashioned way. But these words need to be preserved.”
“You think I should copy her journals into the computer? Wouldn’t that take … forever?”
He shrugged. “It’s not like you have a deadline for it. It could be something you do in your free time. But I’ve heard horror stories on the job. We’ve done work on houses after fires, and it’s never the appliances or the marble tile people miss. It’s stuff like this,” he said, pointing to my grandmother’s words still resting on his legs.
“I’ll think about it,” I promised, looking up at the man who’d somehow managed to take over my entire night with a bag of burgers and a hundred questions.
What are you doing to me, Sawyer Gallagher?
And am I prepared for it?
That was the real question.
Chapter Five
“Elle? Is that her name?”
My name was being whispered through the fog, and I reached for it.
“Elle, wake up. I’m so sorry.”
The voice wasn’t familiar, but somehow, it felt soothing. Like coming home after a long trip.
I didn’t know how long I’d been wading in that pool, floating somewhere between awake and asleep.
Drifting.
Listening.
But finally, my eyes began to flutter, and light crept in.
And I saw him.
“Hey,” he said, a smile spreading across his young face. “You’re awake! I’m so sorry I hit you with my bike. I lost control. The street was a little steeper than I realized.”
“You’re the new kid,” I said, my voice still hoarse.
“Yeah,” he answered. “My name is Reed. And you must be the infamous Elle.”
Even hours later, my mind was still haunted by the dream that had awoken me this morning.
But this hadn’t been an ordinary dream.
This had been a trip down memory lane.
It was the meet-cute of the century, and when people had asked, we had always been more than happy to recall the story of how Reed had nearly run me over with his bike on that fateful day in August so long ago. I still remember coming to, my body sore from our collision and thinking I was the luckiest girl in the world to have met him.
Reed and I had loved telling this story so much that we’d even incorporated bikes into our wedding theme.
Yep, we had been one of those cheesy couples. The ones who’d oozed so much happiness that it made normal people sick. On top of our wedding cake had stood two antique bicycles with a little heart nestled between them—a symbol of the love I’d thought would last forever.
It was a story I’d planned on telling my kids and my grandkids.
But now, it was just a dream that robbed me of precious sleep.
“Hey, boss lady,” Sawyer called out, giving a quick rap of his knuckles against my open office door.
Looking up from my computer, I met his light-blue eyes.
“Yep?”
“Candace is here with a bunch of stuff. She said she was supposed to drop by the other day but couldn’t.”
I nodded. “Right. I can meet with her now. I was just finishing something up.”
I definitely was not falling asleep on my desk.
A smile set across his face. “What tricks or favors did she have to do to get such special treatment? I brought my plans by your house two days ago for my space, and I still haven’t gotten approval.”
I gave him a stern look. “I didn’t say no.”
“But you didn’t say yes either. I really want to get my stuff in.”
I knew he did. Was it wrong that I really wanted to stall him? The idea of changing things up in here terrified me.
What if I failed?
Rising from the worn-out chair, I grabbed my cup of coffee and headed for the door. “Fine,” I relented. “But I want to be here when you set up. And it has to be after hours. I don’t want customers disturbed with everything being moved about.”
I thought for sure he’d make some snide comment about the lack of customers he’d seen around, but thankfully, he knew better.
His smile just widened, and he nodded. “How about tonight? I’ll bring dinner again?”
My stomach flipped at the idea, and I mentally scol
ded myself. “Do you think food will make me more agreeable?” I asked as we both headed to the front of the store.
“No, but it’s worth a try.”
I tried not to laugh but couldn’t help it. “Just no pizza,” I requested before walking away.
“You got it!”
Thankfully, we went our separate ways at that point. I had business to attend to with Candace, and he went to go charm a customer into buying something. I’d discovered over the last two days of working with him that he was actually quite good at sales—something I sorely lacked. While I was more of the leave the customer to themselves practice, Sawyer preferred to interact with them, striking up conversations on anything from the weather to the local history. He’d sold more in his two days here than I’d sold in the last two weeks.
I should be thrilled, but of course, I was annoyed.
Does he have to be good at everything?
“Hey, Candace,” I said, noticing the book in her hand. It was one we sold, and it told all about the local history of Pine Hurst.
She flipped open to the pictures, squinting to see the small, grainy faces.
Sawyer hadn’t been lying; she had a ton of stuff today. When I’d asked her to bring more, she’d listened.
She must have seen the surprise on my face because she instantly blushed, her cheeks going bright red, that flurry of activity that was classic Candace taking over. “I know it’s a lot!” She beamed. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t hold back. When you said almost everything I’d brought last time sold, I was just so excited! I just never expected anyone to buy something I’d made! It’s so thrilling!”
I smiled. I wasn’t lying when I’d said I normally liked Candace.
When I was well caffeinated and mentally prepared for her never-ending well of energy, she was actually a joy to have around, especially over the last year when my life had been anything but joyous.
“It’s the perfect amount,” I replied. “Show me what you made!”
She squealed, clapping her hands together, and dug into her meticulously organized containers. Inside were delicately wrapped mugs and wreaths, trendy wood signs with catchy phrases, and even—
“Oh my gosh, are these—”
