by J. L. Berg
“Mug koozies! Aren’t they adorable?” She held one out, a colorful array of fall. It was like a scarf for a mug.
So freaking cute.
I took it from her hands and slipped it on a mug she’d brought. It fit like a glove. No, like a damn mitten. “I had no idea you could knit!”
She shrugged, clearly impressed with herself. “Just another trick in my endless toolbox.”
“These will sell like crazy now that the weather is turning. Can you do more patterns? Colors?”
She nodded excitedly, and we began an in-depth discussion into the world of mug koozies. By the time we were done, I’d ordered fifty more in various themes, colors, and sizes. Candace was thrilled, and I was sort of exhausted and in need of more coffee.
“So, what’s up with Sawyer Gallagher being here?” she finally asked once our business had commenced.
I shrugged, wishing we could skip the small talk for once. As much as I enjoyed my visits with Candace, I really didn’t know what to say about Sawyer.
“He’s working here part-time,” I answered, my eyes avoiding the section of the store where I could hear his voice coming from.
He laughed and carried on with a couple in the back as I did my best to ignore how easily he fit himself in my world.
“Does Reed know?” she asked.
My brain snapped back to reality. “No idea.” I tried to sound casual. “Not that it matters. We’re free to do whatever we want.”
Her eyes rose. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean it like that. I just wondered …” She paused before adding, “I don’t know what I meant actually. I’m just being nosy. You know me, always trying to sniff out the gossip.”
I gave her a faint smile. That was partially true. No one in this town could resist a juicy bit of gossip, but in Candace’s defense, she was the first non-family member who had sought me out after the news spread of Reed’s infidelity. She’d come to the store and dropped off a basket full of her products, and two weeks later, I’d managed to convince my mom to take her on as a client.
It had been a great partnership ever since.
“So, I’ll drop the rest of the koozies off in about two weeks,” Candace confirmed as we finished up.
“Two weeks?” I repeated, my eyebrows rose in surprise. “That’s awfully soon. Are you sure you can manage fifty of them in such a short time?”
She nodded with enthusiasm. “The baby is doing this weird sleep-regression thing, and I am up basically all the time. I think a few more nights of it, and I might just turn into a vampire. Or maybe a bat—that would be fun!”
I laughed, but really, I felt bad. I hadn’t realized she’d been having such a hard time. “Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head. “You’ve done enough. These orders are great. With Dan working night shifts at the firehouse, I was starting to go a little insane with nothing to do, so this is exactly what I need to make it through.”
I didn’t quite believe her, but she seemed to believe fifty mug koozie orders was like a gift from heaven. If I were a new parent, I would have just prayed for sleep, but what did I know?
We said our good-byes, and she waved to Sawyer, who was finishing up with a customer at the register.
I tried to ignore the fact that he was making yet another sale.
It’s more money in the bank, I reminded myself.
I waited for the happy couple to leave, waving to Sawyer as they went.
“They looked pleased,” I said, folding my arms across my chest as I took a seat in an antique wingback I’d picked up last month at an estate sale.
“Who? Ted and Jillian? Yeah, they’d been all over the county looking for the perfect Tiffany-style lamp for their new house, and wouldn’t you know it? We had just what they were looking for!”
My brow rose in amusement. “That lamp you sold them was not Tiffany-inspired. It was art deco at best.”
He shrugged, still stoked over his sale. “It’s not my fault they don’t know the difference. Besides, they were happy. Does it really make any difference when and where the lamp was from?”
My mind, of course, began to spiral.
Of course it did.
What if that couple runs into someone and tells them where they bought that Tiffany-inspired imposter, and it gets out that we, in fact, have no idea what we’re selling, and in a matter of months, my parents’ legacy becomes the laughingstock of the antique world?
“No, it’s fine,” I finally answered, my face remaining as neutral as possible
His lip quivered as he glanced over at me. “You’re such a bad liar.”
I finally let out a laugh. “Okay, inside, my liver is about to explode at the idea. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes,” he replied. “A little honesty never hurt.”
I watched him for a moment, trying to gauge his next move. “So, are you going to run out there and explain to them that it’s not a Tiffany-style lamp?”
He shook his head from one side to the other. “Nope.” He laughed. “And neither are you!”
“What? You can’t tell me what to do! I’m the boss around here, remember?”
That damn lip of his twitched again, and for some reason, it felt like a challenge.
A challenge I couldn’t refuse.
Feeling bold for the first time in I didn’t know how long, I bolted from the chair and charged for the door. My blood was pumping through my veins as I let out an excited yelp, knowing he was right on my tail.
I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I actually made it outside. Run around like a crazy person down the street?
But I thought I knew I wouldn’t make it past the door.
In fact, I was pretty sure I was counting on it.
A laugh echoed through the empty store seconds before my fingers reached the door, and I was captured. His broad shoulders and large hands held me there, pinned against the old wood frame.
“You’re too controlling,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to learn to let go every once in a while, Elle.”
I could hear what he was saying, but it was hard to focus.
In the twenty years I’d known Sawyer Gallagher, I didn’t think we’d ever been so close. How I could I know someone for that long, be a part of their family, and never really know them?
In the time it took for the breath to exhale from my lungs, for those thoughts to form in my head, I was catapulted back to reality. Someone moved across the street. The clock chimed in the back of the store, and he must have noticed too. His hands pulled away, and I felt him retreat.
“Anyway, what I was trying to say was that who cares if the couple doesn’t quite understand what they got as long as they love it, you know?”
I turned to see a very different version of Sawyer than I’d ever witnessed. Timid, uncomfortable, and hesitant. The casual, could-fit-in-anywhere guy I’d grown used to had disappeared, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable in his presence.
“Right,” I answered. “That makes sense. And thanks for everything you’ve been doing around here. You’ve been rocking the sales. You’re really good at it.”
This seemed to please him because his smile returned for a brief moment. “No problem. I enjoy it. It’s nice to talk to people about something other than bathrooms and kitchens.”
I nodded, disliking this tension that had suddenly crept up between us.
“Hey, do you mind if I head out a little early today?” he asked, making me almost sigh with relief.
“No,” I answered, not even waiting for an explanation—anything to get him me away from here.
“Oh, okay. Great. I just wanted a little time to run home and get a few things done before I head back over here tonight. We’re still on for our work dinner?”
Work dinner.
Right …
“Yep,” I answered. “Looking forward to it!”
He just chuckled to himself as he walked away, and I heard him mumble the words, “World’s worst liar.”
<
br /> If only that were true. I wish I weren’t looking forward to more time with him.
Because the honest truth was, I liked Sawyer.
I liked him all too much.
There was always something strange about being at the store after hours.
It wasn’t that I felt like I was doing something I shouldn’t or that it was even spooky, but walking down the aisles after the sun set was always a little odd.
I remembered the same feeling back in high school during homecoming. Reed and I had been walking hand in hand down the darkened hall of Pine Hurst High. He was intent on finding a quiet spot to make out, away from our chaperones, while I just wanted to stash my high heels in my locker. I’d made the remark to Reed that it felt weird to be at school after hours, and he’d just shrugged it off, more concerned about getting me alone than talking at the time.
But the contrast was undeniable.
The way the light danced along the mahogany furniture, casting large shadows unlike anything you’d see during the day; the eerie quiet that fell on the street outside, normally bustling with people.
It was rather peaceful.
My mom used to come down here at night to work. After she’d tucked us into bed, she’d drive back into town and balance the books or change things around in the display window.
My dad used to call her the Energizer Bunny because she never stopped working.
I wondered if she kept that go, go, go lifestyle now that she was living with my brother. Was she driving him nuts with her round-the-clock planner? Did she have a set routine in place yet, or had she thrown that out the window with the rest of her life too?
I shook my head, deciding to focus on the task I’d given myself while I waited for Sawyer to arrive. Having taken him up on his advice to transcribe my nana’s journals, I’d brought one with me today in hopes of having some downtime to start the process.
Of course, no such time existed when you were a small business owner.
So, I was cracking open the first page only just now.
But I was starting nonetheless, and the process of it felt good. I’d been offering for years to do something with the things in my parents’ guest room, but my mother had refused. At least now, I could finally make sense of some of it and preserve it for future generations at the same time.
Looking at the first page, I let out a sigh. This was a daunting task I was about to take on. Although my nana hadn’t recorded much beyond the weather and her crossword puzzle activity, she’d kept a journal for the majority of her later years, and over time, it had added up.
“Okay, Nana,” I said, opening up a blank Word document, “let’s do this thing.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
I nearly jumped at the sound of his voice, but I managed to recover just in time to see him step into my office.
“What? No,” I said. “Just mumbling.”
“Mumbling to yourself is still talking to yourself.” He grinned, clearly back to his normal self after our awkward encounter earlier.
“Okay, fine. I was giving myself a little pep talk. Happy?”
He shrugged, as if he didn’t mind one way or another. “As long as you are. What are you psyching yourself up to do?” He looked over the desk at the journal. His hands rested on either side, and he leaned over, that woodsy smell that was uniquely Sawyer drifting down, reminding me of that moment against the door. “Is that your grandma’s journal?”
I nodded.
“So, you took my advice then? You’re going to transcribe them?”
Another nod. Jeez, where did my voice go? I swear I could talk.
“That’s awesome. But you’re not planning on typing the whole thing, are you?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he’d already guessed my answer.
“You should really try dictating some of it. It’s really easy.”
“Don’t you need to buy software for that?” Oh, hey, there’s my voice. I knew I could speak.
He shook his head, already moving around the desk to join me on the other side. That feeling in my belly was returning, like butterflies trapped in a mason jar. My nerves were everywhere at once.
“Here, let me show you. It’s already built into your computer. All you need to do is this.” He leaned over me, pulling up a program I’d had no idea existed on my computer, and within seconds, he was speaking into the microphone, reading a journal entry from the binder.
Tuesday, March 12, 1985
Mostly cloudy
High 41, Low 26
Started snowing at about five o’clock. Did a load of sheets this morning. Made chocolate chip cookies and took a plate of them to William.
I watched as the words appeared on the screen as he spoke, and I tried not to wince.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, turning off the dictation to give his attention to me.
I pointed to the screen. “It didn’t do half of the punctuation and—”
“Remember how I said you needed to learn to let some things go?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I thought you said this was supposed to save me time?”
He gave me a look somewhat similar to one I’d seen my brother give his toddler. “It will, but you have to give it more than thirty seconds. Programs like this take a bit to learn your voice. So, put in the time. It will pay off. Promise.”
I rolled my eyes but agreed. “Fine.”
He expectantly stood next to me until my eyes widened.
“Well, I’m not going to do it now!” I laughed. “Besides, I think you promised me food in exchange for my time?”
“Ah, yes, I believe I did. I set everything up out here if you want to follow me.”
Set everything up?
My curiosity was piqued, so I did as he’d requested and headed out of the office toward the front of the store.
I was expecting another burger or maybe some tacos.
But this was something else entirely.
“Did you cook?” I asked, my eyes settling on the large spread of food.
He’d used one of the dining tables we had for sale but gone the extra mile and protected it with a tablecloth. He definitely got brownie points for that. On top were a few dishes I didn’t recognize—things he’d brought from home, I was guessing. All were neatly arranged. Nothing fancy, but all wonderful nonetheless.
“It smells amazing,” I said, wondering if this was what he had gone home early for.
“Just a simple gnocchi and some salad,” he replied, looking over everything with a subtle sense of pride. “You caught me on an off day the other night. I don’t usually eat out, but I had a craving for a nice greasy burger.”
Feeling slightly embarrassed by his revelation, I gave him one of my own. “This will be a nice change for me then. I don’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”
He seemed surprised, motioning for me to sit down. “Your mom didn’t cook when she lived at home?”
It felt sort of awkward, using the furniture that I was hoping to sell to someone someday, but it was actually kind of nice.
This was what it was meant for after all. What its purpose had been all those years ago when some happy family bought it in its prime, thinking they’d pass it down to their children’s children, but now, through some sort of twist of fate, it was here.
With us.
“No,” I finally answered, taking a seat across from him. “Well, I mean, she used to—when we were kids and, of course, even after that—but when my father got sick, everything changed.”
“Of course.” With a brief pause, his voice changed, slightly lowering in the way people’s did when they were speaking of grief and loved ones lost or just trying to be sensitive in general. “How are you doing? I should have asked sooner. I guess it’s just easier to see a smile on your face and—”
“Forget?”
He nodded.
“That’s kind of how I get by, honestly. It’s not exactly forgetting. But there are h
ours that go by during the day when I don’t even think about it. Then, I’ll grab my keys and suddenly remember, Oh, right. That happened. My dad died, and it hurts all over again.”
Silence settled. I could tell he was reaching for words.
“Yeah, that sucks.”
It was such an odd thing for him to say that, at first, I sort of stared at him, bewildered. Then, the dam broke, and laughter exploded from my lips.
“That sucks? That’s all you’ve got?”
He joined in the laughter, and that casual shrug he’d so effortlessly perfected came out. “I didn’t really know what else to say. I mean, it does suck, right? And I don’t exactly have anything to compare it to. I’ve never lost anyone close to me, so offering you any wisdom on the subject would be a total dick move, so yeah … that sucks. That’s what I’ve got.”
“You’ve really never lost anyone?” I asked, feeling grateful for the levity he’d brought to the conversation with his odd choice of words.
“Nope. Well, my grandparents. But as I said before, I’m not really close with anyone in my family.”
“No one?” The idea still boggled my mind.
I still remembered attending his grandparent’s funerals and Reed had been devastated over both. How could two brothers from the same house be so different?
Of course, people had asked the same thing about my own brother and me, and I never had an answer, so what did I know?
He gave me a dismissive expression, trying to act nonchalant, but I could see a note of tension rising under the surface. “You know the old jokes about how the first kid is a lot like the first pancake—a tosser?”
I nodded, remembering someone making that joke about me and my brother once—you know, because he was so smart.
“Well, unfortunately for my family, they took that to heart.”
I opened my mouth to question what he could possibly mean by that, but he instantly moved on, his voice hoarser than usual. “Are you hungry? We should probably dig in before this gets cold, if it hasn’t already. Hey, do you have a microwave? Isn’t there one in your office?”
I nodded and absently pointed toward my office, feeling like I’d just been slapped by his omission. The Gallagher family had mistreated Sawyer? Was it everyone in the family?
