The Affair

by J. L. Berg

  When his lips met mine, it wasn’t like a cheesy rom-com where music swelled and the wind suddenly picked up. Nothing cataclysmic happened around us. The clock ticked on in the background, the world kept moving forward, but something inside me changed.

  I’d always been amazed by how at home Sawyer felt here, but kissing him? Feeling his hands move through my hair, sensing the same passion he had for this very moment?

  I’d had no idea how at home I’d feel with this man.

  It was both a sobering and devastatingly scary thought.

  One that stopped me in my tracks almost immediately—because the last time I’d felt so at home with another person, he’d made a mess of my heart, and I wasn’t sure I could suffer through that again.

  As if sensing my hesitation, Sawyer pulled back, his fingers still wound in my hair as he checked me over.

  Always so concerned.

  “I’m okay,” I said, beating him to the question I knew he was about to ask. “But, I, um … just realized I was sick yesterday.”

  A sadness washed over him.

  Hadn’t I just spent forever trying to convince him of my physical health? Now, I was crying sick again?

  “Right,” he said, stepping back. I felt the loss of his touch immediately. “Of course, you’re right. We shouldn’t. Not now.”

  Not ever?

  It was a question not said, but I could feel it in the air.

  Where did this leave us?

  Neither of us wanted to ask, so we both did the most logical thing. We avoided the question entirely and moved on as if the last five minutes had never happened.

  But it had.

  It most certainly had.

  And as we stumbled through the rest of the night, finishing the cookies together and cooking dinner, I couldn’t help but wonder, Where do we go from here?

  Chapter Eight

  The next day, I was feeling back to my normal self.

  Physically at least.

  Emotionally, I was all over the map, so when Sawyer called in sick, explaining he’d caught my flu, I wasn’t sure how to react.

  Was he telling the truth?

  He’d certainly sounded sick on the phone.

  But then again …

  Maybe he was just trying to avoid me and the awkwardness between us after the life-altering kiss I’d interrupted?

  Of course, the idea that he was sick had me wanting to rush over to his house the second I hung up the phone. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could microwave a can of soup just as well as anyone else. And if he needed someone to fluff his pillow or bring his Advil, I could definitely be that person.

  But as much as I wanted to play nursemaid to Sawyer, that pesky, rational side of my brain won out. The store had been closed, on a Saturday no less, while I recovered. Since we were always closed on Sundays, we’d now been dark a full weekend. If I had any hope of catching any tourists headed out of town, today was the day.

  I was also terrified of the distinct possibility that he was, in fact, just avoiding me. I had this nightmarish vision in my head of me showing up at his door with a thermos of soup, only to find him outside, doing yard work, or happily enjoying a day off.

  Or worse, with someone else.

  I wasn’t sure I could handle that rejection.

  So, for now, avoidance was still front and center in my life when it came to Sawyer. Avoidance and keeping myself busy.

  Unfortunately, the store was doing a terrible job at the latter, and as of ten o’clock in the morning, I had found myself completely out of things to do. I’d cleaned, caught up on receipts, rearranged just about everything I could, and now, I sat at the front counter, rattling my thumbs against the solid wood top, wondering what to do next.

  Taking a quick scan toward the windows, I searched for any sign of customers. Letting out a long sigh, I reached under the cabinet for my nana’s journal—the flowery leather one.

  The one I’d been sneaking peeks at every second I could.

  It was like I was back in high school again, sneaking one of my mom’s tattered, old romance novels into my backpack so I could read the naughty parts on the bus.

  Only this time, it wasn’t fiction I was reading. It was real life. And that real life had belonged to my grandmother.

  William is such an easy man to talk to. He listens without interruption. Without judgment or blame. I find myself sitting with him longer than I should, letting my cup of coffee or tea grow cold as my mouth runs long.

  I hadn’t realized how much I needed to talk to someone about George. It takes a toll, watching him fade away. Seeing our life vanish from his eyes.

  Knowing my name means nothing to him.

  Talking about him with William helps. Hearing about their stories and tales of growing up together, it lessens the pain and the sting I feel from every visit.

  He misses George too.

  And I guess that’s something we have in common.

  Reading this new journal had become somewhat therapeutic. Her writing spoke to my soul like an old friend, and I couldn’t help but compare my life to hers. She had fallen for a man she shouldn’t have.

  Was I doing the same?

  The bell chimed, signaling a customer, and I quickly put the journal away, grateful for the distraction from my own thoughts.

  “Hey there!” Candace greeted me brightly with her megawatt smile, carrying a giant plastic tote.

  “Hey there yourself,” I greeted back. “What brings you to my neck of the woods this Monday morning?” When I looked at the tote, my brow lifted. “That can’t be the stuff I ordered, can it?”

  “I told you I’d have them done in about two weeks.” She beamed.

  “Yes, you did. But I didn’t actually think you’d do it.”

  “Well then, I guess I just proved you wrong.”

  Not wasting any time, she set the box down on the floor in front of the counter and began pulling things out. She’d gone all out on her designs, just like I’d requested. There were fall colors to hold us through Thanksgiving and a ton of Christmas-themed items as well.

  “These are spectacular,” I said, holding up a knitted koozie that had the face of Santa Claus on the front. “Seriously, I can’t wait to put these out.”

  “Well, why wait?”

  “Because Halloween isn’t until the end of the week. It’s way too soon.”

  She just looked at me, blank-faced. “Clearly, you’re joking, right? Don’t you know that October is the new December?”

  Now, it was my turn to stare at her, blank-faced. “What?”

  “Haven’t you noticed all the holiday commercials on TV?” she asked, her face filled with amusement.

  “Not really. I’m more of a Netflix girl.”

  “Okay, then you must have seen the decorations popping up in stores?” she prodded.

  “Yeah, but that’s mostly the big-box stores. Nothing local.”

  Her arms folded across her chest. “The drugstore down the street has an entire aisle of Christmas decor up.”

  I didn’t know why, but I gasped. Like an old woman in the presence of evil. “In October? But what about Halloween?”

  She laughed at me but pressed on, “You’ve got to catch the customers while you can, Elle. Especially in a store like this where a lot of people are tourists just passing through. Plus, people are starting to plan and decorate earlier and earlier every year. It would pay for you to think ahead too.”

  I hadn’t ever thought of it like that. I’d always been a firm believer in sticking to one holiday at a time. But that was based on my upbringing. In our house, we’d never put up the Christmas tree until well into December, and you never threw up a Halloween decoration before October 1. But this wasn’t a home.

  This was a business.

  “Well, I guess it’s worth a try,” I said, making that smile of hers grow two times larger.

  “Exactly.”

  “You want to help me set them up?” I asked, moving to the other side of t
he counter to stand next to her.

  “Of course!” she replied with enthusiasm.

  We began digging in, placing groups of mugs on the counter—some with koozies, some without. Others went on furniture throughout the store, but we tried to keep it closer to the front since these items tended to be impulse buys.

  “So, where is your assistant today?” Candace asked as she worked her magic on a display near the front windows.

  “Oh, um, he called in sick. He has the flu.”

  “The flu, huh?” The way she said flu made me feel like she was trying to insinuate something.

  “Yep,” I answered vaguely.

  “Wasn’t the store closed on Saturday?” she asked, still moving around mugs. Honestly, I thought she was just placing them in the same formation over and over, so she could continue this conversation.

  “Yep. I had at the flu too. I think it’s going around. Have you heard?”

  Finally, she turned around, facing me as I fiddled with a particularly cute Santa koozie. “Okay, spill.”

  “Spill what?”

  Her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “This store hasn’t closed unexpectedly in forever—”

  “Yes, it has. My dad’s funeral,” I pointed out.

  She gave me a sideways look, throwing her arms across her chest. “Besides the death of a loved one,” she amended. “This store has not closed for any reason whatsoever.”

  “I told you,” I said, “I had the flu.”

  “So, where was Sawyer? He couldn’t keep the shop open?”

  My lips pressed together, and I watched her study me until, finally, her eyebrows rose in surprise. “You guys hooked up, didn’t you?”

  “What? No!”

  “Your cheeks are turning bright red!”

  “We did not hook up! I was sick!” My face was flush from embarrassment.

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire!” she began singing.

  “We kissed!” I finally relented, belting out my secret, which made my friend’s eyes widen as she squealed in glee, clapping her hands together like an exuberant toddler.

  “But!” I said, halting her premature joy. “I stopped it, right in the middle, and now, things are super weird.”

  “Weird how?” She gave me a sympathetic expression. “Was the kiss bad?”

  “What? No! It was the exact opposite.”

  “So, what’s the issue? Why am I feeling all this tension radiating from you?”

  “Well,” I began, trying to decide exactly how to phrase my paranoia, “I’m not a hundred percent sure he’s sick. I think he might be trying to avoid me.”

  “Why? Did he say something to make you believe he was lying?” She’d since stopped pretending to fiddle with the mugs and taken up residency in the wingback chair near the register—the same one Sawyer liked to frequent.

  “No. But it’s not like our night went exactly back to normal after that.”

  “How so?”

  I threw my head back. “So many questions!”

  “Sorry.” She laughed. “It’s just … you’re not exactly forthcoming with information, you know? It has to be plucked from you like tiny little feathers. It’s very time-consuming.”

  “And painful,” I added.

  She giggled, still waiting for me to answer her last probing question. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn she and Sawyer had gone to the same interrogation school.

  “Okay, let me try to explain it this way. You know how when you were little and you’d listen to your favorite cassette tape?” I said, trying to make sense of what I was feeling.

  This was the best I could do.

  Her brows furrowed as she waited to see where I was going with this, but instead of trying to figure it out, she just smirked and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “My parents weren’t exactly keen on new technology, so I had cassette tapes for far longer than most. CDs didn’t make an appearance in our house until Jack saved up enough money to buy himself a boom box and bought them himself.”

  “Anyway,” I went on, getting a little sidetracked, “I remember one particular favorite of mine—Debbie Gibson.”

  “Debbie Gibson?” Candace echoed, laughing hysterically.

  I merely shrugged. “Do you see where I grew up?” I motioned to the store we were currently occupying, filled with old relics from days gone by. “You’re lucky it was Debbie. She was at least somewhat current. It could have easily been disco or Elvis.”

  “Elvis would have been better than Debbie Gibson.”

  I shook my head, trying not to smile. “Don’t mock Debbie Gibson. She’s an American icon.”

  She smirked. “I still have no idea what this has to do with you and Sawyer and that kiss you keep dodging around.”

  “I’m getting to it,” I explained, leaning back against the counter as she sank further into the wingback chair that I was convinced would now become a permanent fixture in the store.

  “Could you get to it faster? I have a babysitter who charges me twenty dollars an hour.”

  “Are you kidding me? That’s highway robbery.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, I’m kidding. She’s with my mom. Now, go on and tell me more of this riveting story about Debbie Gibson.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So, as I was saying, I had this perfectly marvelous cassette tape of Debbie Gibson.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, you mean, Debbie Gibson, the American icon?”

  I laughed. “Yes, that’s the one!”

  She grinned, placing a hand under her chin and leaning forward with interest.

  “I loved that cassette tape. It was old—something my mom picked up for me at a discount store. I thought it was the best thing I’d ever heard. But, if you can remember way back then, those flimsy little things weren’t exactly built for longevity or the dedication a ten-year-old could have to a single song. Seriously, kids these days don’t know how good they have it. Having to stop, rewind, and play your favorite song over and over? Maddening.”

  She chuckled, mocking my pain. “Yes, that really was the worst.”

  “You were one of those kids who got a CD player as soon as they came out, weren’t you?”

  She merely shrugged.

  “I knew it. Anyway, I still remember the day. I was in my room, belting out the lyrics to “Lost in Your Eyes,” and suddenly, the ribbon snagged. Debbie’s voice went all high and weird, and then it just stopped altogether. By the time I made it to my little cassette player, the ribbon was everywhere.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so emotional over a cassette tape. Or Debbie Gibson. And I still have no idea what this has to do with Sawyer.”

  “Hush,” I said. “Let me finish.”

  She folded her arms back across her chest, and I reveled in the fact that she was semi-pouting; mostly because the look was sort of adorable on her.

  “Seeing one of my prized possessions torn apart like that was heartbreaking. But luckily, after several meticulous hours, I was able to rewind it back together.”

  “Okay, so why are we sitting here, talking about Debbie Gibson?”

  “Because this is my point, Candace. Even though I was able to put it back together, it wasn’t the same. From that moment on, whenever it played, it’d always have this wobble whenever it got to that part where it had fallen apart.”

  “And you’re worried that, what? You and Sawyer are the cassette tape now? That you were perfect before you pulled away, and now, you’re, like… damaged? That’s very deep.”

  “Not damaged. Just changed,” I said. “And what if, by pulling away, I ruined something that was otherwise perfect?”

  She leaned forward, but this time, there wasn’t any joking tone to her voice like there had been before. “Look, Elle, I don’t know about Sawyer, and I’m guessing you don’t either. To be honest, I don’t know much about cassette tapes, but I’m gathering you’ve already figured that out.”

  I grinned just ever so slightly.

  “But what I do
know is you—or at least, I think I do. You and I have been friends for a while. We’re maybe not as close as either of us would like, but I’d like to think that’s been changing lately because the girl I knew a few months ago would never have shown up at my house to bare her soul, or told me that long-winded story about Debbie Gibson.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I definitely wouldn’t have.”

  “You’ve been there for me since Penny was born. You’ve given me an outlet outside of the home where I can be more than just a mom, and I know you don’t think that’s a lot, but to me, it’s everything. So, I’m going to give you a little advice, okay?”

  My lips pressed together as I tried not to get emotional. “Okay.”

  “You need to embrace the change,” she said. “If things feel weird between you and Sawyer, it’s because something is unsettled. So, settle it. Finish that kiss. See where it leads, but for God’s sake, stop being scared of what might be and go out there and live. Change isn’t always bad, Elle. See what change has done for the two of us? It can be a beautiful thing. It doesn’t always end in a ruined cassette tape or a messy divorce.”

  She’d gotten me there.

  That was my ultimate fear.

  The fear of failure.

  Because this time, I knew, when I gave my heart, there was no return policy, and if this ended, I would find myself in ruins.

  Pushing away from the counter, I took a deep breath, feeling renewed. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right,” I said. “I just need to stop waiting and get out there and live! I need to go tell him how I feel!”

  “Well, I didn’t mean now!” She laughed, her voice following me as I made my exit to the back office. I didn’t even realize my feet had begun to move. “It’s not even noon, and you’re open until five!”

  “You’re right!” I announced, doing a one-eighty turn on my heels and heading back toward the front.

  “But I like the enthusiasm! Just keep it up until five, okay?”

  “Okay!”

  I managed to keep my energy up and stayed motivated all day, greeting customers with a renewed sense of enthusiasm, and when closing time came, I bolted out of there, firmly intent on doing exactly what I’d told Candace I’d do.