The Affair

by J. L. Berg

  Everything was new. His touch, his taste. Being with him was like nothing else I’d ever experienced, and I never wanted to go another day without it.

  He took me right there against the wall, our bodies moving together in perfect tandem. I forgot about everything, except him and me.

  Gone were the worries over the store and my mom. The anxiety and fear I’d felt earlier that day dissipated with every thrust. Every moan.

  Every cry of passion.

  He was mine, and I was his. And that was all that mattered.

  I’d always been a lover of history. Growing up in my house, it was hard for me not to be somewhat infatuated with the past. When I was younger, I’d had all sorts of grandiose dreams of being a world-renowned historian or some sort of adventurous archaeologist like Indiana Jones.

  But then Reed had happened, and my big plans didn’t seem so important anymore. The idea of leaving the small town I’d grown up in seemed ludicrous to a young teenager in love. My plans had changed and shifted to accommodate someone else, but I never lost my love for the past.

  Entering the flea market that next day, I realized just how much I’d been missing out on. Here, on the side of some random highway in North Carolina, there was an entire community filled with people just like me.

  There were vendors selling everything from vintage clothing to priceless antiques, and I couldn’t wait to see it all.

  “Whoa.” Sawyer chuckled. “Slow down, crazy pants.”

  Smiling, I tried to rein myself in. “Sorry. I’m just a little excited.”

  “I get that, but we have all day. Take your time.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” I said, taking a survey of the first few rows.

  It was a sea of white tents, all filled with treasures waiting to be claimed.

  “Pretzel stand?” he suggested, motioning across the way.

  “We just ate breakfast!” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, but that was an hour ago.”

  Laughing, I let him lead the way. I decided to forgo the morning pretzel but did take him up on a cup of coffee.

  Walking hand in hand, we began our hunt. He nibbled on his pretzel while I soaked up the caffeine, and soon, we had a casual rhythm, bouncing from tent to tent while I mentally made a list of everything I wanted to buy.

  “I’m going to go broke,” I moaned after an hour or two. “Who knew flea markets would be the end of me?” I laughed. “My mom had no idea what she was missing out on.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think flea markets were nearly as popular a few decades ago. People are definitely way more into made-over junk these days.”

  “Made-over junk?”

  “Yeah,” he explained. “Like that.”

  When he motioned towards a booth that looked like something out of a Chip and Joanna Gaines magazine, I found myself wandering toward it.

  “What would you think about doing something like this in the store? It’s antique but totally on trend right now.” I pointed to an old window frame someone had turned into a gorgeous wall hanging.

  “I think its genius. You’ve already got everything you need. It would be easy.”

  “I do?” I asked.

  He nodded. “You have the space, and your customers are the right kind—when you have them.”

  “Thanks.” I laughed. “But you’re forgetting one important thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I have no idea how to make anything like this.”

  Taking a closer look, he took note of the paint color and construction. “I could make this in an hour. Maybe less if properly motivated.” His wink had my heart racing.

  “Oh? And what kind of motivation would work on you?”

  Pulling me closer, he wrapped his arm around my waist. “I’m sure you could think of something.”

  “Can I help you two with anything?” An old man approached us, his eyes settling on Sawyer’s hand, which had drifted down to my ass.

  “Um…” I stumbled. “Nope. We’re good.”

  I felt high on this new idea and the touch of his hands on my body, and we left the booth, intent on finding something a bit rougher around the edges.

  “What about this?” he suggested, pulling me into a mess of a tent.

  My organized nature had me wanting to leave immediately as I surveyed the piles of what appeared to be trash. But the closer I looked, the more I saw.

  “That actually would be perfect,” I said with enthusiasm, moving a few things aside to reveal a window similar to the one we’d seen moments earlier. The major difference? The condition. While the other window had been refinished and spruced up with a beautiful wreath, this one looked like it had fallen out of the back of a pickup.

  I watched as Sawyer picked it up, checking out the joints and condition of the wood.

  “Yeah, this would be easy to turn around.”

  “With the proper motivation?” I added.

  “Of course.” He grinned. “Let’s see what else we can find.”

  And so we did. In that booth alone, we spent a solid hour, combing through the mess for things that could be upcycled for a quick profit. Eventually, the owner pitched in and helped us, telling us stories of where he’d found each piece.

  “That was from my family farm,” he explained, pointing to the old set of skeleton keys I’d grabbed. “Found them in the barn ages ago.”

  “And you don’t want them?” I asked, looking down at the rusted metal like it was a precious piece of art.

  “No,” he answered. “If I kept everything I had like this, the missus would never forgive me.”

  I laughed, placing the keys in the pile we’d made, and soon, he was in the middle of another acquisition story. He seemed to have one for each random thing, down to the very last rusted piece of metal. The old man reminded me a lot of my mom, always on the hunt for things long since forgotten. Like Mom, he’d been slowly building his collection over the years, his job taking him to various old houses in the area.

  Treasure hunters of a sort.

  The thought made me ache for her. For what once was and could never be. Sawyer was right; change wasn’t always comfortable, but I was learning to adjust.

  “Good thing we brought my trailer,” Sawyer said as he surveyed the giant pile of junk I’d collected.

  “Oh, don’t even start to think we’re done.”

  Laughing, he shook his head. “I wouldn’t expect any less. I’m going to go take some of this to the parking lot though. Try not to go bankrupt while I’m gone.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, watching him load his arms up with two full boxes.

  “You two been married long?” the old man asked as he watched me wade through the last few piles.

  “Oh, we’re not married.”

  “Really? You seem so smitten with each other, so I just assumed.”

  “I was married before,” I answered, leaving out the more scandalizing bits. “It didn’t work out.”

  “Looks like you found a good one this time around.”

  Smiling, I couldn’t help but agree, “Yeah, I think I did.”

  “Well, I’ll let you do some more looking around. Let me know if you need help.”

  “Will do,” I answered, diving back into the hunt. But as I stood there, deciding between an antique frame or another beat-up window, my thoughts drifted back to Sawyer.

  Had I found a good one?

  I thought I had, but I’d spent years with Reed, believing he was my soul mate. My one true love.

  We all knew how that had ended.

  So, how could I be sure? How would I ever trust another with my heart?

  Or had I already given it away?

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time we returned home that evening, Sawyer’s truck and trailer filled with new treasures, and I couldn’t help but feel hopeful.

  I could do this.

  I could keep this store alive for another generation and make my family proud.

  Wh
en he dropped me off at the store so I could grab my car, I took one look at the sign and smiled.

  Yeah, I could definitely do this.

  My head was filled to the brim with ideas and plans. Knowing I wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on anything until I wrote it all down, Sawyer left me to it, promising to return later with sustenance.

  As I unlocked the door to the shop, I realized it was the first time in a while I hadn’t entered with a sense of dread. Taking a deep inhale as I walked in, I felt confident.

  If only I could have kept that feeling a bit longer.

  Flipping the lights on, I turned to see Reed, standing by the front door as he gave it a gentle knock.

  Although I knew I should just ignore him, I instead headed toward him and turned the lock. “We’re closed.”

  Holding his arms out like a white flag of surrender, he answered, “I just want to talk. You left me a message the other day.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “A phone message. The normal response would have been returning my call, not showing up at my doorstep after hours.”

  “I know,” he answered. “But I didn’t want to do this over the phone, Elle. You deserve more than that.”

  “Like your brother? Don’t you think he deserves more than the crappy treatment you’ve given him over the years?”

  He breathed out. “You know, you didn’t seem to mind before you were sleeping with him. In fact, I think you hardly even noticed him.”

  There were the accusations again. The judgment. The jealousy.

  “You’re right,” I answered. “I was too caught up in us to see anyone else.”

  “So, this is my fault? Because I loved you.”

  “No,” I said. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then, what are you saying?”

  This was going nowhere, kind of like that marriage we’d ended. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. I called you, looking for answers that aren’t yours to give.”

  “So, he hasn’t told you then?”

  “If you mean, he hasn’t told me why you and your entire family treat him like trash, then no, he hasn’t. But he will when he’s ready.”

  I watched his expression change just then.

  His grimaced, shaking his head back and forth. “He got exactly what he wanted. All those years of pining, patiently waiting for me to screw up, and somehow, it all worked out exactly how he’d planned it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His gaze met mine. “Did you ever wonder why I ignored my brother, growing up? Why I purposely kept you away?”

  “I—” He kept me away from Sawyer?

  “He’s obsessed with you. He always has been. Ever since that stupid day with the bicycle. He even taunts me by donating a bunch of them every year at Christmas.”

  My mind was reeling. None of this made sense. “Bicycle?”

  “That day we met, it wasn’t me who nearly trampled you on the bike. It was Sawyer.”

  “But I remember it clearly. You were the one I saw when I came to.”

  “I was but only because my dad had seen what happened and spent the next hour yelling at him for being so irresponsible. By the time he made it back out of the house, you were awake, and I had taken his place.”

  “You lied?” I couldn’t believe what he was telling me.

  That was our story. I’d lost count of how many times I’d told it.

  It had been the cornerstone to our fairy-tale romance.

  He merely shrugged. “Not really. I never said I was the one who was on the bike. You just assumed. I didn’t think it mattered that much.”

  “And Sawyer?”

  “He never forgave me. He said I’d stolen his chance. He spent the next several weeks trying to win you back, but it was too late. You were mine.”

  “So, I was just a game?”

  “What?” His face softened. “No. Well, maybe that was my intention at the beginning—to annoy him by interfering—but then I met you, Elle, and I was a goner. I knew you and I were meant to be.”

  “But we weren’t,” I reminded him. “You broke my heart.”

  “And for that, I’ll never forgive myself, but you’ve got to understand something. Sawyer has bided his time, patiently waiting for his moment to strike. You can’t trust him.”

  “You think this is about you?” Sawyer’s voice boomed behind me. He’d come through the back again, and I’d been too wrapped up in Reed’s revelation to notice. “You think this whole time, I’ve been plotting some ridiculous scheme to get back at you for something that happened twenty years ago?”

  “Why else would you go after my wife?” Reed fired back.

  “She’s not your wife, asshole.”

  “No thanks to you!”

  My eyes darted back and forth between the two brothers, as I was unsure of who to believe.

  “Who do you think took me to that bar, Elle?”

  “I didn’t tell you to fuck the waitress,” Sawyer raged.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t stop me either. You knew what would happen, and you let it, knowing full well you’d be able to swoop in and steal my life.”

  “I didn’t steal your life. You tossed it in the trash all by yourself.”

  “You took him to the bar that night?” It was the first thing I’d said in what felt like decades.

  The two were in a heated battle, and I felt like an outsider, watching the bombs explode.

  “Yes,” Sawyer answered. “I knew he was struggling with your father’s cancer diagnosis. I tried to help take his mind off it.”

  “And you never thought to tell me?”

  Reed’s expression turned upward, like he’d just been vindicated of his crimes.

  “I—”

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  His silence answered for him. Watching his face fall in shame, I wondered how many other things he’d planned on keeping to himself.

  “I need to be alone right now.”

  Both men tried to step forward, but I held out a wary hand. “Go. Please.”

  For once, they both did as I’d asked, and soon, I was granted my wish.

  I was alone.

  Maybe that was how I was always meant to be.

  Today is Christmas Eve.

  I used to love this time of year. When the children were young, I’d plan out the entire week leading up to Christmas Day. Every dish was prepped and planned. I’d bake endlessly, trying to make sure everyone’s favorites were accounted for.

  It was wonderful.

  But then the girls grew up, and things changed.

  Mary had her own family and started her own traditions, and soon, the magic of the season seemed to dwindle.

  This year though, is different.

  The house is filled with childish laughter and anticipation as the grandkids wait for Santa to arrive. Both my daughters are under the same roof, and the table is filled with treats once again.

  And although time has passed, the house feels magical again.

  It should be enough to make anyone happy.

  But I’m not.

  All I can think about is him. How long until they leave and I can run back to him? Is he spending Christmas alone? What would life be like if we were together?

  It’s always him, him, him.

  And it’s got to stop.

  I can’t go on with this secret weighing on my shoulders.

  Would they ever forgive me if they knew?

  Could I forgive myself?

  I need to end it.

  I need to end it now.

  I didn’t know what I’d expected to discover from my grandmother’s secret journal. Maybe I’d hoped for a happy ending, like one of those romance novels I used to sneak in my backpack.

  But she’d warned me from the beginning.

  Believing in love doesn’t make it real.

  Hearing Sawyer’s confession earlier that night had me rethinking everything.

  Was what we had real? Or wa
s I just trying to will something into existence that didn’t have a chance of surviving?

  When the doorbell rang, I didn’t bother checking to see who it was. I’d been home, staring at the blank TV set for what felt like hours.

  It was only a matter of time before he showed up.

  He might know me, but I knew him too.

  Or at least, I’d thought I did.

  Opening the door, I found Sawyer on the other side. I also saw the bruise on his cheek.

  “Oh my God, did he hit you?”

  His hand briefly went to his cheek before he answered, “His face is worse than mine, trust me.”

  I hated the idea of him fighting. But I also hated the idea of him lying.

  “I wanted to come check on you,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  When he gave me a sideways glance, I knew I hadn’t convinced him.

  “Really,” I pushed. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “I’ll always worry about you, Elle.”

  “Is that why you came to my store all those weeks ago? Because you were worried about me? Or were you just taking care of unfinished business?”

  “Will you just let me explain?”

  “You had plenty of time to explain,” I argued, but I let him in nonetheless.

  He didn’t say anything to deny it. He simply just followed me toward the living room, taking his spot in the chair across from me.

  “Reed hates me. He always has,” he finally said. “He’ll do anything to mess this up because he hates seeing me happy.”

  “Why?” I pressed. “Why would he do that? How could he hate you so much that he’d risk breaking my heart all over again just to get back at his brother?”

  “Because I’m not his brother,” he blurted out.

  “What?”

  I’d wanted answers, but I’d never expected this.

  “Well, I am but only half—a fact he reminds me of whenever he gets the chance.”

  “You’re half-brothers?” How had I never known this?

  He nodded, leaning forward in his seat. His elbows rested on his knees, and he looked down at the floor, as if the very words pained him. “My mother cheated on my dad—Reed’s dad,” he corrected himself.