by Amy Sparling
For several minutes, she doesn’t respond. I stand here expectantly, like a fool. I don’t know why I’m so impossibly weak when it comes to women. Especially this woman.
Shaking my head, I push myself off the counter and move to place my phone back in my back pocket. Oh well, I can’t force Livi to talk to me, and to be honest, I’m surprised she’s given me this much of a chance as it is.
My phone buzzes, alerting me of a new message right before I put it away. My heart skips a beat. I am craving to know how she’s going to respond and dreading it at the same time.
I glance at the phone and pull up the screen. The message is from Livi, thank God. I don’t think I could handle seeing someone else’s name on the screen. I open the text.
What are you talking about?
I roll my eyes. She has to know I’m referring to not leaving the house. At the same time though, she might take it to mean I don’t want her to leave the bike shop right now. I decide I need to clarify for her benefit. Don’t leave the house, I text back. Don’t move out.
She doesn’t respond for a few more minutes, and I get back into the grind of working on the bike in front of me, figuring at least I’ve said what’s on my mind. After a little while, my phone buzzes in my pants pocket and it’s Livi again. Sorry, I was driving.
It’s okay, I text back, mainly because I don’t know what else to say to her right now.
What were you talking about before? She asks.
I glance up and out the windows of the shop, then bury my nose back down to my phone once again.
I don’t want you to leave the house, I reiterate.
I’m at the house now, she quips back.
I roll my eyes. Not right now I mean…forever.
Shit. I probably shouldn’t emphasize nor enforce the term forever because it’s too broad, too diluted. To permanent.
What do you mean? She asks but I already knew that question is coming.
You don’t need to rush to move out, I clarify.
Texting with people can already be hard enough to decipher the real meanings underneath a tone you can’t verbally hear or express. Add a woman that I confused to the mix, and I’m straight up screwed.
There’s silence for a few more minutes between us. I can’t concentrate or focus on my work right now, but as far as I’m concerned, the ball is in her court now and I’m going to let sleeping dogs lie until she gets back to me.
Then, as if on cue, my phone buzzes yet again.
Why are you so mean to me?
This is a question with many layers, most of which I’m uncertain of how to peel back for a careful response. On the one hand, I’m slightly offended. She thinks I’m being mean to her? Hardly. I haven’t even begun to dial in the type of uncaring coldness I’m capable of and I never intend to, either.
I’ve had my share of bad days, where I’ve said less than nice things to the women who wronged me. I wasn’t very gentleman-like, but as far as I’m concerned, cheating on me kind of makes you deserve to see the mean side of me. Livi has done no such thing. Her only flaw is existing in my world, making me want her when I’m desperately trying to stay far away.
I’m not the jerk you think I am, I text back, hoping she believes it. I wish I could turn back time and never have kissed her. Maybe started a friendship first, gotten to know her more before I decided to throw myself at her.
I don’t think you are a jerk, she says.
Then why do you think I’m being mean to you? I reply. Now the tables are turning and I’m the confused one. I’m not really sure what her goal is here. I can only speak for myself and my own desires for this relationship. I don’t want her to leave because I enjoy her company, what little of it I’ve been able to have the luxury of having.
She’s cute, smart, and I know that she’s not out for my money like all the other women around this town. She didn’t even know I own Lone Star Cycles until today. There’s something really sexy about a woman who isn’t after my money. She’s adorably clueless. No matter how fervently my brain tells me to let her go and ignore her, I just can’t throw in the towel quite yet.
You are an ass to me all the time, she texts. Like, I’m sorry about that awkward night, but I’d be happy just being nice to each other from now on.
A smile spreads across my lips because I can picture her feeling awkward from bringing up that night. The night. She’s probably blushing right now, biting her lip while she stares at her phone. She is so adorable when she’s embarrassed.
I don’t mean to poke fun of her mannerisms, but she has a cute and innocent flare about her that will lead me straight into the burning pits of attraction, an abyss from which there’s a point of no return. If I’m barreling toward the pull of desire and desperate longing, then Olivia Westland is the singularity inside and I’ll be trapped there forever.
I don’t want to admit it to myself yet, but I’m scared out of my mind about the prospect of falling in love with another girl again…ever. I vowed to protect myself, but from what? A tiny little naïve girl who just wants to give me a little money for letting her stay in my house? It sounds outlandish, even inside of my head.
I don’t know how to respond, so instead it’s my turn to be the silent one. I know she can’t take that kind of torture because it’s only a few minutes later that she has a new retort to hash out.
I tried to be nice and give you your space, she begins. I don’t mean to intrude, I want to stay out of the way.
You don’t have to worry about that, I reassure her.
I wish I could tell her everything that is bothering me, explain the mountain of stress that comes along with any sort of conversation with a pretty girl. I just feel like girls are snakes in the grass, ready to pounce and stick their fangs in me at the right moment, injecting their venom to hurt me. I know I shouldn’t be a dick and declare that all women are snakes, but damn. It’s hard to let my guard down.
She’s so sweet, perfect even…but aren’t many women like that on the surface? The women I used to date certainly were. It was after the walls came down that they showed who they really are. That I wasn’t good enough for him. Not rich enough. Maybe not even attractive enough. I don’t know. Whatever it was, all of my last serious girlfriends either cheated and ripped my heart out, or just ripped my heart out without the cheating.
I want to be nice to Livi. I want to kiss her again and tell her that I like how her hair smells like vanilla, how her skin is so soft and her smile just crushes me. My barriers are crumbling, but I’m not quite to the point where I could let my guard down completely. I still don’t know Livi all that well, nor does she have a lot of information on me, either.
My adamancy and vow to myself to keep away from women no matter the cost is really setting off a lot of wild fires in my life…unwanted ones at that. I know this can’t last forever. Am I going to end up alone if I never let anyone into my life because I can’t trust them?
Will I lose out on real love because I’m too blind to notice it when it’s staring right at me and knocking on the door to my soul? I’m so torn and feeling like my heart is divided and it’s tugging at me physically. All I know right now, in this moment in time, is that I most certainly do not want Livi to leave.
I don’t know why I want her to stay, I can’t explain it. I’m not sure what I’m afraid of losing if she’s gone but I know I don’t really want to find out either.
Okay, thanks.
Her text comes through, and I’ve been in my head so long that I forgot the last thing I had texted to her. I scroll up and read it. Ah, I told her she didn’t have to worry. The conversation feels like it’s over now, but I’m not ready for it to end. I want to keep talking, even if it is just in text. I want to blow off the rest of the work I have to do today and go sit with her on the couch.
I want to embrace her but I have to figure out how to do that without destroying the pillar of self-righteousness I’ve mistakenly built for myself.
Before I can think of a w
ay to keep the text conversation going, Chris walks back into the service shop, returning from his break.
“Hey man,” he nods his chin as he walks by me.
“Hey,” I acknowledge and then glance back down at my phone, my thumbs aching to talk to her again. I’m quiet for a moment, thinking. Chris steps in front of the bike I’m supposed to be working on.
“Dude?”
I glance up and Chris is staring at me as if I have two heads. I feel a little awkward, like he just walked in on me naked or something.
“Huh?” I shake my head and chuckle awkwardly. “I’m sorry…I’m just a little preoccupied.”
Chris laughs. “Dude, I can tell. You look like you just saw a ghost. Is everything alright?’
“Hmm?” I ask again. My friend and best mechanic is staring at me, but his words are fuzzy by the time they reach my ears.
Chris shifts his weight. “Is everything alright, Mason? Do you need me to go kick somebody’s ass for you?”
This snaps me out of my woozy state and I erupt into laughter. “No, thanks man…I’m good. I don’t need a bodyguard. Besides,” I give him a once over glance up and down. “I’m like a foot taller than you.”
“Hey man,” he points a finger at me but he’s smiling, used to the short jokes coming at him from all angles, not just from me. “That shit hurts.”
He pretends to pull a knife from his back, a fake wound that apparently, I’ve just inflicted. Well he needs to get in line, because I’m too busy unintentionally hurting Livi too even though he has no clue of that fact.
I shake my head and look at the ground. “I’m good, just a little busy,” I trail off in a soft voice.
“Well…let me know if you need any help…the offer is always open,” Chris says as he heads back over to his station in the shop.
I nod in agreement. “Thanks dude,” I tell him and start heading toward the door.
“Going somewhere, boss?” Chris raises an eyebrow.
I shrug. “I just need a little fresh air,” I tell him and leave out the back door of the service center. I need wrap my conversation up with Livi before it destroys me entirely. The afternoon is damp, sticky and humid. It’s going to be a long summer, at this rate. I lean up against the brick wall behind the shop and prop my foot up on it behind me.
If you really want, you can pay rent. I explain to Livi, hoping this will be enough to satisfy her for now. Plus, maybe if she’s paying rent then I’ll be able to separate her out of the romance area in my mind. I can think of her as a tenant. Just a simple business relationship, nothing more.
How much do you want me to pay? She responds.
I glance up at the sky and blow out an exasperated puff of air. I stop to watch as a blue jay floats and flutters from limb to limb in the tree just outside of the parking lot, in a field that sits behind Main Street.
I have no idea what would be a reasonable amount of money to charge for a room, so I low ball it at first. A hundred dollars a month, I text.
That’s kind of low, Livi responds.
I’m the land lord, I make the rules, I text back with a tongue sticking out emoji so she knows I’m not trying to be a prick here.
Lol.. okay thanks.
Her text makes me smile, and I run a hand through my hair with relief that she’s agreeing to this. Now we can close the book on this chapter and move on with life.
I head back into work, but I’m having trouble concentrating so I tell Chris I’m not feeling well and that I’m heading home for the evening. It’s only a partial lie … my head is swimming in exhaustion from the back and forth conversation with Livi earlier.
Once I pull into the driveway, I don’t even remember the ride home, that’s how cloudy my mind is by this point in the day. I walk inside the house and relish in the air conditioner that hits my face with a rush of cool, crisp gloriousness. It’s always hot in the shop no matter how many commercial grade fans I install.
I absentmindedly toss my keys on the counter like usual, but this time something catches my attention in the corner of my eye. I glance down at the counter and find an envelope with my name on the front. Opening it, I find a stack of twenty-dollar bills, five of them to be exact. Damn, this girl is punctual.
I smile and glance up, expecting to see Livi, but she’s not there. She sure didn’t waste any time getting money to me. She’s hell bent and determined, that much is certain. I shove the envelope in my pocket, and head back out the door. Now, adrenaline is pumping through my veins when I head back to the shop.
Jerry, the head guy in the auto parts section of my shop is confused to see me. “Hey boss,” he scratches the back of his bald head. “Thought you were sick?”
“I need four Micheline tires,” I tell him. “For an early 2000’s Toyota Corolla.”
“Sure thing boss,” he says and walks to the back to retrieve my order. We’re a motorcycle shop, but old man Mac used to sell car tires as well since the town is so small it didn’t have a tire shop. I decided to keep up the tradition, so we’ve got a ton of tires for nearly every type of car on stock.
I drum one hand on the counter while I cradle my hand on my chin with the other. It’s only a few minutes later that Jerry comes back with the tires on a wheel cart.
“Do you need help getting these to your car, boss?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’ve got it…but thanks.”
I head home with the fresh new tires for Livi. I’ve been noticing every time her car is in the driveway that she is in desperate need of new ones. The back two are nearly down to the wire, and I wouldn’t want anyone driving on tires like that, much less her.
Vouching to keep her safe, I smile with relief when I see her car in the driveway. I’m glad she’s home. I park next to it and leave the garage door closed. If she doesn’t hear it open, she won’t notice that I’m here. I pull the tires from the bed of my truck and get to work.
Chapter 21
I’ve been on my feet all day, but as I stand here at the front counter folding cupcake boxes, I know that my exhaustion doesn’t even hold a candle to that of Alexa’s.
“How are you holding up back there?” I call out to her behind my shoulder.
“I’m hanging in there,” Alexa chimes back with a pitiful laugh.
It’s close to closing time, and we have been working hard all day. I can’t wait to go home and put my feet up while watching a Lifetime movie or something.
“See you guys tomorrow.”
I glance to my left, where the weary voice just spoke. “Bye Keesha, have a great night,” I call out to her with a wave.
“Ugh,” she groans. “I wish. I have a bucket load of algebra homework calling my name.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.
“Yuck,” I agree. “Math has never been my thing.”
Keesha tosses her long braids over her shoulder. “Girl, me either. I can’t wait until this semester is over.”
“Well good luck,” I say and give her an enthusiastic yet sympathetic smile. “We’re pulling for you over here.”
Keesha chuckles and pushes open the double doors that lead out of the bakery and onto Main Street. “Thanks,” she says, and then she’s gone.
I admire Keesha. She can be kind of chatty at times, but she means well and she’s got ambition, not to mention a good head on her shoulders. Most teenagers are annoying, but this one is great. I know she has to help her mom out a lot with her three younger brothers and working at the bakery on top of school work has to be tough on her, but she never complains a bit.
“I’m out of to go order boxes,” I tell Alexa who’s still in the back, getting her custom cupcake orders into their own containers for delivery in the morning. She’s been working on them all day, cupcakes decorated like baseballs, basketballs and tennis balls for an opening ceremony at the local recreation department.
I start sweeping the front, trying to keep myself busy. I rode with Alexa today, so I can’t leave until she does, but we are hurdling toward the finis
h line now with ample speed.
“I’m done,” Alexa emerges from the back of the store, wiping her hands on her apron. 500 cupcakes have been prepared and are ready for delivery tomorrow.
“You are a wonder woman,” I tell her and give her a high-five.
“Thanks,” she says and wipes her brow, getting a smudge of flour on the top.
I take the liberty of wiping it away for her like a decent friend would do, and she giggles. “I’m a total wreck,” she says.
I give her a sour look. “No, you are wonder woman, remember?”
She rolls her eyes. “Right. How could I forget?”
Then she glances up at a display case above us on the counter in the front, by the windows beside the cash register. “That damn light is always going out,” she groans. “I guess I’m going to have to order a different kind that doesn’t have to be replaced every five minutes.”
I laugh. “Do you need any help?”
“Yeah,” she nods. “Can you go get me the box of lights in the back? They are in my office along with the step ladder.
“Sure thing,” I tell her with a smile and trek to the back on the mission.
Alexa sags against the counter, completely spent of energy for the day and I don’t blame her. I’m worn out too and I didn’t work nearly half as hard as she did today. I grab the lightbulb box and the step ladder and journey back to the front where Alexa waits patiently with her eyes resting and closed.
“Here you go,” I tell her and pick the broom back up because I have a couple of piles of dust and dirt I need to scoop up into the dust pan and throw away in the garbage container in the back.
“Thanks,” Alexa grabs the stuff for me and pulls open the step ladder.
“Be careful,” I tease her.
She laughs and yawns, stretching before peeling open the box containing the lightbulbs. “Well, things are looking up after all,” she chuckles.
“What is it?” I ask from my crouching position on the floor.
“We are down to the last of these crappy lightbulbs,” she notes. “That means I can order new ones. Better ones.
