by Piper Rayne
“You never wear this shit anyway, figured I could use it again.” He gives me the grin that made me fall in love with him and I hate him a little for it.
“Keeping both balls in play as it were?” Ha, pun intended. “That way, if I didn’t bite, at least you’d have some back up bling for the new girl? I think that officially categorizes you as a shit-pile, judges?” I glance around as if we have an audience and then look him square in the eyes. “Let’s face it, even if I did want your stupid ass back, I’d have to soak you in bleach and light you on fire to get rid of the cooties at this point.”
“Freya, I know you’re angry, you should be, bu-” his mollifying tone is annoying and I cut him off.
“You know what, Scott? As long as everything in your pocket is something you bought, and nothing of my mothers, I don’t even care. Take it. But I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”
“You know I wouldn’t take anything of your mother’s, Freya.” Scott actually looks hurt. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed. I think we both just need some time away. A little freedom. I’ll give you a call next time I’m in town, we can talk.”
“I’ve said everything I need to, don’t call me,” I whisper, the fight leaving me. I’ve gotten all the anger out and now I’m just sad. My eyes fill with tears and I stare hard at the floor, trying to will them away. I hear him walk closer and his shoes appear in my line of sight at the same time as he folds me into a hug. And I let him because I’m a noodle and he’s familiar and I’m sad. He holds me for a long minute, gives me an extra squeeze, then kisses the top of my head like I’m five. Seriously? Moment over. Planting both hands on his chest I shove him away.
“Goodbye, Freya.” Scott mutters. He turns and walks out the door without looking back.
6
Enrique
The work never ends. I’m glad of it, because now that I’ve seen her, all my mind wants to do is replay every minute I’ve ever spent with Freya on a loop. The sun in her hair. Her lips on mine. That night up in the loft. Her face in the rear view mirror the day I left her without saying goodbye...that broke me.
I was just a fucking kid. Freya and I spent that night together and I helped her sneak back through her window before the sun rose the next morning so her Aunt didn’t have a fit. Later that same morning I called my older brother, Marcel. He was in the military at the time, just starting a career in the Marines.
“Mar, I met a girl.”
“That’s nice kid, hope it’s nothing serious.” At his words my heart sank.
“I don’t know, I mean, I like her...a lot.” I loved her.
“I’ve only got a couple minutes to talk, so I’ll make this quick,” Marcel’s voice grated down the line. “You don’t need a woman yet, you’re too young and you’ve got too much to do with your life. You hear me? It’s over, walk away now before you can’t.” I heard him hold the phone away and tell someone he’ll be done in a minute.
“I gotta go,” I mumbled into the phone.
“Okay kid, I love you, you know. Just want what’s best.” He disconnects before I have time to respond. An hour later I get a call from my dad, telling me I need to come home early. We never talked about it, but I knew Marcel told him I was in over my head. They both had big plans for me to be a Marine too. We had a rough couple of years when I didn’t fall in line and went to college instead.
That’s all it took. I was too young, I did what they said and packed my shit. Said goodbye to my grandma and got in my car. As I was driving away Freya was coming up the street to see me. She waved and I ignored her, ripping off the band aid. I saw the smile fade from her lips as she watched me leave. Heard the sadness in her voice when she left messages on my phone. Cried when I read the one letter she sent.
The few times I went back to Edmundston after that, Freya was gone, off at college, travelling. Then my grandma moved off the farm to a retirement community close to my family, and that...was that.
Forgetting her was easy. That’s what I told myself everyday until I felt like it was true, it was a lie, of course, I don’t think you ever forget your first love. I dated, even got engaged once a couple years ago. Freya became a memory of the best time of my life and the worst I’ve ever felt. The heartache felt like a rite of passage.
All that crap crashed around my ears when I saw her blue eyes blazing with emotion as she yelled at me by her car. Married or not, I have to talk to her, have to tell her I’m sorry, have to salvage what I can, even if it means we can only be friends. The idea of being friends with Freya is almost laughable. She’s Freya. My heart broke over that girl.
Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s almost midnight. Walking to the shop in the back of the building, I hang up the tools I’m done with and glance out the little window over the bench.
Freya’s car is parked behind her shop.
I’m out the door and across the alley before I even think about what I’m doing. Lights are glowing, one in what looks like a little office window and then in the bigger front room.
I don’t want to startle her, but I want to talk to her, so I walk up the alley towards the front of the shop. As I reach the front door, I look through the glass in time to see Freya walking up the center hall towards me, swaying slightly. The more remarkable details would be that she’s carrying a bottle of whiskey...and wearing a wedding dress.
Freya’s eyes widen in surprise as they meet mine and then she gives me a playful smile and raises the bottle in a silent toast. Taking a drink, she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and walks over to the door. Unlocking the deadbolt, she steps back, letting me open the door without hitting the dress. I let the door fall shut behind me and we stand there staring at each other for a moment. She slowly holds out the bottle. I take it, noting the label, it’s really good stuff.
“Sorry it’s not beer,” Freya says softly.
I smile, taking a drink and enjoying the smooth burn as it rolls down my throat.
“This is special occasion stuff,” I hold the bottle out and she takes it, staring at the label.
“Not anymore,” Freya snorts delicately, “believe me, apart from the price, there is nothing special about it now.” She takes another drink, swirling the skirt around as she turns and walks over to a blue velvet couch placed strategically facing a little platform and a wall of mirrors. Acres of white dress fluff out around her as she sits.
“What happened, Freya?” I ask her quietly, my throat tightening when she looks down at the bottle in her hands and I see tears start spilling down her cheeks. I don’t know what to do with all that dress in the way, so I walk over and drop to my knees in front of her. Taking the bottle out of her hands, I set it aside and pull her into my arms.
Freya buries her face in my neck and her tears wet my shirt. As her shoulders heave, I feel her arms wrap around my waist and it’s a painful moment of happiness. I hate like everything to see her hurting, but my heart felt lighter the moment I touched her again. We sit that way for a long time. Finally, she leans back, sniffing quietly and looking away.
“So, a little p-erk of owning a bridal shop is getting to p-lay dress up whenever you want,” her voice hitches around her tears as she tries to lighten the mood, “usually it ch-eers me up.” I laugh softly.
“Why are you sad, Freya?” I watch her face until her eyes meet mine, her nose is red and she’s got spots of pink on her cheeks. She’s beautiful.
“Because I’m alone,” she whispers softly, then takes a deep breath and blows it out. “I’m sad because it’s almost Christmas and I signed divorce papers this morning. I’m sad because my ex is a dick that came back hoping to patch things up when things stopped being all roses with his side chick.” She covers her cheeks with her hands, staring at me. “I’m sad because I thought I would never see you again. Getting over you was awful and everyone I love leaves me and I don’t know what to do.”
7
Freya
Ricky stands and turns, walking towards the front window and s
taring out at the light snow that’s beginning to fall. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns back to me, intensity burning out of his eyes.
“I didn’t want to leave you, Freya. I can’t begin to tell you how fucking sorry I am.” He grates out, looking back at the snow. “I was a stupid kid. I loved you but I let my family decide that I was too young.”
“Why couldn’t you answer even one of my calls?” My voice is a thready whisper, I don’t want to cry again. He loved me.
“I told myself it would be easier for both of us if it was a clean break,” Ricky mutters. “Truth is I was scared.”
“Scared of what? That I would cry or yell? I might have.” I’m getting angry and I don’t want to, it’s exhausting and I’m tired. I stand up, ready to walk down the hall and put this stupid dress away.
“Scared that if I heard your voice again my heart would be in pieces,” his voice is hoarse, as if he’s holding back tears of his own. “We were eighteen. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like that, you were supposed to be a memory of this girl I met one summer.”
“What changed?” I whisper, my heart aching.
“Everything. The minute I saw you again.” Ricky crosses the room in two steps, one arm sliding around my waist, he pulls me close. His other hand holds my face for just a second as he looks in my eyes, then winds into my hair and he’s kissing me.
My heart is thundering in my chest as our lips move together, my hands roaming his chest, turned on by the strength of him, the heat. Bunching my hands in his shirt, I pull him even closer, biting his lip gently, delighting in the feel of his whiskers as they scrape along my cheek. He breaks the kiss with a gasp and we’re both breathing fast as his eyes find mine. He smiles and lowers his head to kiss me again. When his lips meet mine and he kisses across my jaw to my ear, my whiskey-fogged brain has a moment of clarity and I push him away.
“Ricky I can’t do this, not right now,” I stare at him, hoping he’ll understand. He runs his hand through his hair and steps back, his eyes on mine. “I just, I’ve had a lot happen today...if I start something with you, I don’t want it to be because I was lonely and sad.” Ricky laughs softly.
“I don’t want your kisses if they’re lonely or sad, Freya. Kiss me when you’re ready. I’ll wait for you.” He reaches for my hand. Lifting it to his lips, he brushes a kiss across my knuckles. “We’re not kids anymore.”
“Will you stay and drink with me?” Ricky’s eyebrows lift in surprise at my question and I continue quickly. “It’s just that...that whiskey is Scott’s favorite. I bought the bottle for our anniversary...which would have been tomorrow.” I lift my chin, determined to stop feeling sorry for myself. “So instead, I’m drinking it. Because fuck him. I’m giving myself one last night to feel crappy and sad. I’m going to be honest...you kind of ruined that because, well, kissing you made me really fucking happy.” Ricky’s laughter fills the room and he walks over and picks up the bottle.
“After you left, I’d been a trainwreck for about a week when my Aunt Amelia had had enough. She told me I was ‘nuttier than a fruitcake’ if I was going to let some boy break my heart,” I giggle into the bottle, taking another drink and passing it to him.
“Nuttier than a fruitcake, huh?” Ricky nods, “that’d be about right...I wasn’t worth it,” he sighs, taking a drink. I bump my shoulder into him, laughing. We’re sitting on the tailgate of his truck in the back of the brewery. The big doors are open so we can watch it snow. I put the wedding dress away and changed back into my sweater and jeans. Ricky wrapped me in a blanket, keeping an arm tucked around me.
“You were too,” I murmur, “although I’d probably have to actually have tried fruitcake once in my life to be sure, maybe it’s not that nutty.” Good gravy, I have completely stopped making sense. Time for bed Freya.
“I’ve never tried it either,” Ricky pauses, thinking, “isn’t that the cake that really wanted to be a granola bar when it grew up?”
“That’s the one.” I laugh.
“So item number one on Freya’s Christmas list is fruitcake,” Ricky laughs with me. “What else do you want from Santa this year?”
“Hmmm,” I tap my lips with one finger so he knows I’m thinking, I’m drunk, I should go to bed before I say or do something irretrievably stupid. “Muchas smoochas.” Oops, too late, why, brain, why?
“Muchas smoochas?” Ricky’s voice is shaking with laughter. “I’d like to help with that one.”
“Yep,” I nod, way too many times, because my mouth has taken the reins at this point. “Lots of kisses. Muchas smoochas is probably not right, how do you say it in Spanish?”
“I have no idea.”
“Um...don’t you speak Spanish?”
“Nope.” He shrugs.
“Your name is Enrique.” I emphasize, as if he’s just not understanding me.
“Yeah, that’s just because my grandma spoke Spanish and my mother was hooked on telenovelas. She thought it sounded romantic.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Your name is Freya, do you speak Viking?” I choke in the middle of taking a drink and splutter for a second and then we’re both laughing.
8
Enrique
We finished the bottle hours ago and stayed up to watch the sun rise. The snow has stopped and a beautiful layer of powder coats everything. Freya snuggles close to my side, and I realize she’s fallen asleep. I yawn so hard my jaw creaks. Reaching for my phone, I shoot a quick text to Jake to leave the third floor alone today. Gathering Freya up in my arms, I carry her upstairs.
As I lay her on the bed, her hair fans out on the pillow and my heart beats faster. Reaching down, I carefully pull off her boots and her socks. She stirs and I glance up at her face. Her eyes open, she looks around blearily until she sees me. She smiles, not really awake, definitely not sober yet.
“Thanks,” she whispers. Sitting up briefly, she shucks her sweater, leaving on a light pink t-shirt and then pops the buttons on her jeans and shoves them off her hips. My mouth goes dry as she shimmies out of her jeans, kicking them off her feet, leaving only a tiny pair of white lace underwear covering her perfect skin. Jesustakethewheel she’s beautiful. Ripping my eyes away from her, I tuck her in as she sighs and snuggles into the blankets.
I stare at her for another minute and then turn to my recliner with a sigh. Kicking off my boots, I grab a blanket off the back of the chair. I start to settle in when I hear her voice again.
“I could really use a big spoon...if you want to...”
“I want to,” I whisper back. Stopping to consider, I pull off my own sweater and jeans, then grab a t-shirt and shorts, putting them on quickly. Lifting up the blankets, I slide in behind her, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her in close. Her hand covers mine and within a minute or so, her breathing evens out and she falls asleep. I lay there for a while, savoring the feel of her body next to mine, the softness of her skin, the smell of her hair. I’ve been given a second chance, I’m not going to let her go again.
Sun is still shining through the skylights on the roof when I wake up next, smiling because Freya is still beside me. She’s facing me now, her head on my shoulder as I lay on my back. She sighs in her sleep, one of her legs sliding up mine to rest across my thigh. I suppress a groan, wanting to wake her up with my lips on her skin.
I can hear Jake downstairs, hollering directions to the crew as they wrestle an exhaust fan into place in the kitchen. I should be down there helping, but I’m not moving a muscle until Freya wakes up. I doze off again, waking when I feel her shifting next to me.
I keep my breathing even, wanting to see what she’ll do. Freya carefully pulls away from me and gets out of bed, her bare feet quiet as she pads across the floor. I hear her walk into the new bathroom, water running. A few minutes later she comes back to the bed, there’s a pause, then she crawls under the covers. I feel her fingers slide under my shirt and play up my ribs, her touch light against my skin. I roll up on my side, reaching for her to pull her close. My f
ingers skimming across the smooth skin of her back elicit a tiny moan from Freya as I realize her t-shirt is gone.
I look down at her, hair tousled by sleep, heat burning in her gaze, and I’m not even a little bit tired anymore. Reaching back, I quickly pull my shirt over my head, tossing it on the floor. Freya hums with appreciation, smiling at me before her eyes slide closed and our lips meet. I kiss her hard, rolling her to her back as I hold my weight off of her, hungry for every inch of her skin.
Freya gives it all back, I feel her teeth on my lip, her fingers tugging on my hair, her body moving under mine. Her leg slides around my hip, bringing me even closer and I break the kiss with a groan as I rock my hips forward.
“Ricky, I want you,” Freya moans softly, her lips finding my neck. ...if I start something with you, I don’t want it to be because I was lonely and sad… Her words from last night echo through my brain. I pull back, looking at her carefully. She looks back up at me, lips parted in a smile.
“How’re you feeling?” If I just killed her mood I am going to throw myself off a bridge...but I have to know. Freya stares at me for a second before she hears the question I’m really asking and smiles.
“Excited...horny...not even a tiny bit sad or lonely.” Freya smiles, giggling when I bury my face in her neck, tickling her with my beard. Her giggles turn into gasps of pleasure when I grind against her, her nails digging into my back as she rocks her hips. I kiss a path down her belly, stopping to nuzzle the soft skin under her breasts and she squeals. Giving her bellybutton a playful lick, I reach down and shove my shorts off my hips, kicking them to the side.
I’m leaning in to kiss her again when I pause, glancing at the boxes on the floor. Trying hard to remember exactly which one might hold the stuff I was planning to put in the new bathroom cabinet...specifically condoms.
