“No, I mean you should put it on the list.”
I try not to laugh. “You want an entire line dedicated to bacon?”
He nods, taking another guy-sized bite. When he swallows, he says, “And I want to try a fried Twinkie.”
I set my pen down, wondering if he’s losing it. “A fried Twinkie?”
“Remember when I went with Ava’s family to the Texas State Fair a couple years ago? I wanted to try one, but I knew what Ava would say, so I didn’t.”
“Are you serious?”
He stabs a fork into his cinnamon roll. “Too much? No more food on the list?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just…are you actually telling me you didn’t eat something because you didn’t think Ava would approve?”
It’s his turn to shrug.
“Try a fried Twinkie,” I say, jotting it down. “Don’t stop now. Keep ‘em coming.”
“I want to stay in a yurt.” He stretches out a leg, inadvertently bumping mine. Now his foot is right there, next to my foot. I should move, give him more room…but I don’t.
I meet his stormy blue eyes, which are looking slightly brighter than they were pre-bacon, and clear my throat. “Isn’t that one of those tent, cabin things?”
“Yeah, there are some near Flagstaff. You have to hike in.”
“All right…” I say to myself as I make a note of it.
“And I want to cut firewood.”
“You what?” I bark out a surprised laugh, unable to hold it back. The trio of older gentleman glare in our direction. I ignore them, but my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“For a campfire,” Kyle explains, ignoring the attention. “I want to go to Flagstaff, stay in a yurt, get a wood permit, and cut firewood.”
“Have you always had a secret desire to be a lumberjack and sleep in a yurt, or is this a new thing?” I take a sip of my orange juice, waiting for him to answer, genuinely hoping he’s not having some kind of mental breakdown.
He reaches across the table and steals my second piece of bacon. “Yeah, I think I’ve been harboring it for a while.”
“You’re kind of weird, Kyle Fisher. You know that?”
“You love me.”
The teeniest, tiniest giggle escapes me. He smiles, misinterpreting it for amusement instead of hysteria. The oblivious man has no idea.
Choosing to move quickly past it, I say, “What’s next?”
“I want to hunt for a geode.” He lets out a long sigh. “And play stupid, mind-numbing video games every once in a while. Also, I want to do Thanksgiving right this year.”
“Do it right?” I ask, confused for the first time. I get everything else on his list—it’s a whole bunch of stuff Ava wouldn’t want to do or eat. But what did she do to Thanksgiving? Kyle never mentioned it.
“You know,” Kyle says, “my dad’s appetizers. Your mom’s turkey, stuffing, and caramelized sweet potatoes. My mom’s pie.”
I exhale slowly, hit with memories. In seventh grade, we convinced our families to let us hop houses for Thanksgiving. We started at his house, did the main meal at mine, and then went back to his for dessert. It became a tradition, and it was easy because the Fishers lived right across the street.
“You missed that?” I whisper.
He watches me as he cuts another wedge off his cinnamon roll. “Didn’t you?”
So much.
I manage a nod and then write it on the list.
We sit in silence for a bit, each of us focusing on our breakfasts. Once Kyle has polished off the last of his cinnamon roll, he says, “I can’t think of anything else.”
Looking down, I draw a tiny flower on the corner of the napkin. “Nothing? You’re free, Kyle. You can’t think of anything else to add?”
“Like what?”
Shrugging, I say, “I don’t know. Go on a date…kiss someone.”
I’m forced to look up when he doesn’t answer. He meets my eyes, that strange expression on his face again, and then he jerks his chin toward the napkin. “Add them.”
I do as he asks, and then I set the pen down. “There’s something else you need to do, but it’s not for the list.”
“Okay…”
“I’m not sure how you’re going to take it,” I admit.
“Just spit it out.”
“You need to give Ava back her stuff.”
If I didn’t think it would help him, I wouldn’t have said it. I’ve kept my mouth shut for five years; I could keep it closed now. But he needs to do this if he’s going to move on.
Kyle is quiet, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. I peek at him, wondering how he’s taking it. He just looks…sad.
We don’t add anything else to the list. It ends up being twenty-five items long. That’s twenty-five things Kyle felt he couldn’t do while he was dating Ava.
I leave the napkin on the table, where it’s destined for the trash. It did its job—it cheered him up, even if only a little. But just before we walk through the front doors, Kyle goes back to the table and grabs it. Without saying a single word, he folds it several times and shoves it in his pocket.
I raise my brows, wondering what the heck that was about, and then follow him into the parking lot.
“Where to?” I ask.
Kyle meets my eyes over the top of the car. “I want to buy a mountain bike.”
“Really?” I ask, more than a little surprised. “Right now?”
He frowns, looking determined and slightly bitter. “I happen to have an extra couple thousand dollars in my pocket. Might as well put it to good use.”
The ring.
I watch him, wondering if I should discourage him from making a rash decision when he’s not in the best state of mind, but it’s his money. If this is what he wants to do, why not? And maybe it will help.
“Okay,” I say, unlocking the car. “Let’s buy you a bike.”
* * *
“Hold still,” Kyle says as he plops a helmet over my hair, smooshing my bangs over my forehead.
“You know, I can buckle it myself,” I inform him as he adjusts the helmet’s straps.
He’s a little too close for my sanity. The very last thing Kyle needs right now is me losing all self-control, wrapping my hand around his neck, and dragging his mouth to mine. Especially right here in the bike store, surrounded by all these expensive things. I’d hate to bump into the racks and topple the bikes over domino-style.
“Kaylee?”
I blink and immediately swat Kyle’s fingers from the sensitive skin under my chin. “What?”
“You with me?” His smile is a little more genuine than earlier, which is a good sign. I’ve gotten his mind off Ava, at least a little bit. “You look like you’re daydreaming.”
Daydreaming? Me? No.
“I just imagined how sexy I must look in this helmet,” I say, lying through my teeth.
He tries to hide a smile. “The sexiest.”
And just like that, wildfire blooms in my stomach, consuming me. He was only joking, but my body doesn’t seem to care. My knees wobble, and I can feel a flush rising up my neck.
Kyle narrows his eyes and presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh. “Are you blushing?”
“No. What? No.” I don a solemn expression as I pull off the stupid helmet. “It’s hot in here. Isn’t it hot in here?”
“Not particularly.”
I take a step back, hoping to put some space between us, and end up bumping into one of the bikes. It starts to wobble, but before I cause a scene, Kyle simultaneously snakes an arm around my waist, jerking me forward, and steadies the bike with his other hand.
And just like that, I’m in his arms.
My brain short circuits because the last time I let myself get this close, he was high school sized. And now he’s…
Well, he’s all grown up. Kyle is lean and muscular, and his frame feels solid against me. He’s tall, and I’m not, and I’m enjoying this way too much.
To make matters
worse, somehow in the incident, my hand flew to his chest, and it’s just resting there, over the cotton of his tee, wanting to explore.
I’ll bet he has nice abs.
It’s a rogue thought, completely unbidden.
The six-pack type. Ribbed, like a washboard.
“Sorry,” I murmur, but if it’s for almost causing a scene or because I still haven’t moved my hand, I don’t know.
“Kaylee?” Kyle says slowly, his tone a little off.
I stare at the collar of his shirt. “Hmmm?”
“What are you doing?”
I go still. My fingers may have wandered a bit—nothing unseemly, mind you. Just a little casual inspection to make sure Kyle wasn’t injured when he heroically grasped hold of me and pulled me flush to his broad, manly chest.
“Nothing,” I say.
Why isn’t he letting me go? When I finally get the nerve to look up, I find a very strange look on Kyle’s face.
“Hi there, my name is Matthew,” an overly helpful, and incredibly unwanted, salesman interrupts, popping up from out of nowhere. “Looks like you two are in the market for a couple bikes?”
5
I make sure Kaylee is steady, and then I step away from her like she burned me. Guilt punches me in the gut, making me question whether I’m going to lose my breakfast. Yesterday, I proposed to my girlfriend of five years, and today I’m…
What am I doing exactly? I didn’t need to grab Kaylee around the waist and pull her against me like Tarzan, but it felt good, so I did it. I certainly didn’t need to trap her there and stare at her mouth. It’s the stupid kiss idea she put in my brain. Granted, she didn’t say I should kiss her, but you know that’s where my mind went.
The whole list is trouble. Kaylee said it was an “exercise,” something to get my mind off the epic disaster that is my life, but it’s infiltrated my thoughts. I should be mourning the loss of Ava, not celebrating my freedom—a freedom I didn’t want or ask for. Why I saved the stupid thing, I’ll never know.
Without a word, I walk past the salesman and out of the store. I run my hand through my hair, heading for Kaylee’s car.
She’s on my heels a moment later, but she doesn’t demand to know what’s wrong. In fact, she doesn’t say anything, which is beyond unnerving. Giving me space, she starts the car and heads back to my place. When she pulls into the drive, I stare out the windshield.
It feels like I should apologize, but what am I supposed to say? That I’m sorry I wondered what it would be like to kiss her? That being with her has helped dull the pain, and part of me wanted more?
I won’t use Kaylee as a rebound—she means too much to me for that.
Pressing my palm to my forehead, I try to rub away a looming tension headache and swing my door open. After the scene I made in the bike shop, I don’t expect Kaylee to follow me into the house, but she’s right behind me.
I walk into the kitchen and pour a glass of water from the fridge, keeping my back to her to hide my confusion.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” she says softly.
When I can’t avoid any longer, I turn to face her.
She leans her back against the counter, her face tilted up to the ceiling. “If I made it worse, if I made you uncomfortable, I swear I didn’t mean to.”
I guess we’re doing this—and of course we are. Kaylee is a talker, especially when she’s nervous or upset.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She takes a deep breath and looks down. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, and I hate it. She’s my best friend, but I’m not good at reading her anymore, not like I was at one time.
And I guess that’s my fault.
Pushing away from the counter, she walks toward me. I don’t draw away when she wraps her arms around my middle and presses her cheek against my chest. “Are we okay?”
I return the hug and rest my chin on top of her head. “Oh, Kaylee,” I say with a sigh. “We’re the only okay thing in my life right now.”
6
One Month Later
I open the refrigerated storage room, smiling at the buckets of newly delivered chrysanthemums. They’re my favorites, and with Thanksgiving this week, we’re just about out of the season. Soon it will be all about holly, poinsettias, and evergreens.
Today, however, I have fifteen autumn-themed arrangements to make, and I intend to put the mums to good use.
After checking the inventory, I walk to the front, looking to see if we have any more of the gold and orange ribbon left. The front door opens, making the overhead bell jingle. Kyle walks in, handsome in his long-sleeve tee and worn Diamondbacks baseball hat. He smiles when he spots me, and then he browses the prepared arrangements, waiting for me to come to him.
“Your lunch date is here,” June teases from behind the register. Thank goodness she’s quiet enough Kyle doesn’t hear. “Go on. It’s slow enough you can leave a little early.”
I’ve worked here since high school, and June is like a grandmother to me. Originally from LA, she was an event coordinator for thirty-five years. When she retired, she moved here and opened this floral shop off Main Street. I started working here just a few months later, and I returned again after I finished college.
I never thought I’d grow up to be a florist, but now I can’t imagine a different profession. I enjoy working with flowers. I love making customers smile and brightening their days. No, I don’t make a lot of money, but it’s enough. And I’m happy here.
I shoot my boss a grateful look and meet Kyle near the door.
“The windows look nice,” Kyle says, nodding toward the new displays we put up this morning. June’s Christmas village is nestled into a bed of cottony faux snow, and Zachary from the sporting goods store came by this morning and painted sparkling snowflakes on the glass.
“I thought you had a group to take out today,” I say.
“It got moved to tomorrow.”
The Jeep tour business slows a bit this time of year, but it usually picks up again after Christmas, especially if we have a mild winter.
“When is your lunch break?” he asks.
“June says I can go now.”
Kyle gives June a wave, and then we’re out the door, heading down Main Street. A city worker stands on a ladder, hanging big red bows on the streetlights. Several of the shops are working on their window displays, and the bakery must be baking their pie orders because the smell of pumpkin, cinnamon apples, and spices wafts from their front door.
We walk to the café, where we usually go if Kyle joins me for lunch, and I greet familiar faces on the way. The shop owners and their staff are mostly friendly with each other, probably because we’re all small and local, and we bump into each other every day.
“Hey, Kaylee,” Sydney says as she steps out of her candy shop. “Hi, Kyle.”
“Are you closing up?” I ask her.
“Yep.” She locks the door behind her. “Our flight leaves at eight tonight.”
“Have a good trip.”
“Thanks, Kaylee. You guys have a happy Thanksgiving.”
Kyle and I haven’t talked about the holiday again. Neither of us has even brought up the list or any of the things on it. It was a diversion and nothing more.
We reach the café and order our usual—soup of the day for me and a bacon cheeseburger for Kyle. (Okay, he’s not ignoring everything on the list. He’s killing the bacon thing.)
The place is busy today, crowded with people here for Beverly’s hot apple cider and other seasonal goodies.
“You find us a seat, and I’ll get the drinks,” Kyle says.
I nod and say, “excuse me,” and, “pardon me,” a dozen times as I weave through the people waiting near the counter for their to-go orders.
Luck must be with me today because a couple vacates one of the tall two-person tables in the corner, and I make a beeline to it before someone else can swipe it.
Kyle gives me an approving nod when he spots me. “Good job,
” he says, setting our drinks on the table.
As always, I take a long sip of his Cherry Coke before I sit back with my own unsweetened iced tea.
He shakes his head, amused. “You know, you could get your own next time.”
“It’s too sweet to drink a whole cup of it.” I then proceed to dump three sugar packets in my tea.
He usually teases me, but today he watches me without comment, looking oddly pensive—as though there’s something on his mind, but he’s not sure where to start.
“What?” I stir the sugar with my straw, impatiently waiting for it to dissolve.
“I want to complete the list.”
I jerk the straw so violently; I end up knocking over the cup. Tea spills across the table and pours onto the floor like a miniature waterfall dotted with icebergs.
“Kaylee!” Kyle exclaims, trying not to laugh.
Of course, everyone notices.
“Don’t step in that,” a woman says to her daughter as they shuffle past.
A man at the next table over asks, “Do you need some napkins?”
Before I can answer him, a young mom says from the table on the other side, “Don’t feel bad. My kids do it all the time.”
Her son watches me from his booster seat, waving a plastic fork in the air.
Everyone else just gawks at me.
Five super awkward minutes—and one disgruntled server with a rag—later, I have a new cup of tea, the floor and table are mostly dry, and I’m ready to try this conversation again.
“Now, what were you saying?” I ask.
Looking self-conscious even though I’m the one who made a fool of myself, he balls up his straw wrapper. “The list. I want to complete it.”
“Really?” I take a long sip of my tea. “I didn’t really mean it to be a to-do list. I just wanted you to see your life wasn’t over because…”
Ava left you.
Right, I probably shouldn’t mention that. Kyle is still pretty raw about the whole thing. You can’t expect a guy to get over five years in four short weeks.
“Do you even have it? I don’t remember what was on there.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he reaches into his jacket pocket and produces the napkin.
27 Ways to Mend His Broken Heart Page 3
