309 Wildflower Falls Way

by Kate Hunt

  You might accuse me of being cynical. But my current aversion to relationships isn’t solely based on my own experience. It’s also been reinforced, time and time again, by the experiences of others. As a bartender, I’m constantly on the receiving end of hearing people’s woes—from men, from women, from people of all walks of life.

  I could tell you a thousand ways that someone could break your heart, but I’ll spare you the details.

  I know I’ve been exposed to an abnormal amount of tales of heartbreak. I also know, logically, that it’s not representative of the whole world—after all, people who are happily in love generally don’t feel the need to slide onto a barstool and gloat about it to a bartender.

  Still. Logical or not, I’m sticking to the bachelor life.

  Once again, my eyes shift from the road up to the rearview mirror, even though we’re nowhere near the auto repair shop anymore. I know I should have more restraint, but I can’t help myself. Despite all my effort to stop thinking about Aspen, my mind and my eyes keep getting pulled back to her.

  But when my gaze meets the mirror, it’s filled with Carter’s face, complete with a shit-eating grin.

  “You have a thing for her, don’t you?” he says.

  “Of course he does,” says Miles. “Look at his face, man. He’s flushed!”

  “Shut up,” I grunt.

  The guys both laugh.

  “Someone’s touchy.”

  “Someone’s in love.” Miles’s voice is rife with glee. “I call dibs on best man.”

  “What the fuck?” says Carter. “You can’t call dibs on best man, Miles. That’s not how it works. The groom decides who he wants. Right, Wells?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, exhaling a sigh. “I guess.”

  “You don’t know? You better look it up, dude. You’ve got a wedding to plan.”

  I roll my eyes and slow for the intersection we’re approaching. “All right. Where do you guys want to go?”

  When I told Aspen she wasn’t interrupting anything, I wasn’t just saying that to make her feel better. This is just what the guys and I sometimes do, drive around without a plan. It usually doesn’t lead anywhere very interesting. But even if we don’t end up doing anything aside from drive around, it’s better than just sitting around somewhere shooting the shit.

  And tonight was definitely better than just sitting around shooting the shit.

  Much better.

  Actually, now that I think about it, we came pretty close to not crossing paths with Aspen at all. A few minutes before seeing her walking alone on the road, I’d almost turned left instead of right onto Wildflower Falls Way. But at the last second, I’d changed my mind. There wasn’t any real reason for it. Just a feeling, I guess, that I should turn right instead.

  Almost as if I was being guided to her.

  I shake off the thoughts. Nah. There was nothing guiding me. I changed my mind, that’s all. It happens all the time. I crossed paths with Aspen because we randomly crossed paths. I found her attractive because, come on, she’s a beautiful girl. It doesn’t have to mean anything else. Doesn’t have to be some big thing.

  Not everything in life means something.

  Chapter Three

  ASPEN

  A n intoxicating whiff of warm butter and sugar fills my nose as I pull the baking sheet out of the oven. I quickly transfer the cookies to a cooling rack, then step out of the kitchen and walk over to check on the last table of the afternoon.

  “How was everything?” I ask the couple sitting in one of my booths. Butch and Daisy have been in here before; they’re an adorable couple.

  “Fantastic, as always,” says Daisy.

  “Agreed,” says Butch, slinging his arm around Daisy’s shoulder.

  It’s sweet how in love they obviously are. Honestly, I feel a little pang of jealousy. Who wouldn’t want to be crazy in love like that?

  “Glad to hear it,” I say as I clear away their plates. I also slip the check onto their table, which Butch pays right away, telling me to keep the change as he sets money down. They’re out of the booth and out the door before I can even get their dishes into the sink, Butch’s hand around Daisy’s waist and the sound of her love-filled giggle trailing after them.

  I get the dishes washed and a few things quickly organized, then check on the cookies again. They’ve cooled down enough, so I arrange them on a paper plate and cover it in some plastic wrap. Then I head out of the cafe—I close the cafe for an hour in the middle of the afternoon every day, a short break that allows me to catch my breath before the dinner rush—and lock the door behind me.

  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, but it’s necessary.

  Ever since Wells gave me a ride that day, I haven’t been able to shake a nagging feeling in my chest. I couldn’t figure out what it was at first. Then I finally realized it was because I felt indebted to him.

  And I hate being indebted to anyone, no matter how small the favor.

  I tried to reason with myself. It hadn’t been a big deal, him giving me a ride. He had insisted it wasn’t. But I couldn’t make the feeling in my chest go away, and so I eventually decided that my only option was to even things out.

  Now here I am, driving a plateful of homemade cookies over to him.

  The drive to the Holidaze Arcade and Bar is relatively quick, and I pull into a parking spot out front. When I walk into the building, I’m greeted with the bright sounds of the arcade. Local teens are hunched over the games, laughing and arguing with each other.

  It’s not really my kind of place, but I get the appeal.

  I weave my way through the arcade and make my way to the bar in the back. Understandably, at this time of day, it’s pretty empty. There are a couple people sitting at the tables along the wall, and a guy up at the bar getting a drink. Wells is behind the bar, sliding a beer across the counter. The man gives him a nod, then takes his drink and walks away.

  When Wells looks over and sees me, my heart involuntarily jackhammers in my chest.

  The other night, during that whole fiasco, I was mostly focused on clinging onto what little dignity I had left. I didn’t have the mental space to pay more than a fleeting amount of attention to Wells. Now that I’m more level-headed, though, there’s nothing distracting me from feeling the full effect of his attractiveness.

  God, he’s cute. Those tattoos, that man bun, that defined jawline…

  Huh. Maybe I do have the ability to swoon after all.

  “Aspen,” he says. I can’t help but notice how his face lights up. It makes me wish that I’d just sent him a thank you card in the mail or something instead. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I’m only here to even things out between us.

  “Hey,” I say, giving him a measured smile as I walk up to the bar and set the plastic-wrapped plate of cookies onto the counter. “These are for the other day. Thanks for helping me out.”

  He barely glances at the cookies. “You didn’t have to do that. But I won’t say no to freshly baked cookies, either. Thanks.”

  “Sure. All right. Well, I’ll see you later.”

  His smile fades. “What? You’re leaving already?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got stuff to do.”

  “Can’t it wait a little? Stay. Have a drink.” He grabs a glass. “It’s on me.”

  Ugh. Why does he have to be so goddamn persistent?

  My defiance must be obvious on my face, because when his eyes lift to mine again, the confidence in his smile eases a bit.

  “Please?” he adds. “Come on. It’s slow. I could use the company.”

  I feel my resolve soften. I am a little thirsty, but…“I’m driving.”

  “I make a mean virgin spritz.”

  Why am I being so stupidly stubborn about this?

  “Okay. One quick drink. But I’m paying for it.”

  I sit down on the bar stool in front of him and watch him make the drink. He pours some grapefruit juice and lime juice into a glass, adds a little cin
namon, and tops it off with club soda. Before serving it to me, he pops a bright pink cocktail umbrella over the lip.

  “I strike you as a pink umbrella kind of girl?” I say.

  “You want a green one instead?”

  “No. It’s fine.” I take a sip of the drink and nod. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” He claps a hand over his chest like he’s injured. “Damn. Harsh critic.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Okay. Fine. It’s very good.”

  He smiles and leans on the bar. Damn. Those dark blue eyes of his really are gorgeous…stop, Aspen.

  “So how are you?” he asks.

  “I’m fine. Busy with the cafe.”

  “But not too busy to bake me cookies, I see.”

  “I already had the batter made,” I reply with a shrug. Don’t want him to think I went out of my way to whip them up just for him.

  “Well, I can’t wait to devour them.”

  Something about him saying the word devour makes me feel a little…something…inside.

  “On a more serious note,” he says, “How’s your car? It running okay now?”

  “Yeah. I needed a new alternator. They got it fixed up pretty quickly, though.”

  “Good.”

  There’s an uproar of noise over in the arcade, and I glance over toward the games. There’s a group of kids gathered around one of the games, and several of them are giving each other fist bumps.

  “Want to play something?” Wells asks. “I can sneak away for a couple minutes.”

  I turn back to Wells with a scoff. “No way. You’d definitely beat me.”

  “Nah. I’d go easy on you.”

  “Um…” I can’t believe I’m actually considering it. No. I can’t play an arcade game with him. I’ll just make a fool of myself. Anyway, I have several errands to run before getting back to the cafe and opening it up for dinner. “Sorry. Now’s not a great time.”

  “Rain check?”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “What about tomorrow night?” he asks. His voice is a little softer now. “Forget the arcade. Can I take you to dinner?”

  The question ripples through me. I didn’t expect him to ask me out.

  I swallow. “I can’t. Sorry.”

  He looks disappointed, but he forces a smile. “Is that an I’m actually busy tomorrow sorry or an I don’t find you attractive, take a hint sorry?”

  “Um…” Shit. I’m at a loss for words.

  Silence spreads between us.

  “Hey, it was worth a shot, right?” he says, shrugging. “No hard feelings.”

  “Look, Wells, I—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, grabbing a rag to wipe down the bar. “No need to explain.”

  “I don’t date,” I blurt out. “That’s all. I promise it’s not you.”

  He laughs a little. “It’s okay, Aspen. You don’t have to make up an excuse.”

  “It’s not an excuse.” God, I feel awful. I don’t want to walk out of here ending things like this. “I’m being completely honest with you.”

  He’s been avoiding my eyes for the last several seconds, but he finally looks at me. The earnestness in my face finally seems to convince him, because he nods, understanding that I’m truly not bullshitting him.

  “Ironic thing is, I don’t usually date either,” he says. “Haven’t asked a girl out in a long time.”

  I grimace. “Sorry to shoot you down. I’m sure you’ll find another girl who’ll say yes.”

  Our conversation is interrupted by someone coming up to ask for another round. I wait while Wells tends to the customer, watching him as he dips a clean pint glass under the beer tap to fill it up. After he’s done and comes back over to me, I give him a gentle smile.

  “Thanks again for the spritz. And the ride.” I throw some cash on the counter as I stand up from the bar stool. “Best of luck with everything, Wells.”

  He looks like he wants to say something else—he looks like he wants to stop me from going. But he doesn’t say anything. He just nods. “You too, Aspen.”

  I leave, forcing myself to mentally go over the things I need to take care of over the next hour. But as I walk out of the bar, I also can’t help wondering if maybe I was in denial.

  Maybe that nagging feeling I had wasn’t about feeling indebted to him.

  It could have been a whole lot more simple than that.

  Maybe I just wanted to see him.

  Chapter Four

  WELLS

  “Damn it,” I mutter, squinting at the pipes as I shine my phone’s flashlight over them. “Where the hell is it coming from?”

  I exhale a sharp breath and pull my head out from beneath the kitchen sink in my apartment. How can the source of a leak be so hard to find? I know I’m not the handiest guy in the world, but when I noticed the leak this morning, I figured it was probably something I’d be able to fix myself.

  Besides, I need something to occupy myself with. I’ve been in a weird, restless mood ever since being turned down by Aspen. Guess I should have known something like that would happen. I go for years without asking a girl out, and when I finally find someone I actually want to date, she says no.

  I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Should’ve just let things be.

  Anyway. Point is, when I noticed the leak under my kitchen sink this morning, it was a welcome distraction. Apparently, though, I’m out of my depth. I haven’t been able to pinpoint the source of the leak, and now I’m feeling like even more of a failure.

  Can’t get a girl. Can’t fix a thing.

  I’ve never felt so useless.

  Annoyed, I use my phone to look for a video that might help. Searching for kitchen sink leak brings up an endless number of results. I watch the one with the most views, learn that it’s probably an issue with the sink drain, and that some plumber’s putty will likely do the trick.

  CHERRYWOOD LUMBER and Hardware is in the heart of town. Like a lot of storefronts around here, it has a welcoming exterior. I step inside and nod hello to the owner, Reuben Cantal. He’s busy with a customer, so I start walking down the aisles looking for the putty on my own.

  It’s not down the first aisle I check. Not in the second one, either.

  Down the third aisle, though, I finally find the putty up on the top of a shelf. I grab one of the containers and start toward the front of the store.

  At the end of the aisle, I round the corner quickly. Too quickly. I stop myself just in time to avoid smacking into someone walking by.

  “Sorry,” I say, my lips primed to give her an apologetic smile—and that’s when I see that it’s not just anyone. It’s—

  “Aspen,” I say. “Hey.”

  “Oh. Hi, Wells,” she says, her brows arching a little in surprise. She gives me a quick smile. Christ, she’s so pretty.

  “How’s it going?” I ask.

  “Fine,” she says. “Just picking up some paint for the cafe. The front door needs touching up. You?”

  I hold up the container of putty. “Kitchen sink leak.”

  She wrinkles her nose, which makes her even more adorable. “That sucks. Where’s the leak coming from?”

  I describe the problem to her. She listens and nods.

  “You’ll probably be better off using silicone caulk, actually,” she says.

  “Oh?”

  “It’ll cost you more, but it’s stronger. Plus you can use it for other projects, if anything else comes up in the future.” Her eyes track to the aisle behind me, and then she takes a few steps into it, reaching to pull a couple of tubes off the shelf. “This is a good one, but I’ve used this one, too.” She glances up at me again. “Did I just make things more confusing?”

  “No, I’m impressed. You know your stuff.”

  She shrugs. “My dad taught me.” She puts one of the tubes back and holds the other one out to me. “Here. I’ll make the decision easy. Get this one.”

  “All right. Cool.” I take it from her.

&n
bsp; “You still look unsure.”

  “Well,” I say, “thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s a drain leak, but I could be wrong. I dunno. Maybe I should just call a plumber.”

  Aspen looks like she’s about to say something else, then stops herself.

  “What?” I say.

  She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

  “All right. Now you have to tell me.”

  “I do, huh?” she says, breathing out a quick laugh before twisting her lips. “I was just...I was going to offer to take a look at your sink, if you want…”

  “Seriously? That’d be great,” I say. “Do you have the time?”

  She hesitates again. I can feel her uncertainty, her worry. I don’t know why she’s so guarded all the time, but I’m sure she’s got her reasons.

  I’m not going to push. I want her, but I’m not going to push.

  “Yeah. Today’s my day off,” she finally says. “I’ve got time.”

  “SORRY ABOUT THE bachelor-ness of the place,” I say as we walk into my apartment.

  Aspen seems unfazed as she glances around. The girl is hard to read, though, so who knows what she really thinks.

  “No, I like it,” she says evenly. “Good location, too. It must be nice being so close to everything.”

  “It is.”

  She nods. “So...”

  Right. The sink. For a few seconds, I’d forgotten why she was here in the first place. But I can’t forget that. Can’t let myself slip into thinking this is anything else.

  On the other hand, would she have offered to help if she really didn’t want to be around me?

  I can’t imagine she would.

  I show Aspen to my kitchen, and before I know it, she’s got her head under the sink. Only a handful of seconds later, she pops back out.

  “Yep,” she says. “You were right. It’s a drain leak. I’ll walk you through the steps.”

  We switch positions and she guides me through applying the silicone caulk. It’s not difficult, but it’s sure nice having her here to oversee the repair.