Drive Me Wild

by Melanie Harlow

  I had to admit, a lot of our relationship had been about the sex. But all of it?

  I thought back to other times, moments that didn’t have anything to do with sex. Sweet, thoughtful things he’d said or done. Helping me out of the truck. Refusing to let me sleep in my car. Teaching me how to jump a dead battery. Doing the dishes after we cooked dinner together. Encouraging me to chase my dreams. Telling me things about his dad. Confiding in me about the sadness he felt after the miscarriage.

  Was all that a lie?

  Damn it, Griffin, I thought, wiping away tears. Which version of you is real? The tough, temperamental asshole who tore my heart out last night and stomped on it? Or the good guy with the big heart hiding behind protective defenses?

  I had to face the fact that I might not ever know.

  Around noon, I put on some lipstick, stuck my sunglasses on to cover my red, swollen eyes, and dredged up the courage to go down to the garage and tell Griffin goodbye. I’d heard back from Frannie, and her husband Mack would be in Bellamy Creek around five o’clock to pick me up. Until then, I’d find somewhere to wait that wasn’t full of memories of the two of us.

  Carrying a folder under one arm, I entered the lobby. At the desk was a platinum blond woman I didn’t recognize, chewing gum and filing her nails. “Hi there,” she said. “If you’re looking for the baked goods, we don’t have any this morning, not even if you pay me.”

  “Uh, I’m Blair,” I said. “You must be Lanette?”

  Her eyes went wide. “You’re Blair?”

  “Yes.” I set the file folder on the counter. “I just wanted to drop this off. Inside are all the details for the anniversary event. You’ll find—”

  “Do you know how many people came in here looking for you this morning?” Lanette shook her head, her bob swinging. “Like, a hundred. You are very popular.”

  “That’s nice, but—”

  “I thought Mr. Frankel was going to cry when I said you’d quit.”

  “Quit?”

  “That’s what Griffin told me when he called. He said your car would be ready today so he thought you might be heading out of town sooner than expected. You’ve got another job somewhere or something?”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling confused. My car would be ready today?

  “He also made me promise I wouldn’t call his mother and say anything about you leaving. Paid me an extra twenty for it too.” She tilted her head. “Are you okay, honey? You look kinda pale.”

  “Is Griffin here?” I asked, glancing at the door to the garage.

  “I assume so. You want me to go get him?”

  “Yes, thank you. If he’s not too busy, I need to speak with him.”

  “Sure thing.” She hurried from behind the desk into the service bay.

  A moment later, she appeared again. “He says he’ll be right out.”

  “Thank you.” I faced the window, looking out at the sidewalk and trying to keep my composure.

  A few minutes later, I heard his voice.

  “Blair.”

  I turned to see Griffin standing there in the doorway, tall and solid as a fortress. His blue eyes were bloodshot, his hands curled into fists, but his expression gave nothing away.

  “Lanette, could you give us a minute?” he asked.

  Clearly hoping to witness some drama, Lanette’s face fell. She put her purse over her shoulder. “I guess I’ll take lunch now. I’ll be in the break room.”

  When we were alone, Griffin cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Your car is ready. It’s in the lot. Keys are on the front seat.”

  “That’s what Lanette said. I don’t understand.”

  “The parts came in yesterday.”

  It still didn’t make sense. “But when did you do the work?”

  “Last night. I couldn’t sleep, so I came down here and got it done.”

  “You worked all through the night?” That explained the bloodshot eyes. On closer inspection I saw the dark circles too. The sallow complexion.

  He shrugged. “I figured you’d want the option to leave as soon as possible.”

  The crazy thing was, I didn’t. I wanted to fly at him, beat on his chest, fight back, force him to admit I’d meant something to him. I wanted to try again to convince him that what we had was worth a shot.

  But I was too afraid of being rejected again. Realistically, he’d probably worked through the night to get rid of me as quickly as he could.

  “What do I owe you for the repairs?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Griffin, please. Tell me what I owe you.”

  He shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. “You don’t owe me anything, Blair.”

  My lower lip trembled. When he said my name softly like that, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  I pushed my sunglasses up on my head. “I’m not pregnant.”

  He looked relieved. “Are you sure? Already?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well . . . that’s good.”

  “Yes. But to answer your question, no. I’m not okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, moving close enough that I could smell the motor oil on him. “I wish things could be different.”

  “Me too.” I laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “I wish so many things. Mostly, I wish the man I thought you were really existed.”

  “He does,” Griffin said, his eyes full of torment. “He just can’t give you what you want.”

  “I feel like I must have imagined everything,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “Imagined that you cared about me.”

  “You didn’t imagine it.”

  I shook my head. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

  “Because it’s the truth.” He took me by the shoulders. “I’m sorry about what I said last night. It wasn’t just sex, okay? It was a lot more than that, but you have to go now.”

  “Why?” I said, tears splashing down my cheeks. “If you feel something for me, why are you sending me away?”

  “Goddammit, Blair.” He crushed his mouth to mine, and in his kiss I felt desperation and agony, a heartbreak that rivaled my own. He broke it off abruptly. “You have to go,” he repeated, breathing hard. “I made a mistake keeping you here so long.”

  “What do you mean, keeping me here?”

  “Nothing.” He stepped back from me. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  “I don’t understand you, Griffin. If it’s so hard to say goodbye, why do it at all? Why can’t we give this a chance?”

  “Because we just can’t!” he yelled. “We’re not the same, okay? We’re too different. From different worlds. It never would have worked. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “That’s bullshit. I left my superficial world behind looking for someplace better. Someplace real. Someplace that would welcome me with open arms and make me feel like I belonged. Someplace that made me feel loved.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I hope you find it.” Then he shouldered past me and pulled the door open.

  What choice did I have?

  He was holding the door open for me to leave.

  He was holding the door open for me to leave, because he’d had his heart broken in the past. Because he’d spent years building up this emotional armor. Because he wanted to hide behind his rules and his solitude and call it freedom.

  I knew he had feelings for me. I knew not all of what we’d shared had been a lie. I knew, if he begged me right now to stay here in this town and take a chance on him, I’d say yes.

  But he didn’t.

  He was holding the door open for me to leave, and there was nothing left for me to do but walk through it.

  Nineteen

  Griffin

  She walked out.

  Like I had known she would since the night I met her. Like she was supposed to. Like I wanted her to. So why the sight of her leaving made my chest feel like it was caving in, I had no idea
.

  I’m not sure how long I’d been standing there wanting to put my fist through all the walls we’d just painted together when Lanette snuck back into the room.

  “Wow,” she said, her eyes wide. “That was intense. Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  Which meant the news of our farewell fight would be all over town by dinnertime.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  I stormed back into the garage and stared under the hood of some vehicle without even registering what it was or what I was supposed to be doing. Five minutes after I’d been frozen there like a statue, Handme said, “Hey. Isn’t that Blair going by? She’s carrying a suitcase. Is she leaving now?”

  “Yes,” I said, refusing to look out the open bay doors. She’d been wearing that short yellow dress with the flowers that she’d had on the very first day she worked the desk. I loved her in that dress. I loved her in anything. I couldn’t believe I would never see her again. Touch her again. Kiss her again.

  “Well, should we go say goodbye?”

  “Handme, don’t you fucking dare.”

  I tried to work, but my head was a mess. I was exhausted, miserable, angry, resentful, and suffocating with guilt. I had hurt her. I had wrecked something good. I was supposed to feel better now that she was gone, more in control, but I didn’t. I felt like I was completely losing my shit.

  I took it out on the people around me, of course. I lost my temper with Handme for not folding the towels the way I wanted them. I screamed at McIntyre for an invoicing mistake I’d made a hundred times. I hung up on my mother after she called me demanding to know why she’d heard from at least two people that Blair had suddenly quit working for me and left town. And I was grumpy with Lanette when she came into the garage with a file folder in her hands.

  “Hey, have you seen all this?” she asked. “It’s really impressive. Blair did a ton of work.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen it,” I snapped. “But I’m too busy to take it over. Give it to my mom or Cheyenne.”

  “Everything is pretty much organized. Someone just needs to be on site coordinating. I can handle that.”

  “Fine.”

  “Although I can’t bake like she does. So we’ll have to either scratch the sweets table or see if Louise from the diner can do it.”

  I frowned. No one liked Louise’s baking. “Scratch the sweets table.”

  “Too bad Betty Frankel never had any daughters. I wonder if—”

  “Just scratch the damn sweets table, Lanette! Betty and Blair are both gone, and neither of them are coming back!”

  Surprised by my outburst, my cousin backed off. “Okay, okay. I’m just trying to help.”

  I turned back to the engine I was working on, muttering about the constant interruptions, wishing Blair Beaufort had never crashed into my life, and refusing to let my mind wander to her on the road . . . was she okay? Was she halfway there yet? Was she still crying? Had she believed me when I told her that she hadn’t imagined I cared?

  Because I did. And for the rest of my days, I’d probably remember the two weeks I spent with her as the most fun, the most happy, the most alive I’d ever felt.

  After leaving the shop later than usual—I wasn’t looking forward to going home alone—I locked the door behind me and trudged slowly up the stairs to my apartment, thinking about all the times I’d followed her up the steps.

  Inside, I stopped and looked around. It was big and empty and silent. Even Bisou was nowhere to be seen. I inhaled, but there was no lingering scent of something baking in the oven, no hint of Blair’s perfume or shampoo.

  I walked back to my bedroom and saw that her suitcase was gone, the bed was made, and her dress no longer hung on the back of my closet door. A pang of regret stabbed me in the side.

  I’d made a mistake.

  I’d been wrong to send her away. Wrong and mean and stupid, and now I was going to spend all my nights alone in this bed where she’d made me feel so good.

  I wanted her back.

  Panicked, I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and was about to call her when a text came in from Cole, asking if I wanted to take a run with him. It reminded me of the last run we’d taken, when he’d prodded me about dating Blair long-distance, and I’d insisted that wasn’t going to happen, because I didn’t want my life to change.

  I looked at my bed. At the closet door. At the phone.

  If I made this call, it would change everything. I’d have to admit I’d been wrong—to everyone, not just Blair. To my mother, my sister, my friends, my co-workers, this town.

  I’d have to acknowledge I’d been weak. That I wasn’t as strong as I’d bragged about being. That there was someone who had such a powerful hold over me after only two weeks that I was willing to take back all the things I’d said and upend my life to be with her.

  I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  This was temporary, and it would pass. I’d gotten through hard times before, right? I’d lost people who’d mattered to me, people I loved. I’d hit rock bottom. I’d clawed my way out. I’d made my peace with the kind of life I’d have.

  Ignoring the text for now, I took a shower and crashed into bed. It was impossible not to feel surrounded by the memory of her—I could still smell her shampoo on the pillow. Bisou wandered in and nosed around the room like she was looking for something—or someone—and then jumped up on the bed, tucking herself in along my side, sort of the way Blair used to. She meowed a few times, and I stroked her soft black and white fur.

  “Sorry, Bisou. She’s gone, and you’re stuck with me.”

  The cat continued to make sad little noises, but I shut my eyes and fell asleep.

  Twenty

  Blair

  After leaving Griffin in the lobby, I’d gone directly upstairs and texted Frannie that I wouldn’t need a ride after all because my car was ready. She’d texted back right away.

  Oh, that’s good news! her message read. Drive carefully and call me when you get to town.

  Next I’d said goodbye to Bisou, hugging her close to me as I choked back tears. “Tu vas me manquer, ma chatounette.”

  Then, with my heart in pieces, I grabbed my suitcase, folded my white dress over one arm, left Griffin’s spare key on the table, and walked out.

  Sunglasses back in place, I didn’t even look in the windows of the lobby when I passed by, and I kept my head straight and my chin up as I passed the open service bays. Was he watching?

  In the lot, I found my car, and opened the trunk. Inside it were jumper cables, which made my throat catch and my nose tingle. Pushing them aside, I loaded my suitcase in the trunk and carefully laid my dress on top of it. For a moment, I stood there looking at the gown, remembering how I’d thought it would bring me good luck. Hope. Opportunity. But now every time I looked at it, I’d think of Griffin, and he was now the opposite of all those things.

  On impulse, I grabbed the dress from the trunk and marched over to the dumpster.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to actually open the lid and toss it in.

  Instead, I draped it over the top before hurrying back to my car and sliding behind the wheel. Through tears, I grabbed the keys off the passenger seat and started the engine.

  I pulled out of the lot and turned right onto Main Street, although I had no idea where I was going. I drove aimlessly for several blocks, realizing I was going to have to pull over and use the GPS on my phone to get to Cloverleigh Farms.

  But when I came to the stop sign at Center Avenue, I remembered that I’d never visited Mr. Frankel for tea. I had no idea whether he’d be home or not, and I didn’t have that pie I’d promised him, but I figured I’d at least try to honor my word to stop in. He’d seemed so happy when I said I would.

  I turned onto the pretty, tree-lined street, admiring the colorfully painted Victorians on either side. I remembered Mr. Frankel had said his address was 910, and found it on the second block. Turning around in the driveway,
I pulled up at the curb in front of his house, a beautiful Queen Anne right out of a storybook, complete with wraparound porch, bay windows, stained glass, and even a turret fit for a princess. Its roof shingles were dark red, and it was painted a deep shade of moss green with amber trim.

  I took a moment to blow my nose and mop up my eyes, but in the end there wasn’t much I could do to make it less obvious I’d been crying. Hopefully, Mr. Frankel’s eyes weren’t as sharp as Lanette’s.

  At the front door, I knocked three times. Less than a minute later, Mr. Frankel pulled it open. His face lit up. “Blair!” he exclaimed. “I thought you’d left town!”

  “I’m on my way out,” I told him, “but I remembered I’d promised you a visit.”

  “Have you come for tea?”

  “I have,” I said, holding up my empty hands. “But I’m afraid I’m sans apple pie.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. My housekeeper, Mrs. Moon, made some lemon cookies this morning. They’re not as good as anything you bake,” he added in a stage whisper, “but they’re better than nothing.”

  I smiled. “That sounds lovely. Should I wait out here or help you with the tea?”

  “I’ll get the tea and cookies. You have a seat out here on the porch.” He started to go back in the house and then smiled at me again. “I’m so glad you came by. I was about to go down to the store just to have someone to talk to.”

  “I’m glad too, Mr. Frankel. I could use a friend today as well.”

  He nodded like he understood. “Some days are just like that. I’ll be right back.”

  Two hours later, I was still sitting out on the porch with him, finishing a third glass of iced tea, laughing at his terrible old man jokes and listening with rapt attention to all his stories about growing up in Bellamy Creek. I especially loved hearing about how he’d fallen in love with brown-eyed Betty Brinkerhoff the day he first saw her in the second grade, but he hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to her until high school.