Wallflowers:Three of a Kind

by CP Smith

  “This courtyard is da bomb,” Poppy stated loudly. “I would live out here if I were you.”

  “She practically does,” Eunice said. “So much so that Bernie and I were surprised when we got home and she wasn’t out here.”

  “Oh!” I cried out, sitting straight up, “I forgot about Billy Ray Stutter. Did he come home while you were watchin’ and throw a fit?”

  “No!” Eunice groused. “We sat there ‘til dark and watched her throw his entire life out the second-story window. Her antics caused a brawl, too, when his prized golf clubs went flyin’ through the window.”

  “Mercy,” Sienna chuckled. “Who would fight over golf clubs?”

  Eunice put down her drink on a grin and leaned forward, her eyes gleaming in the soft light. “A judge, a senator, and the chief of police.”

  “No!” I shouted, then slapped my hand over my mouth at the volume.

  “Sugar, Billy Ray has won the Members Only Golf Club Invitational for three years runnin’. If my daddy had been standin’ there, he would have dove into the pile as well.” She leaned in further then, looking at us as if she were ready to impart a national secret whispering, “Those old fools think the clubs are his lucky charm, so they were determined to have them. What they don’t know is, that the ceremonial shot they take before the tournament begins, Billy Ray is drinkin’ tea not bourbon. He also has an inside man put a little somethin’ somethin’ in their drinks so they’d feel the effects more.” We all gasped as she sat back and smiled. “Basically, he won, ‘cause they were impaired while he was sober.”

  “How do you know this?” Poppy asked.

  Eunice winked at me. “’Cause my momma told me, who heard it from Missy Lockridge, who heard it from Diane Greer, who got if from Jennifer Wilkes, who was told by Diane after she saw the aforementioned ‘inside man’ sprinkle the powder in the drinks.”

  “Why didn’t they tell someone if he was cheatin’?”

  “And miss seein’ a bunch of old coots stumblin’ around while tryin’ to make a three-foot putt? Hell, darlin’, it’s the best laugh we have all year.”

  Normally, a story like that would have garnered a snort and an eye roll, but in my semi-inebriated state, it caused a howl of laughter that sent me sliding out of my chair. I hit the ground with a thud, laughing harder at how ridiculous I was acting, while Poppy tried to help me up. I’d made it halfway into my chair when the back gate opened and Devin Hawthorne walked in. We all looked up at him and zipped it, biting our lips as he moved toward us, his gait loose but cocky as his big frame glided across the yard.

  “It’s the Duke,” Poppy whispered.

  “More like the Devil,” I returned. A Devil with blue eyes and a body that would certainly haunt my dreams.

  Aunt Bernice walked out with a tray full of glasses and a new pitcher of mojitos as he approached, so being the Southern gentleman she swore he was, he picked up his pace and took the tray from her as I blatantly checked out his ass. I wondered how many squats he had to do to get his glutes that tight just as he turned and gave me the front view. It became apparent as he moved closer that the front was just as developed as the back, and I may have groaned a little in approval.

  “You’re starin’,” Poppy whispered loudly.

  “Shh, he’ll hear you.”

  “He’s listenin’ to music, see the earbud in his ear? He can’t hear over that.”

  Devin looked toward Poppy and me as if we’d spoken to him and grinned, sending my heart racing. His blue eyes sparked like fire in the reduced light, and when they landed on me, he looked almost sinister the way his teeth flashed white like a demon.

  “Good to see you Wallflowers got home okay.” His deep, gravelly voice was laced with humor, and the effect caused my skin to pebble with goosebumps.

  “You truly are the Devil,” I whispered, reaching for a mojito. He grabbed one of the glasses and raised it for me, mumbling, “Sugar, I’ve been called worse,” as I took it from his hand.

  “What?” I gasped.

  “You called me the Devil at the bar. No Devil, just Devin,” he answered, winking before he turned to my aunts and inclined his head. “Night, ladies. I’ll try and keep my music down.” He turned back and looked at me and the girls, drawling, “Calla. Wallflowers,” before turning and heading for the back stairs.

  I grumbled, “Cali,” when I was sure he was far enough away, but as if he’d heard me through telepathy, he chuckled low as he opened the door to the second floor.

  It’s like he can read my mind.

  “Is it possible for someone to read minds?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t need to be a mind reader to tell you were checkin’ him out,” Poppy giggled.

  I heard a squeaking noise and looked up. Devin had opened his living room window, so I raised my finger and shhd, pointing to the open window.

  “Why did he call you Wallflowers?” Bernice whispered.

  “Because we are,” I answered in a hushed voice. “Aunt Bernice, meet Sienna Miller and Poppy Gentry.”

  “I’ll explain the Wallflower bit since those two are a little muddle-brained,” Sienna announced, ignoring my warning about the open window. “We work together at Poe if you’re wonderin’ where we met,” she started off. “That bein’ said, we’d never spent time with Cali until today. In the course of the day, we figured out all three of us have been holdin’ back where men were concerned. We’ve been sittin’ out on life, watchin’ but not engagin’.”

  “Like a Wallflower in one of your historical novels?” Eunice questioned.

  “Exactly,” I blurted out. “It hit me this mornin’ while I was starin’ at a wisteria vine that I’d trained myself to be a certain way, and if I wanted a different life, I needed to tear down my walls and spread my proverbial roots.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was muscles you were starin’ at,” Bernice shot back.

  “Those, too,” I giggled.

  “Cali convinced Sienna and me that we should band together,” Poppy added loudly. “We’re gonna help each other find the right man, one Wallflower at a time. We’ll be objective for each other and let the others know when they’re makin’ a mistake.”

  “Cali’s up first,” Sienna jumped back in. “We’re gonna go to one of those speed datin’ events at the Baptist church since Cali needs more experience with men. We figured what better way for her to practice flirtin’ than a night meetin’ a bunch of men at once?”

  “Yeah, one-stop shoppin’.” I snorted. “I’m not expectin’ much, though. I think fallin’ in love happens by chance. Serendipity. Like you walk into a room and bam, you just know when you lay eyes on them they’re the one.”

  “What kind of man are you lookin’ for, butterbean?”

  I raised my arms and ran my hands through my hair. My scalp tingled with the alcohol, so I settled back and enjoyed the freedom that came with intoxication. Thanks to the alcohol, words that were normally controlled flowed, and feelings I’d kept locked in a deep, dark place tumbled out with little restraint.

  “Where love is concerned, it doesn’t matter to me if he’s a butcher, a baker, or—”

  “A candlestick maker?” Poppy giggled.

  “I was gonna say farmer,” I snorted, “but you get my point. I want someone who will be a shelter from a storm, a beacon of light in a dark world. I want to feel safe, secure that what we have is as important to him as it would be to me. I want heat, passion, and friendship.”

  Eunice looked over her shoulder at the open window. “What about your new neighbor? You’re both clearly attracted to one another, and he seems like a gentleman.”

  What is it with my aunts and their obsession with gentlemen?

  “We call him Devil,” Poppy snickered. “He reminds us of the Duke of St. Ives.”

  “Who?” Bernice chuckled.

  “A fictional character,” Sienna supplied.

  I waved them off. “He’s not attracted to me. It’s more likely he finds it entertainin’ to tease a
drunk. Besides, he’s got a girlfriend.”

  “About the woman you saw this mornin’,” Bernice chuckled.

  “What about her?”

  Bernice smiled wider, as if she had a great secret.

  “She’s his cousin, Megan Pierce, not his girlfriend.”

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  “She’s married to Greg Pierce, a prominent divorce attorney. I ran into her on the street lookin’ for Devin in his office, so I told her to park in the back and then went lookin’ for him. That’s why I came outside when I found you droolin’ over the man.”

  I glanced at Poppy and Sienna. They were grinning from ear to ear.

  Great.

  “I was not droolin’,” I bit out.

  “Butterbean, you were. Your tongue was on the ground like a dog searchin’ for water, and you know it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Well, you’re a big fat fibber, Bernie. What was all that business about lettin’ her have first dibs?”

  “I was tryin’ to light a fire under your stubborn ass.”

  Snickers ensued, and I clenched my jaw. “Fair enough,” I admitted. “But it changes nothin’. It’s still a bad idea.”

  “Neecy, did you hear her? She thinks a virile young man, who’s sexy as sin, is a bad idea.”

  “Indeed, sister,” Eunice responded. “Do you suppose the alcohol killed off the brain cells that control rational thought?”

  “Hardy har har,” I snipped. “You know you’re both bein’ a tad presumptuous in the matchmakin’ department assumin’ my neighbor would settle for a closed-off bookworm with deep-seated abandonment issues, instead of someone like the mayor’s daughter.”

  Bernice turned to Poppy and Sienna shaking her head. “Do me a favor, will ya? Stand her in front of a mirror until she sees what everyone else does.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m sayin’ I’m me, and he’s all charm and full of life, so why would he settle? Besides, I’m inexperienced with men, and he’d devour me. I’m better suited for a dusty old professor than someone so . . . male.”

  “Why’s that a problem?” she chuckled. “Bein’ devoured is the best part.”

  I smiled. On that point I agreed.

  “Calla Lily, all the points you’ve made are just excuses. Not one of them is worth a hill of beans. So what’s truly holdin’ you back?” Eunice asked.

  Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts through the haze of alcohol running through my system. Why exactly am I opposed to Devin?

  The doorbell ringing.

  An officer speaking in hushed tones.

  The wailing sound of a child screaming for her parents.

  Blinking back the painful memory that never seemed to leave me, I shuddered. The scars that had formed from the loss of my family had indelibly marked me, clouding my perception in such a way that I was terrified of change. It was then I realized what scared me the most about Devin was feeling that type of loss again. Some men were easier to forget than others. Devin was a dark, passionate force that would imprint on your soul and never leave. I couldn’t risk the heartache.

  “Do you remember when Momma, Daddy, and Frankie died?” I choked on the words a little. The alcohol had also loosened my defenses, allowing my guard to slip, for my heartache to shine through. “Remember how I didn’t speak for three months?” I looked between Bernice and Eunice and felt my chest tighten as their faces dropped with sadness. “If not for that puppy you bought me as a bribe to speak, who knows where I’d be today.”

  “Hard to forget, sugar,” Eunice answered in a soft voice. “Sammy was a godsend in a dark time.”

  “Then try to understand that a man like Devin would be hard to get over when he left. I don’t want to feel that type of pain again.”

  “Calla, the heart wants what it wants. Don’t limit yourself because you’re scared,” Eunice said. “Take a chance on the man; you might just find he’s what you’ve been waitin’ for. He might be perfect for you. And, butterbean, if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

  But I don’t deserve to be happy, because I killed my family.

  Sucking in a breath as that thought tumbled through my brain, I bit my lip to hold back the pain at what would follow.

  My son would still be alive if it weren’t for you.

  Bitterness settled in my stomach, like always, at the memory of my grandfather’s words.

  My parents had taken my brother to the carnival without me, and I’d pouted even though I had strep throat. We’d waited until the last weekend to go, but I’d woken up sick. They didn’t want to disappoint Frankie, so they’d left me behind with a kiss on my forehead and a promise they’d take me next year. I’d thrown a huge fit about being left behind, so they’d gone out of their way to pick up my favorite pizza on the way home to appease me. If they’d come straight back instead of trying to placate me, they wouldn’t have been on the highway where a semi plowed into them; they’d have been at home with me and alive today. My rational side knew I was only a child at the time, that I shouldn’t blame myself, but the irrational side, the one that wished every day I hadn’t made a fuss, believed it.

  When I was twelve, after years of punishing myself, I sought out my grandparents and confessed my sin. I was tired of the guilt and needed absolution from them, needed them to tell me I was only a child, that it wasn’t my fault their only son was dead, but they’d said nothing. They’d just stared at me for a moment, then my grandfather took my grandmother’s arm and walked out of the room. An hour later, they sent me home to my aunts without as much as a good-bye. We never spoke of it again, and they began to distance themselves from me. Eight visits a year turned to Christmas and Easter only, and on the occasions when my grandfather needed the future heir of the Armstrong family to make an appearance.

  Then one day when I was in high school, during a heated argument about studying Business as opposed to English Literature in college, my grandfather lashed out when I refused. He’d roared he wouldn’t need me to take over the helm of Armstrong Shipping if his son were still alive, and that’s when he’d delivered the knockout blow. I ran from the house, gutted by his condemnation. After that, Christmas and Easter visits ended and the only time I saw my grandparents was when they summoned me.

  Sitting up, I grabbed my drink and downed it to shake off my mood, then I turned to Eunice. “You’re right. I know that, of course. And in a perfect world, that’s what I’d do. In a perfect world, my family would still be alive, and I’d be confident enough for a man like Devin; gettin’ to sit on the back of his Harley with the wind whippin’ through my hair. But it’s not a perfect world, is it, Eunice? Perfection doesn’t exist.”

  ✿✿✿

  Sweet Home Alabama shook the walls as Devin’s fists kept time with the beat. Sweat glistened on his skin like oil as he pushed his biceps, breaking down the muscle until his arms were fatigued. Two faces filled his headspace as he attempted to pulverize the bag. One had coffee-colored eyes and a bright smile as she threw an arm around her mother’s shoulders, happy and content with her life. The other had lavender-colored eyes that reached into his soul and squeezed tight until he couldn’t take a breath.

  Thinking Calla was taken by another man, Devin had tried to push his attraction aside, but his curious nature had won out, and he eavesdropped. He’d heard more than he expected when he’d raised his window, and in the course of a few short minutes, he knew two things: she was single, and if he hadn’t already been attracted to the woman, he would have wanted her the moment she opened her mouth and touched his soul.

  There was no pretense to her, nothing fake like so many women he’d met in his life. She was strong, yet soft at the same time. And what she was looking for out of life matched his own desires. Her passion matched his own—and he’d wanted her even more by the time she’d stopped talking.

  But he’d also heard fragility in her voice. She’d suffered a loss at an early age and held back, built wal
ls, protected herself to avoid additional heartache, and believed she needed a man who was safe. Boring.

  He wasn’t either of those.

  Increasing his pace until his arms screamed for relief, Devin threw a final punch at the bag before he stepped back, his lungs heaving with exertion. He glanced at the wall that stood between him and Calla then switched gears to the brown-eyed woman.

  Once Calla had said good night to the Wallflowers and headed upstairs to bed, Devin had settled into the task of tracking Maria Espinoza.

  She’d fallen off the grid the Tuesday prior after finishing a job for Fang Yoo, a recent transplant to Savannah. She owned a chain of dry cleaning stores and paid her taxes religiously before they were due. That in and of itself didn’t mean anything. But Devin’s experience told him that anyone who kept their nose that clean had something to hide. Because of that, he planned to dig deeper into Yoo’s background.

  Moving to his zero gravity boots, Devin strapped them on and hung himself upside down. Curling at the waist, grunting low as he pulled his upper body toward his knees, he continued to mull over Maria’s disappearance. He expected Nate to call back with her home address at any time, so he could see for himself that she hadn’t packed up her belongings and left town on her own accord. Every minute counted with a missing person, so he didn’t want to wait until Monday to check out her apartment.

  On his third set of twenty crunches, pounding on his front door drew a smile.

  She lasted longer than I thought she would.

  “Door’s open,” he shouted over the music, then continued his set.

  His door swung open then closed loudly. Tiny feet with polished pink toes attached to silky legs came into his line of sight. They traveled to his desk and didn’t move again until his music stopped, then they made their way over to him. When he looked up on a decline, he found angry lavender eyes staring back at him.

  Calla’s hair was disheveled, her eye makeup smudged, and she was wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt.

  Devin sucked air deep into his lungs to control his body at the sight—it didn’t help. His attraction to this Southern beauty was off the charts.