by Ward, Alice
“Keep me updated.”
We hung up, and I slid the phone across the desk as far away from me as I could. My stomach was unsettled, and I was grinding my teeth. I was angry.
No, I was furious.
Chaz Pennington had been a selfish man. His whole life had been lived for himself. Even his last act of having a heart attack in the middle of the night while my mother screamed at him through wracking sobs to stay alive was selfish. The man wanted everything from everyone, not because he truly wanted it but because he didn’t want them to have it, and he’d left a big, steaming pile of shit in his wake now that he was gone.
My vision clouded as I recalled how his only son hadn’t even escaped his self-fulfilling goals.
The droplets on the grass from the automatic sprinkler system shined bright, the sun overhead shining brighter, and I was the happiest child in Tulsa, Oklahoma. With a red, white, and blue popsicle in one hand and the handle to my bicycle in the other, I trotted down the driveway away from the house. It was a long driveway, stretching nearly two acres all on its own, which made it perfect for cruising on two wheels after I finished my popsicle.
“What are you doing?” I turned at the sound of my dad’s grainy voice to see him standing beneath the house’s arched front entrance, both double doors thrown wide open. “Get in here. I have something to show you.”
I frowned, but I obeyed. Dad wasn’t around much because he usually went to work before the sun came up and didn’t return until it and I had gone to bed, but backtalking wasn’t an option. Popping the kickstand on the bike, I bit the red top off my icy treat and strode to him.
When I reached him, he snatched the popsicle from my hand and threw it on the lawn, telling me he didn’t want it dripping on the hardwood. He then took the back of my head in his palm and led me out of the two-story foyer into the room on the right, his office. I wasn’t allowed in there often, and I never wanted to be in there when I was. It was a silent, dull room with bookshelves full of binders and no furniture except for the heavy walnut desk in the very center.
He had left one of the binders open on the desk, turned to a page with four identical ottomans on it. I stood next to him as he sank into his chair and pointed to the paper. “Which one would you pick?”
I stared at his fingernail, which was poised a mite’s length below the bottom left ottoman. “For what?”
“To add to Pennington’s furniture line. Which one?” He tapped the page. “The prices, materials, and warranties are right there.”
To an outsider, a man asking the advice of his eleven-year-old might have seemed strange but sweet. Endearing, maybe. In my case, I knew better. This wasn’t a father trying to include his young son in the family business. It was a lesson, stern and proud, and there was only one right answer to his question. It was my job to figure out that answer.
“Um… I don’t know.” I looked at the details listed beside each photograph and settled on the one with the highest price point and leather in its material list. “That one, I guess.”
In a flash and with a crack like a whip, he slammed the binder closed. I didn’t jump back in surprise. He’d reacted this way so often that I’d grown used to it and started expecting it every time he imposed one of his quizzes on me.
“No.” He opened the binder again and sifted through it for the ottoman page, and I was revisited by the same thought I always had at this point. Why did he bother shutting it in the first place? He jabbed his forefinger at the ottoman above the one I’d chosen. “That one. You pick that one. The wholesale cost is lower, the materials aren’t luxury but aren’t cheap, and the warranty covers manufacturer defect only.”
“Oh.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and stole a glance out the window, looking longingly at my unattended bike.
“Here. Take this.” He closed the binder once more and slid it across the desk to me. I took it in both arms, heavy as it was. “There are many more examples in there for you to look over. We’ll have an appointment tomorrow so I can see what you’ve learned.”
“But—”
He pointed his finger toward the door, and I knew the conversation was over. As I trekked out of his office to the sweeping staircase that led to my room, I clenched my teeth and hoped Dad would be gone by the time I got up the next morning.
My knuckles were white, and the tips of my fingers were numb. I released my hold on the lip of the nautical-themed desk. Twenty-four years later, I still felt as shamed and dismissed by my father as I had then. The difference was that it had made me sad at eleven. It made me mad at thirty-five.
So help me, I was going to be better than Chaz Pennington.
CHAPTER NINE
Gretchen
The moon-shaped clock on the wall above the geode display was claiming that it was already half-past noon, but I was certain it was wrong. I was completely alone in the shop, and I hadn’t been alone in the shop at this hour for the past week.
Ducking below the display case portion of the service counter, I fished my phone from the shelf and lit the screen. It was, indeed, twelve-thirty, and a wave of unexpected disappointment washed over me.
Cash should’ve been here by now.
Each of the last seven days, the chimes on the door had clinked a greeting at noon to welcome the tall, suave man. He went right to the counter whether I was at the register or not and waited until I acknowledged him. At that point, he presented me with a gift, just a small something. The first day it was a chocolate box from Rosy Cheeks Sweets across town. The second, he brought me lunch again — a cheeseburger this time. On the fifth day, he plopped The Spiritual Kitchen: A Cookbook for the Soul in front of me, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him I already had a copy upstairs because he’d seemed so proud of himself for finding something that was “very Gretchen.”
The gifts weren’t all he gave me during his visits, though. Every token was accompanied by a check, each greater than the last, and a new spiel of reasons why I ought to stop digging in my heels and take the offer.
I always said no, and it was a bit of a relief to have a break from the revolving Pennington’s pitch, but I realized as I replaced my phone on the shelf and straightened up that I’d started looking forward to Cash’s arrival.
My face grew a little warm, and I punched my finger on the register with extra vehemence to open the till. It sprang open, nearly hitting me in the gut, and I snatched the morning’s cash from the slots before slamming the drawer closed again. I was glad I’d decided to man the store by myself today because I didn’t have to explain my aggression to anyone.
The unfortunate fact of the matter was I liked Cash coming around, with the exception of the conversation portions related to selling Auras. Talking to him was effortless, flirting with him even more so, and I was always buzzing with endorphins after he left. I hated that he had that effect on me, but I craved his attention, and I hated myself for it. It was that self-loathing that saved me, though, because I made damn well sure he didn’t know how his presence made me feel. Whenever we were together, I kept my attitude flippant and my perceived interest nonexistent.
He wasn’t here now, though, and I didn’t like it. And I didn’t like that I didn’t like it. The man was after my livelihood, after all. He was my nemesis, my archrival, the villain to my superhero if we were in one of Marshall Dodd’s comic books. I should’ve been over the moon that it appeared Cash had given up, but instead, I was stomping around the store in a sour mood. My chakras were definitely out of whack.
“What’s wrong with me, Gram?” I muttered aloud.
Though she’d passed years ago, I still reached out for my beloved grandmother’s advice when I was confused about something. Some people thought I was crazy, my brother in particular heading that club, but I didn’t care. She still comforted me.
My heart started thudding, and I felt pressure in my chest. I rolled my eyes, frustrated with myself.
“Yeah, right. I’m into a guy who thinks he can st
ick a dollar amount on everything I have? Please. It’s not like we’d have a future anyway, even if I was interested in selling out. I’m not, but I’m just saying.”
The pressure lightened, but my heart didn’t slow. She had a way of getting things across, my Gram.
“Let’s say the feeling was mutual. Hypothetically. He lives across the country, for one thing. He stands for something I hate, for another. Mass-market products and cheap labor. And we’re two completely different people. I’m pretty sure relationships only work when people have something in common.”
Chimes tinkled, and I whirled around. My already thrumming heart leaped into my throat as I saw a familiar head of cocoa hair and a pair of magnetic eyes headed my way. I was suddenly nauseated by the thought that he might have heard me talking to the spirit of my dead grandmother. Not because it was an embarrassing behavior but because the content was more revealing than I ever would have wanted him to overhear.
I cleared my throat. “Hi.” My voice was squeakier than usual with tinny anxiety.
“How are you?”
I’d come to learn Cash often said this as a greeting rather than as an answerable question, so I didn’t reply and instead waited for him to show me what he’d brought or start in on his usual speech about making wise business decisions.
He didn’t do either.
I looked at his hands and was surprised to see them empty. Either he’d stuffed his daily present into his suit jacket, or he was changing tactics. The presents weren’t of supreme importance to me — I wasn’t a material girl by any means — but he didn’t appear to have the usual stack of papers with him either. Something was going on.
“Busy morning being a long-distance CEO?” I began unnecessarily fussing with the display of turquoise jewelry in the case, so he didn’t think I’d been waiting around for him to show up.
“That’s one way to put it.” He leaned against the counter’s edge and glanced around. “Looks like you’ve had a slow day so far.”
“Yes, but I’m enjoying it while I can. Although the summer rush is over, in the days leading up to Halloween, I won’t have a moment of peace in this place from open ‘till close.”
He nodded and looked around the shop. “Spooky season, right?” I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the egotistical smirk usually lingering right underneath his expression was absent. Something was not only going on. Something was completely off. His demeanor had changed, his approachable charm gone.
I felt much more like I was speaking to a company representative looking only to score the sale than a man who had a personality beyond the business, with whom I’d managed to start building a strange kind of friendship. All the other times we’d met, Cash had succeeded in annoying me, arousing me, angering me, amusing me…
It wasn’t always wonderful, but he’d continuously drawn from me some potent emotions. This time, I was nothing more than wildly uncertain, and there was nothing thrilling about uncertainty.
See what mixing business and pleasure gets you, Gram? Confusion.
“Do you want some tea?” I turned toward the hot plate with the teapot full of water on top. I’d started keeping it in the store to eliminate the need to go upstairs every time I wanted to refill my mug. “Pumpkin spice is perfect for the season.”
“No, I’m not staying long.” His words were clipped, and I was starting to feel irritated. What had I done to make his mood so poor toward me? Had he finally had enough of my rejections? If that was the case, I had little patience for his attitude. It was well within my rights as a shop owner to decline requests to sell, and he would just have to put on his big boy undies and deal with it.
I turned the hot plate on anyway, figuring a soothing chamomile was fitting. “Why’d you come in, then? It doesn’t look like you brought your encyclopedia of sales contracts.”
“I wanted to let you know I’m picking you up when you close tonight. We’re going out.”
This news came as such a surprise that I almost dropped the box of teabags I’d just picked up. A swarm of butterflies rippled through my belly, and I desperately wanted to ask if this was a date or a meeting, but my indignance toward his less-than-friendly demeanor quelled the desire and prompted me to react defensively.
“You know what, you waste plenty of my time during the workday telling me over and over again why I should let you buy my store. I don’t think I want to waste my free time on that too.”
“I’m not asking.” A blaze flamed in his eyes.
“Fine, you’re not asking, but I’m still saying no.”
He lowered himself to my level, forearms resting on the counter and fingers knitting together. Heat rolled through the space between him and me. The severity of determination in his face warned me that he wasn’t going to back down. It was almost like he’d bend me over his knee and spank me into submission if he had to, and my conviction was split in two as a twinge of want nipped in the hollow space between my legs, and a streak of stubbornness stabbed my gut. I tilted my chin up to indicate that his silent intimidation had no effect on me — even though it did.
“What time will you be locking up?” He was steady and unyielding.
I flipped my hair over my shoulder to feign indifference. “I’m not sure. I might stay open all night. You never know who will need some sage at three in the morning, right?”
He straightened up, and I watched him suspiciously as he moved toward the door. It couldn’t have been that easy to shut him down. He pulled the door open with a jerk, leaned around it, and looked up and down. “Your sign says you close at five.” He turned his smoldering gaze back to me. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
“You’ll see me working.”
He sighed, the first sign of exasperation he’d shown. “Look, darlin’, you have to eat.” Hearing the term of endearment sent a shiver down my spine. I felt my lips twitch against my will, and I had to turn away to prevent him from seeing the smile threatening to break through.
“Five is a little early for dinner.” I was wearing a full-blown smile now, and I hoped he couldn’t hear it.
“We’ll order slowly.”
Blocking my mouth with my mug, I faced him again and shrugged with purposeful nonchalance. “Fine, whatever.”
“See you then.” He departed with the sound of chimes jingling my delight in his wake.
The rest of the afternoon passed in slow motion. I spent hours helping the few customers who trickled in, rearranging disorganized stock, and going over my new marketing plan for next summer only to look up at the clock and find mere minutes had gone by.
My agreement with Cash was weighing on me, and I was beginning to regret it. Being the bundle of nerves I was didn’t seem worth it, especially because I had no idea what his intentions were in taking me out since I hadn’t grown the backbone to ask.
Distracting myself was a reasonable coping mechanism for the first couple of hours, but the success started to fade around midafternoon. I was getting edgier and edgier, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I was just about to whip out my trusty tarot cards and do a reading for the sake of finding out whatever answers I could about what was to come when I realized it was five ‘till five.
I was going on my maybe-date in five minutes.
It hit me like a speeding truck that I could possibly be embarking on the first step of an amazing relationship, and my heart started ramming against my ribs.
“All right, Gram.” I looked out at my shop as if expecting to see my grandmother’s kindly face amongst the displays. “Maybe this is something. It probably isn’t, but who knows? I’ll keep an open mind to it, okay?”
Warm peace enveloped me like a cuddly hug, and her approval brushed across my face.
A car pulled up to the curb outside Auras at five o’clock on the dot. Though he hadn’t said what he’d be driving, I’d expected Cash to have either been in one of those fancy, mortgage-a-house expensive cars or in the back of a limo, but it was an ordinary black Honda Civic parked
in front of my store. I locked the door and made my way around to the passenger side, but not before peering into the driver’s window to ensure it was indeed Cash inside.
“Do you make a habit of staring in people’s windows?” he asked as soon as I slid onto the empty seat.
I slammed the door closed. “No, but I wanted to make sure it was you. This wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“The car?” I nodded. He shifted into drive, and off we went. “I’d like to tell you I drive ordinary cars all the time, but the truth is your rental company didn’t have anything nicer than this.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. The need for Ferraris is pretty small around here, what with the six months of snow and all.” I rolled my eyes.
He shifted his eyes from the road to grin at me. “Maybe I should’ve brought my truck.”
“You drive a truck?” I found this hard to believe, as I couldn’t think of a single truck that was considered a luxury vehicle. A Hummer, maybe, but I wasn’t sure if that was even a truck.
“Darn near every day, darlin’.” He chuckled. “Of course, I drive the Charger to the office. If I took Old Betsy, someone would probably call to get her towed away.”
The idea of fancy Cash Pennington puttering around in a beat-up, rusty truck popped into my head, and I couldn’t suppress a small laugh. He didn’t look over at me, but I saw his mouth curve up in my peripheral vision. Damn it if my heart didn’t skip a beat.
“Have you been here?” He maneuvered the Honda into the parking lot of a Cape Cod-style house turned restaurant.
“Sure. This is The Galley Bistro.” The parking lot was nearly empty, though I recognized the owner’s vehicle amongst the sparsity. “It’s a tourist place mostly, so I avoid it during the on-season, but I’ve been here. Joe makes a mean cauliflower wellington.”
Cash looked like he might throw up, and I bit back a smile.
“Good to know.” He turned the car off, unbuckled his seatbelt, and held up a finger as I started to do the same. “Wait here.”
