Just Love

by Prescott Lane

  This isn’t our first secret from her brother. I’m the one who let her have her first sip of beer. She was eighteen. Never told Brody that. “He’ll flip his shit if he finds out you might be leaving,” I say. “He was so excited when you told him you were moving here.”

  “I know,” she says.

  “He still worries about you like you’re fifteen,” I say.

  “He needs to get it under control. He put his life on hold for me, all three of you did.”

  “He never thought about it like that. You were never a burden. He wanted you with him back then,” I say.

  “I’m sure he’d rather not have been raising a teenage girl. I’m sure you and Skye would have preferred to be young and having fun,” she says.

  Her parents’ funeral flashes in my mind, Skye and I flanked on either side of her, and Brody with his arms around her from behind, resting his head on top of hers. Thank God, Ainsley wasn’t home that night, or we could’ve lost her, too. Brody was home for Christmas break, and the two of them were out at a late movie together. Any other night and . . . I can’t even think about what might have happened.

  Those first few days after his parents died—I’ve never seen Brody so torn up. I patted his shoulder and asked when we were taking A. Rose home to Charleston. That was it. We all knew that we’d do it together, no questions asked. He wanted her with him. He needed her with him. Skye and I just gave him the support. Don’t get me wrong, we were all scared shitless. We were so unprepared, walking into our tiny two-bedroom apartment. Brody slept on the couch for months until we got a bigger place.

  “Brody insisted we meet every Sunday night to talk about your week, your schedule. He didn’t want you to be alone too much. And when you started dating, my God, he’d drone on and on about supervising you and scaring your dates. You are his family. My point is, Brody never thought of raising you as putting anything on hold.”

  “It’s so weird to be thinking about all this again. It seems so long ago, but at the same time, it doesn’t. You know?” she asks, looking up at me from under her lashes. I give her a nod. “We had some good times. All my friends were jealous. You guys were so cool. Well, you and Skye were. Brody was a typical overprotective big brother.”

  “He used to drive Skye nuts. He wouldn’t ever let her stay over unless you were sleeping at a girlfriend’s house. He said it was inappropriate.”

  “He should have told you that,” she teases. “I caught you making out with girls quite a bit.”

  I was really hoping she’d forgotten about that.

  “Brody used to get so mad at you, but you were always there,” she says, looking up at me.

  I’m still here for her. Always will be.

  My step falls right back in line with hers. When I was younger, my mom used to point out when she’d see couples walking, the man ten feet in front of his woman. It’s a pet peeve of hers. She made me swear never to walk in front of a woman I was with.

  “There’s a great ice cream shop around the corner. You up for it?” I ask, and she smiles.

  Walking past a colorful row of houses, each is bigger than the next. The sounds of horse drawn carriages fill the air. There are very few cobblestone streets left in the city, but that might be the only charm Charleston’s lost in its history. Modern day offices, stores, and even ice cream shops are housed in old buildings that you just know have a story to tell, a secret buried deep inside its crevices. From the outside, everything looks charming. It’s only when you take the time to look a little closer you see the cracks, the tiny threads barely holding everything together—much like the earthquake bolts on the old buildings here. Yes, South Carolina has had earthquakes. Strange, but true. They are a telltale sign of the disasters of the past, and a warning of what could come.

  I hook Sadie’s leash under the table leg and walk inside the ice cream shop to order. I don’t have to ask Ainsley her favorite. I already know. I know everything about her, except how she kisses, how it would feel to have my arms wrapped around her, or simply hold her hand.

  Ordering, I glance out the window, seeing Ainsley leaning over, patting, and talking to Sadie. Sadie’s a dog, so she can’t talk, but it looks like they are having a “real” conversation—tail wagging, head tilting, eye contact. People should take some communication skills from dogs. Sometimes all you have to do is listen to the person. Often, we are so busy thinking of what to say next, we forget to really listen to the person, to pick up on the little clues in their mannerisms, their voice.

  I get the cones and walk back out to her. To anyone else, this would look like a date, but it isn’t. It never can be. Never.

  Sadie and Ainsley look up at me, both smiling. “I can’t remember the last time someone bought me a cookies and cream ice cream cone—my favorite!” Ainsley says.

  I wonder if she remembers the first time I bought her ice cream. It was only a few weeks or so after she moved in. The memory is still fresh in my mind.

  I was asleep in my bedroom when I heard the softest knock on my door. The only reason it woke me was because Sadie barked. I opened my bedroom door, and Ainsley was standing there teary, asking if I knew where Brody was. I knew he was taking a big exam and Skye was working.

  “I need my mom,” Ainsley said, sobbing.

  Not sure what to do with a crying fifteen-year-old girl, I offered to call my mom for her. My parents had really stepped up, helping us out with Ainsley, having us over for dinners.

  But she didn’t want my mom, she wanted hers.

  “Do you know where Skye is?” she asked.

  “Working,” I say, tilting my head to try to make eye contact with her. “What’s wrong? How can I help?” She tried to tell me but couldn’t get any words out. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, and your brother will kick my ass if he finds out I didn’t help you.”

  She smiled at the ground, whispering. “It’s my time of the month.”

  “Oh!” This was definitely out of my job description as roommate and best friend. Way above my pay grade. In no universe does a fifteen-year-old girl want to discuss her monthly visitor with a twenty-one-year-old guy, and vice versa.

  “I don’t have anything to use.”

  I grabbed my keys. “Okay, the store is right down the street. I’ll go for you.”

  There is nothing more confusing than the feminine hygiene aisle. Pads? Tampons? Super? Lite? Regular? Liners? Cardboard or Plastic applicator? Jesus Christ! I had no idea. I grabbed one of every kind, knowing she was waiting. I passed the frozen food section on the way out and tossed some ice cream in my cart. I’ve had enough girlfriends to remember ice cream helps everything. The store clerk looked at me like I was some sort of deviant, but that was only slightly better than the look Ainsley gave me when I walked in with a dozen bags. I just shrugged as she dug through and took what she needed before disappearing into her bedroom.

  I could’ve used a drink, but it wasn’t even ten in the morning. Reaching in the bag for the ice cream, I opened the freezer to put it away, but something stopped me. The tears. She was so upset. I had to check on her.

  I took the ice cream carton and grabbed a spoon, knocking on her bedroom door. She didn’t answer, but I could hear her crying, so I pushed the door open slightly, seeing her head buried under the pillow. She needed her mother—or at least some female person—and her brother’s best friend was a terrible substitute.

  Sadie jumped up on the bed with Ainsley, and I lightly touched her leg. “I brought you ice cream.”

  “What kind?” she sniffled.

  “Cookies and cream.”

  Her eyes peered up over the pillow. “That’s my favorite.”

  I held out the entire carton for her, and after a moment, she came all the way out from under the pillow, tearing off the lid and digging in. I sat and talked to her about her mom and dad for a long time. Long enough for her to finish the whole carton. Then she curled up next to Sadie.

  “Why don’t you get some rest?” I
said before slipping out her bedroom.

  I closed the door slowly behind me, and then Brody’s eyes met mine, a flash of fury shooting out. It looked so bad to be sneaking out of her bedroom—the look on Brody’s face will forever be etched in my brain. Ainsley was just a kid.

  “She’s been crying all morning,” I said, and Brody moved to go in. “I think she’s asleep now.”

  “What the hell was wrong?” he asked.

  I motioned to the bags. That was explanation enough. “Dude, I had no fucking idea what I was doing. There’s like a thousand different options. I just bought them all. She was embarrassed. I was embarrassed. I wasn’t about to ask her regular or super strength.”

  Brody laughed again. “Thanks for being there for her.”

  “What?” Ainsley asks, wiping her mouth and bringing me back to the present.

  I realize I’ve been staring at her too long, so I shift my gaze to Sadie. “Just thinking about the first time I bought you ice cream.”

  Her pale skin blushes, remembering too. “Oh, God. I was hoping you didn’t remember that. One of the most embarrassing moments of my life.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Really? You seemed so cool about it.”

  “I was sweating bullets. You should have seen me on the aisle reading all the boxes and debating. It was ridiculous.”

  “It was sweet,” she says, glancing at me, but only for a second. “I should get back.”

  We don’t talk a lot on the walk back. The building where we both live isn’t far. We took a lot longer walking before, turning down side streets, enjoying the slightly cooler temperatures, but I know it’s dangerous to be alone with her for too long, so the short route home is best.

  Stepping inside the elevator of our building, I push the buttons to both our floors. When the door opens to her floor, I step out with her. Why the fuck did I do that? This isn’t a date. I’m not going to get a goodnight kiss. But Sadie certainly is. Ainsley bends down and nuzzles my dog’s nose, and Sadie licks up her entire face.

  Ainsley laughs out loud. This has been a deal breaker for me more than once. If a woman doesn’t like dogs, or freaks out about Sadie licking them, game over. Ainsley long ago passed that test. Too bad she’s off limits. We’re friends. That’s all we can ever be. She unlocks her door and turns the knob.

  “Thanks for the walk and ice cream,” she says over her shoulder.

  “Same time tomorrow?” I ask without thinking.

  “Sure,” she says, flashing me that incredible smile of hers.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  PRESENT DAY

  AINSLEY

  I knew the kind of guy Rhett was. I knew serious wasn’t his thing. I knew using the word love usually sent him running for the hills. I knew it, and I did it anyway.

  But he wasn’t that guy with me. He and I were different. I know he loved me.

  I’ve loved that man since I was fifteen years old. How could I not? Forget the abs, the tan skin, those pale, sexy blue eyes. Forget the fact that his voice sends shivers down my spine. The first time we kissed, I felt my whole world shatter and fall into place at the same time.

  I tried to pretend to be “that” girl. The kind that can kiss a guy just for fun, screw a man and not imagine a life with him. I tried. I failed. The hopeless romantic in me wasn’t having it.

  My heart should’ve known better—but my heart was no match for Rhett Bennett.

  When Rhett and I fell apart, I broke up with social media. I have to say, that breakup was a lot easier. No hashtags, no emojis, no memes to post. Some people use social media as their therapist. I’ve seen people post play-by-plays of their divorce, or explain every detail of their latest illness or drama. I probably could’ve attracted a lot more followers if I chronicled the demise of our relationship. It’s the stuff of soap operas.

  But instead, I broke it off with Facebook, banned Instagram, and boycotted Twitter.

  Today, Facebook and I are having one last romp. Relationship status update: Single.

  That’s it. That one little change. I have to start somewhere. Skye’s right about that.

  The one part of being single I have embraced is the diet. The single woman diet consists of basically any breakfast food for dinner, coffee, and alcohol. I’ve gotten so good at it, I no longer need a grocery cart when I shop. Quick tip, don’t get a cart at the grocery store, only buy what you can hold. It’s good for the budget and the waistline. Unfortunately, that rule doesn’t work so well at clothing stores.

  My hands full of cereal, bagels, orange juice, and the champagne Skye introduced me to, my overloaded arms tell me my shopping is done for the evening. I step up to the self-checkout. There’s something about sliding my items across the scanner that takes me back to being a kid. I think all little kids dream of one day making that little beep beep sound.

  The ding of my phone from my purse doesn’t give me the same feeling. When Rhett and I were together, I loved when my phone dinged. It was almost always a sweet message from him or something funny to make me laugh. Now the dings are either work or Brody worried about me and checking in. I’d love a pic of Sadie right about now. I think about her almost as much as I think about Rhett.

  I don’t want to be this woman. The one who can’t let go and move on. The one that others feel sorry for. I know Rhett wouldn’t want this for me, either.

  Grabbing my grocery sacks in one hand, I muster a smile, remembering Rhett trying to carry all the groceries inside in one trip. He’d have bags lined up his forearm, both hands holding at least eight bags each. Crazy man! It’s little things like that. Just when I think I’m moving forward, something tiny like that will pop into my mind, and I’m sucked back in.

  I make it to my car. Thank God for keyless entry! Getting the handle is hard enough with my arms full, I can’t imagine if I had to dig through my purse for my keys.

  First world problems all the way.

  Tossing my bags in the passenger seat, I glance out the back window to make sure no one is waiting for my parking spot before fetching my phone from my purse. It’s the worst when you are waiting for someone to pull out of a parking spot, and they are taking their sweet time. I refuse to be that person, so I make sure no one is there before checking my cell.

  I hope you don’t mind Skye gave me your number.

  That’s as much as I need to read to know who’s texting me—the hot, older doctor from her clinic. My stomach does a somersault. A new man should be a new beginning, but instead, it only makes things feel more final. Suddenly, I wish someone was waiting for my parking spot. Staring down at my phone, I realize Rhett’s name is no longer on the home page of my messages app. It’s been too long, too many other people have messaged me. He’s buried beneath a sea of people far less important than he is to me—even still.

  Tossing my phone back in my purse, I start my car and pull away. I didn’t actually open the message, so I know that little number one will be taunting me from my message app, daring me to answer. Of course, I could always delete the message. That might put Skye in an awkward situation, but I’m sure she’d understand.

  I glance at my purse then back to the road, realizing now I’ve missed the turn home. You might think I wouldn’t want to continue living at the condo downstairs from Rhett’s place, but it’s been fine. It took me a little while to accept that he wouldn’t be knocking on my door to walk Sadie or that I wouldn’t roll over and find his handsome face sharing my pillow. My heart isn’t going to forget Rhett, so it doesn’t matter where I live. He’s not even living at his condo anymore, so it’s not like I’m going to run into him.

  Besides, I can’t really afford to move right now. Even if I did, it wouldn’t be away from Charleston. Skye, Brody, and I need each other more than ever these days. So, I sunk every dime I had into opening my own storefront. A Rose Wedding Dress Designs. That store has saved my sanity.

  When I just don’t want to face life, I escape into my designs, where everything is perfect. The righ
t pearl placed just to catch the light, the right crystal to highlight the neckline, those things can make me forget the world.

  I think that’s what sets me apart as a designer. At least I hope so. I don’t just go online and order crystals and beads. Each one is a story, a hunt, a treasure. I’ve ripped dresses apart I found at yard sales or the Goodwill just for five or six perfect pearls. Some brides come in with their mothers’ or grandmothers’ dresses. They want me to use bits and pieces of each to create something new and unique for them. I certainly do that, but there are women like me who aren’t fortunate enough to have their mother’s dress, and I want them to feel just as special. So I hunt around and do whatever is needed to make it happen.

  I’ve used christening gowns, handkerchiefs, old corsets. Heck, once I used an old dishtowel in a dress. It was the one thing that made this particular client think of her mother. To see a bride’s face when she realizes a part of her mother is going to walk down the aisle with her, well, that’s why I do what I do. That’s why I love designing dresses.

  I love taking things that others discard, things that anyone else would think of as ugly or outdated and giving them new life. Ever see a broken glass bottle, the way it catches the light and casts a rainbow? Beauty in imperfection, that’s what I’m about as a designer. I guess that’s what I’m about as a person, too. My parents took me to pick out a puppy once when I was very little, and I picked the runt of the litter. Not because it needed me, or because I felt sorry for it, but because to me, it was the cutest.

  Not everyone can find beauty in ugly.

  Rhett included.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO

  This is me handing you my heart.

  A. Rose

  RHETT

  There are no how-to manuals on avoiding bedding your best friend’s baby sister. I’ll have to wing it. Daily dog walks probably aren’t part of the manual. I need a plan.