Just Love

by Prescott Lane

  She flips a few pages in the sketchpad to show me, and I nod. “I used to draw my mom’s dress over and over again. I always thought I’d wear her dress when I got married.” She looks away. “But it was lost in the fire, too.”

  “I didn’t know that part. I just bought the pad because it seemed like it was the only time you were happy. I can’t believe you kept it.”

  “It was the best gift anyone ever gave me.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  PRESENT DAY

  AINSLEY

  I’m a horrible liar, nothing ever comes to me in the right moment. I hate that. And I’m totally the person that thinks of the witty comeback five minutes after the conversation ends. My mom used to say it’s because I don’t have a mean bone in my body. That was my mom. She believed the best about people.

  She probably would’ve liked my date, Dr. Hottie, and thought his advice was sound. He said to remember Rhett, to think about him. I didn’t have much of a comeback for that. No lie could take away my tears or save that wretched first date.

  I figure I’ve got exactly two hours before my phone rings, Skye wondering how it all went down. Tearing off my dress, I unhook my false advertising bra, tossing it in the hamper. Yes, I know you should wash them separately and hang them to dry, but seriously, who does that? I reach for my bathrobe, my eyes landing on a box in the top of the closet. Does everyone keep a breakup box? Imagine if you kept a box for every ex-boyfriend you had. Good Lord, some women would need an extra storage unit. But I only have the one.

  Rhett.

  The breakup box.

  I put the lid on it and haven’t opened it since. I’m not sure what’s closed up tighter, that box or my heart. Do I need to open that box to open my heart?

  Do I want to open my heart again?

  Gently, I carry it over to my bed, setting it down. Tucking my feet under me, I place my hands on top, trying to remember the last thing I stuck in there, so I’ll have some idea what’s facing me. Our relationship was mostly secret, so there’s not a lot of the typical stuff. No concert stubs or dried out flowers from our first date. You won’t find a heart balloon or a mixed tape (not that people actually do those anymore), but you get the idea.

  I take a deep breath and open the lid to my past. My first sketchpad is on top, the one he gave me not long after I moved in with my brother and him. I wonder if he knew how much that meant to me. How much that influenced my life. I doubt I would be a wedding dress designer if he hadn’t given me that pad, believed in me. I never told him that. Flipping open the cover, I run my fingers across his handwriting. It’s a small piece of him. One of the few I still have.

  Placing it aside, I look down and find his pale blue eyes, and I swear he’s staring right at me. Pulling out a picture of Skye, Rhett, and Brody from the box, I remember the day exactly—my sixteenth birthday. They were all standing around me in front of my first car. Even Sadie’s in the picture. They’d all taken turns teaching me how to drive. Skye had taken me for just the right sunglasses, while Brody insisted I learn on a stick and automatic. It was Rhett who got him to back off and let up a little.

  I look at the girl in the photo, remembering loving Rhett even then. In my eyes, he was the ultimate guy, the measure to which every other guy had to live up to—hot, smart, funny, and sweet. Of course, he was clueless, insisting on calling me A. Rose, just to drive me nuts. Things were so much simpler then. When he didn’t know how I felt. Before “just fun” led to the most consuming love of my life.

  If only I could’ve separated sex and love, then none of this would’ve happened. We’d all still be friends. Rhett would still be in my life. He’d still be . . .

  I slam the lid back on the box, my head shaking, not wanting to remember anymore how it all went so very wrong.

  The vet clinic is one of the sponsors for the Charleston shelter. Today’s event at a local park brings out the most devoted animal lovers. There’s a walk, a bakery with dog friendly treats, even a photographer so you can have a photo session with your pet. Brody’s busy doing his part to raise awareness and funds, and Skye’s been scoping out men for me. She has this whole theory that you can pick a man based on his pet. She thinks men who own cats aren’t ready to commit. Men with reptiles should be avoided at all costs. Horse loving men are grade A, but steer clear of guys who are into birds. I’ve tried to point out that, while Brody loves animals, he might be the only veterinarian on the planet who doesn’t have a pet. She simply said that’s because she’s enough of an animal for him. I could’ve lived my whole life without that knowledge.

  Of course, dog lovers make the best boyfriends, according to her theory, but the type of dog is important. Labs, retrievers, spaniels are all acceptable. Men who have “fussy” breeds, like those with long hair, can handle high maintenance women. Owners of German Shepherds, pit bulls and the like are alpha males to the extreme. The cream of the crop guys own mixed breeds.

  “How about him?” Skye asks, nodding in the direction of a rather buff guy walking a standard poodle.

  “My tears are barely dry from my last date,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes, pointing out another fella. “Him?”

  “Two things,” I say. “I don’t date guys who have longer hair than me, or who weigh less than me.”

  “Picky, picky,” she says, laughing.

  “Hey,” Brody says, kissing Skye and me both on top of our heads. “Sorry I’ve been so busy.”

  “Used to it,” Skye says with an unmistakable tone. I know Brody works long hours, especially since Rhett is no longer his partner, and I can tell it’s wearing on her.

  “Let’s not do this in front of my sister,” he says.

  “Hire someone,” she says.

  Brody mouths sorry to me. “You should get some help,” I tell him. “Skye’s right. Rhett’s gone. Guess we both need to accept it.”

  He taps my nose. “You always were the smart one.”

  I dart my eyes to Skye. My stupid ass brother needs to fix this. We can’t lose someone else we love. He bends down in front of her, but she doesn’t look at him.

  “Ten years to get married,” Skye whimpers. “And our wedding was . . .”

  She glances up at me, not able to say it. There’s a lot we don’t say. We all know what happened. No use reliving it.

  “I’m not getting any younger, Brody,” she says. “We said we’d have kids right away.”

  “Do we have to do this here?” he asks, trying to keep his voice soft.

  Skye and my brother have been together over a decade, and I’ve never seen them like this. They had one brief breakup years ago, but I don’t even know what caused it. All couples argue, but usually not in public, in front of family, so openly. I guess that’s how you know when things are really bad. You don’t care who sees, the mask has already fallen.

  “No,” she says, getting to her feet. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

  “Skye!” he begs, but she just walks off.

  I shove his arm. “Chase her.”

  “She wants to be alone.”

  “No,” I say, pushing him again. “She wants to feel like she’s first.”

  He stares at me for a second before realizing I’m a genius. He calls her name, hurrying through the crowd. Watching his pursuit, I smile when I see him wipe a tear from her cheek, praying he doesn’t say or do anything else stupid. I see Skye nod and smile back. I’m not naive enough to believe that whatever is going on between them is now fixed, but nothing ever gets fixed if one person walks away. I should know that better than anyone.

  Maybe I should get a dog. Looking around, all these pet owners seem happy. There are all kinds of studies about dog owners living longer. I wander here to there, searching the sea of fur. It’s kind of like searching for the right man. Too tall, too short, too round, too loud, too hairy, bad breath, bad teeth. At least dogs are loyal and love unconditionally. Of course, some of them bite, but men have been known to do that, too. It’s been for
ever since a man nibbled any part of me.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around. Rhett’s parents both smile at me. Panic sets in, and my eyes immediately search for pale blue ones.

  “Is Rhett here?” I ask, my voice sounding more hopeful than it should.

  “No,” Diane says. “We thought you knew, he’s living in . . .”

  Cliff gently places his arm on his wife’s shoulder, knowing an update on Rhett isn’t what I need or what Rhett would want.

  “We wanted to come out and support the clinic, the cause. It was a big part of our lives for so long,” Cliff says. “We weren’t sure you’d be here. I hope you don’t mind.”

  My eyes fill, and I wrap my arms around them, feeling both their chests start shaking, their own emotions getting the better of them. No matter what happened between me and their son, it doesn’t change what I feel for them. I love them. Even if Rhett and I aren’t together, my feelings for them don’t change. They had to side with Rhett. I know that. I also know they wished he’d acted differently. But as my dad used to say, you wish in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up faster.

  Basically, wishing is bullshit.

  “How are you, honey?” Diane asks, pulling away and wiping her face. “I walked by your store the other day.”

  My store is in the historic district of Charleston, close to the vet clinic. I’ve only been open a few months, but I’m busier than I expected to be. Charleston is becoming popular for destination weddings, and I’ve gotten a lot of long-distance brides who are interested, as well as the locals.

  I guess it’s inevitable that I’d run into Rhett’s parents at some point. I’m too unlucky for it to be any other way. Bumping into an ex, or their parents, is usually cringe-worthy, but not with these two.

  “The dress in the window is exquisite.”

  I swallow hard. She’s the only one that knows about that dress. “That’s my remake of my mom’s dress. You know, with my modern spin.”

  “Keep making dresses like that, and you might get your own wedding dress show like on TLC.”

  It’s sweet she supports me. We stand there catching up, all three of us. It’s amazing how we can fill the conversation without bringing up Rhett. But even though we don’t speak his name, he’s there, like a ghost over our shoulders. I wonder if they’ll tell him they saw me. If so, I hope they say I look better than I do. Maybe I should tell them I went on a date. Do I want that to get back to Rhett? Truth is, part of me does and part of me doesn’t. I decide to keep it to myself.

  “Are Brody and Skye here?” Cliff asks. “We’d love to see them.”

  Pulling out my phone, I say, “I’ll text them.”

  Looking around for a landmark, I text them to meet me by the jumbo yellow dog bowl sign, and within a couple minutes I spot them, waving them over. I see Brody and Skye are holding hands. Progress, I think.

  When Brody sees my company, his eyes catch mine. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to know that he’s asking if I’m alright. I give him a little nod that I’m good. They all exchange hellos and hugs, and then I notice that Brody’s hand goes right back to holding Skye’s. He knows he’s got his work cut out for him.

  As soon as the pleasantries end, things feel different. It’s glaringly obvious who’s missing in this sudden little reunion. And the more all of us ignore it, the worse it gets. How can someone’s absence make them more present than ever?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SEVENTEEN MONTHS AGO

  I wonder when you first loved me.

  A. Rose

  RHETT

  With Sadie by my side, I lock up the vet clinic for the night. Sadie’s ears perk up, and she tilts her head back and forth, making me realize I’m whistling. Apparently, I’m turning into one of those sappy guys who walks around whistling, but I can’t help myself. There’s a smoking hot woman waiting for me.

  I’ve spent every night with Ainsley this past week. I wake up with her every morning and fuck her to sleep every night. That deserves a little whistle. We never go out, except to walk Sadie or visit the ice cream shop. We can’t risk someone seeing us, and I can’t trust myself to keep my hands off her much longer than it takes for a stroll with Sadie. But it’s starting to feel unnatural not to be able to hold her hand or kiss her cheek even for those short periods of time.

  My phone dings in my pocket.

  Thought you’d like to know, got my period. No worries, A. Rose

  I look at Sadie, wondering why I haven’t been more worried about that. We’ve been careful since that first time on the patio, but I haven’t given our slip up any thought. Perhaps I should have. Obviously, Ainsley worried enough that she thought to tell me. Even though I wasn’t stressed about it, it’s still a relief to know we’re all good. I decide to stop by the store for a carton of ice cream for her, hoping her period doesn’t mean moodiness, tears, or cramps. I don’t want to get yelled at just because I exist, and I definitely don’t want her in pain, or to see her cry.

  After a quick stop, I walk into her condo with Sadie, finding Ainsley at her dress form, which is in the middle of the den. The rest of the room is covered in fabric, beading, and lace. She looks up at me with a needle in her mouth. My breath stops for a second. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. She’s so damn beautiful. Taking the needle out and sticking it in a pin cushion, she asks, “Didn’t you get my text?”

  “Yeah, I brought ice cream.”

  Her smile lights up the entire room. Good, no moodiness. I hand her the carton and kiss her on top of the head.

  She studies her dress form. “I’m sorry for the mess. I didn’t think you’d be coming over.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “I’ve been over every night.”

  She walks into the kitchen for a spoon and starts in on the ice cream. “I told you. I have my period.”

  A rush of heat comes over my skin. I don’t remember ever being this irritated with her before. Not when she used my shaving cream in college. Not when she walked in on me making out with my girlfriend, or took my car without asking. “You think just because you’re on your period, that I would just what? Go find someone else to fuck?”

  Ainsley’s whole body recoils at that word. “No,” she whispers. “I just thought since I’m out of commission for a few days, you might want to do other things.” She stiffens her spine. “Not other women.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of spending time with you without the sex part. I’m not using you.” I know technically our “just fun” arrangement means we are, in fact, using each other, but there’s more to it than that.

  “I didn’t say you were.” She steps toward me. “I just thought you might want to go have guy time or something. I didn’t mean to insinuate you were a bad guy.”

  Her blue eyes stare at me. It feels like she’s looking right fucking through me. It wasn’t until right now that I realize how deep I’m in this. How much I feel for her. Sadie rushes to her side and hides behind her legs.

  “Traitor,” I tell my dog.

  “Hey, don’t yell at the dog,” she says. “If you’re mad at me, then yell at me.”

  I want to be mad at her, but I’m really pissed at myself for becoming attached to her. I should want time alone, but I don’t. I just want her, and it’s pissing me off.

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  She puts her hand on her hip. “Seems like you’re mad at me. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to imply you’re only good for . . .” She waves her hand in the air, unable to use that word for what we’ve been doing together a lot lately.

  I should go running for the hills. She can’t even say we are fucking. I know what we are doing means more to her than that. I know I’m not an empty lay to her. And that just makes me want her even more. Truth is, she’s more to me than that. I’m not mad at her. I’m mad I can’t have more of her.

  Giving her a halfway smile, I say, “I am good at that, though.”

  “The best,” she says with
a laugh and wraps her arms around my waist.

  I pick her up so we’re eye level. “If you want to be alone, have a night off. Just tell me.”

  “I don’t.” Her blue eyes lower to the floor, and it breaks my heart. “I don’t want you to get sick of me.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I say, trying to ignore my heart doing somersaults in my chest, screaming I will never tire of her.

  “There are other ways we can have fun together,” she says, raising an eyebrow at me.

  Tickling her a little, I tease, “Do they involve you on your knees?”

  Turns out sexless fun involves pigging out on junk food, binge watching television, and slow dancing in her living room. As soft music comes from one of the music stations on the television, she leans her head on my shoulder, her arms around my neck. We aren’t winning any awards for our dancing, basically just swaying slowly back and forth.

  Her living room is cluttered with lace, beads, and fabric. Sadie’s curled up on her sofa, snoring, and we’re in the middle of it all. She traded in clothes for pajamas a few hours ago, she doesn’t have an ounce of makeup on, her hair is loose, and it’s the best damn date I’ve ever been on, and we haven’t left her place. No sex involved. Just her and me.

  I remember my dad telling me once that he and my mom can have fun anywhere. That even doing something terrible like pulling weeds in the garden is better if she’s by his side. At the time, I rolled my eyes, thinking my parents were such a sappy embarrassment, but now I’m starting to understand.

  That’s the way it’s always been with Ainsley and me. I just never realized it. Maybe it’s because we were friends first. Maybe it’s because of the six-year age difference, but she and I always had simple fun together. I just never knew what it meant. I never knew that all those nights we laughed our asses off after we burned yet another dinner meant more than we were both bad cooks.