Changing Lanes

by Vining, Season

  I grin because I can’t help it. “Don’t worry. If you’re any kind of decent human being, I’d guess you’re pretty far off from that scumbag.”

  “All those colorful words I heard earlier and you’re going to go with scumbag now?” Lane asks.

  I laugh as my cheeks burn. “Oh, you heard that, huh?”

  “I think everyone in the tri-county area heard that.” He’s teasing me and the joy that brings feels foreign. I crave more of it.

  “My sister and I used to have contests to see who could make up the best alternatives to curse words. Drove my mom nuts. Sometimes they still come flying out of my mouth. So, okay, not scumbag. How’s slap nugget thunder cow?”

  Lane throws back his head and lets out a laugh. “I definitely do not want to be associated with him. You want to call me a different name or something? How’s Mike or Larry?”

  I scrunch up my face and shake my head. “No. Lane is fine. I’ll just have to associate some new, more pleasant thoughts with the name.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” he says and resumes his search along the perimeter of the house. “But don’t say I never gave you the chance.”

  I can’t keep my eyes off of his wide shoulders and the way those jeans hug his ass. It almost makes me feel like a dirty old lady. Almost. We go through the gate into my backyard and he spots something under my porch steps.

  “This might be it,” he says. With no hesitation, he drops down and crawls under the steps. I duck my head to watch him try and turn a knob connected to some old pipes. The muscles of his arms flex, the thin material of his t-shirt pulling tight, as he finally gets it loose and shuts it off. Lane crawls out and dusts off his hands. “That should do it, but we should check to be sure.”

  A bark comes from his backyard accompanied by some scratching at the fence. “Quiet, Chap,” Lane says. I stand there staring at him in the moonlight, appreciating the sharpness of his jaw and the thick black lashes lining unreasonably blue eyes.

  “I love your dog,” I blurt out. He smiles in a way that says he loves his dog too. “Sometimes I just want to steal him out of your yard and keep him. But then that wouldn’t work, because you’d totally recognize your own dog if he lived next door. Maybe he can visit? He’s just the cutest thing.”

  “Thanks. He’s lucky he’s cute, because that short little mongrel is a handful. And I think a visit would be fine. Though I might have to keep a close eye on you now that I know you’re a thief.”

  “Non-practicing thief,” I clarify.

  “Non-practicing?”

  “Yes. I’ve never actually stolen anything. I’m a thief in theory.”

  We wear matching grins and stand silently in the darkness of my backyard until it becomes awkward.

  “Ma’am?” he asks. I snap out of my staring.

  “Uh, yes,” I answer. “Come on in.” I lead him back to the front of the house. “Don’t judge my empty house,” I beg as I let him inside. “And please don’t call me ma’am. God, it makes me feel so old.”

  “Sorry,” Lane says with a shrug. “I thought it was customary for you southerners. Besides, you never told me your name.”

  I head upstairs and he follows. “Oh, god. I’m sorry. I’m Stella. And apparently, I’ve forgotten my manners. My momma would be so embarrassed. How did you know I’m from the South?”

  He grins. “This is a small town. News travels fast. Besides, your accent is a dead giveaway.”

  “Damn. And here I thought I left that back home.”

  “Definitely not. But don’t worry. I like it.”

  I blush, but don’t have time to respond before reaching my bedroom door. Lane crashes into my back as I stop short. His large hands grab my waist to keep me from falling over.

  “Shit,” I say. The water has covered the bathroom and seeped out into my bedroom now, onto the hardwood floors. “Let me get some towels.”

  “I’ll make sure the leak has stopped. Where was it?”

  “Behind the tub,” I shout from inside the linen closet in the hall.

  I grab every towel from the closet and throw them over the water in my bedroom. Lane finds me down on my hands and knees, sopping up water in the most ineffective way.

  “I have a wet vac in my garage. Let me go put my dog back inside. I’ll grab it and be right back.”

  He’s out the door before I can answer. As soon as the front door closes, I jump up and check myself out in the bathroom mirror. My feet are in about an inch of water and practically frozen at this point. My hair is a tangled mess and my face is red and blotchy from the cold. I try to smooth down my hair, but it’s no use. Cupping my hands in front of my mouth, I huff hot hair onto them a few times before I hear the front door again.

  Sloshing through the water, I pull up all the soaked towels and drop them in the empty tub. I look up when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

  “I’m back,” Lane says, appearing in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. He stands in the hall, his eyes connect with mine as he holds up the wet vac.

  “Well, come on in,” I say, meeting him in my bedroom.

  “Sorry,” he says with a smirk. “I don’t usually go into a woman’s bedroom unless I’m invited.”

  Lane gives me a wink and my heart thumps so hard, I’m sure he can hear it. Is this flirting? It’s been so long, I’m not even sure. My face warms at the thought. While I’m not sure I’m ready for anything serious, a nice roll in the hay would be welcome. I think.

  “Well, thanks for the vacuum. Can I return it to you in the morning?” I ask.

  “No way,” Lane says, giving me a look that says I must be crazy. “I’m not going to leave you here with this mess. What kind of man would do that?”

  “My ex-husband,” I say without thinking. I turn toward the window, so he can’t see me cringe.

  “Well, he sounds like a loser. No offense.”

  I turn to find Lane holding out the plug of the vacuum and nodding to the outlet on the wall. “None taken,” I say as I plug it in for him.

  I move to the bathroom and create a dam between the two rooms with the last of my towels and my bathrobe. I hear the vacuum shut off and go to check on him. What I find makes my stomach lurch.

  This beautiful, sweet man is standing beside my bed, holding a pink velvet bag trimmed in fur and dripping wet. Two vibrators and a glitter dildo peek out of the top. He seems amused while I want to spontaneously combust into a pile of ash.

  “They were under the bed and getting wet,” he says with a grin. “I thought you might want to save them.”

  My pulse spikes and I feel dizzy. “Oh, uh.” I race over and snatch the bag from his hands. “That’s just a silly divorce gift from my former coworkers.”

  “That you conveniently keep under your bed?” His smirk is so infuriatingly devilish it makes a warm tingling sensation sprout in my chest and settle in my panties.

  I clutch the wet bag to my chest and the glittered dildo slaps me in the chin. “Oh god,” I mumble. “I’ll just put these… yeah.”

  I practically sprint into the bathroom and throw the bag into a wicker basket on the highest shelf on the back wall. Lane follows me in and the space is so tight, I feel trapped in here with him now. While I stew in my mortification, he starts the vacuum and works to dry the bathroom floor. When he reaches me awkwardly standing in the corner, he wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me onto the bathroom counter. I let out a little yelp, though I doubt he hears it over the roar of the vacuum.

  Another few minutes and Lane is done. He turns the machine off and straightens up, stretching his hands high over his head. The thin t-shirt lifts just enough to see a strip of skin and I avert my eyes just after he catches me looking.

  “Is your back okay?” I ask.

  “I’ll be fine,” he says, his eyes on my chest. I wait for Lane to meet my eyes, but he doesn’t. Glancing down, I find that my t-shirt must have gotten wet when I held the wet bag of sex toys to my chest and now it is practically see
through. This man has seen my tits twice and it hardly seems fair. I clear my throat to get his attention and it barely works. Slowly, his gaze moves to my face and he laughs, knowing he’s been caught.

  “Thank you so much for your help,” I say, hopping down from the counter and crossing my arms over my chest. “Between the water cut off and the cleaning up, you really saved me tonight.”

  “No problem. We can all use a little saving sometime, Stella.” Hmm, the first time he says my name sends a flutter through my body. It feels sweet and warm, and a little bit dirty. I want to hold onto that feeling, but a yawn escapes interrupting my thoughts.

  “Well,” I say. “I’m going to get all these towels into the washer and get to bed. Starting my new job tomorrow.”

  “Down at Grace Books?” I nod. Lane wraps the cord around the vacuum while I gather up all the wet towels. “Need some help?” he asks.

  I peek around the pile and shake my head. “No, I’m good. Luckily, the laundry room is upstairs.” I feel the water soaking into my clothes and just want him to go.

  “It’s not a problem,” he says, grabbing a handful. Again, wet t-shirt tits on display. Lane practically throws the towels back into my arms. “I’m sure you can handle it. I’m going to empty this outside and head home.” He backs out of the room quickly. “If you need a plumber recommendation or anything, let me know.”

  And just like that, he’s gone. I don’t exhale until my front door slams closed.

  5

  “SO, YOUR MAIN duties,” Becca says while pinning my new name tag onto my shirt, “are stocking shelves, assembling displays, customer service, and helping with inventory twice a year.”

  “Got it,” I say, giving her an enthusiastic smile. “I think I can handle that.”

  “Honey, we both know you’re overqualified for this job, but who am I to deny a true book-lover?”

  I smooth down the front of my shirt, though there’s no need. I’m just nervous for some reason. Getting a job here makes everything more real. Not even purchasing a home made me feel like I was putting down roots like this does. I follow Becca from her office, to the back room where there are stacks and stacks of books and it’s so organized it makes my heart happy.

  “This is my system. You’ll have to learn my way because I’m old, and there’s no changing it now.”

  “Of course,” I say, running my fingers along the spines of books. I see JUDE drawn onto a cardboard box with permanent marker. “Was Jude upset when you fired her?”

  Becca laughs and presses a hand to her stomach. “That girl wouldn’t care if an alien race landed here and took over the town. You know how these teenagers are.”

  I nod. But I don’t really know anything about teenagers. I have a niece, but she’s still young—and now, so far away. When I am settled in, I want to have her up for a visit, maybe during the summer break. I want to introduce her to a world outside of the South.

  I always wanted children of my own, but my ex said it was never the right time. Now that I’m older, I feel like my window of opportunity has passed and I’ll have to be content with that.

  My day is spent learning the ropes from Becca. She shows me how to work the register, lets me wander the store regularly so that I’m familiar with where everything is, and even treats me to lunch at the diner.

  “I’ll pay if you go pick it up,” she says, handing over some cash.

  My mind flashes back to the owner of the diner and his grumpy face, but I nod and take the money. I throw on my jacket and walk to the corner to cross at the light. I laugh out loud when I realize I’m waiting for a crosswalk signal with not a car in sight.

  I hurry across the street and step into a surprisingly busy diner. Seeing an old yellowed sign hanging from the ceiling that reads “Pick Up” I place myself in line and wait. Waitresses busy themselves filling drinks and delivering food. There’s a melody to this place that is clinking forks and conversation. And the smell is familiar, like a home-cooked meal and fresh apple pie.

  Suddenly, a large body slides in front of me. “Excuse me,” I say.

  Lane turns around and acts surprised to see me. “Oh, Stella. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Uh huh. Back of the line.” He chuckles and takes his place behind me. I spin to face him, not wanting to miss looking at his gorgeous face and the way his long sleeve shirt pulls tight around his biceps. “Nice to see you in the daylight again.”

  “You too,” he says with his lopsided grin. “It’s rare that I come out of my cave, but it’s Wednesday, so that means the Reuben sandwich special.”

  “So the Reuben can drag you out of isolation. Good to know.”

  “Stella, are you keeping notes on me?” he asks, leaning in so that we’re closer now. My heart thumps against my chest and I’m still shocked at my body’s reaction to this man.

  “Let’s just say I’m trying to keep up with all the new characters in my story.” He grins and nods his chin, letting me know I need to move up in line. I take a step backward as Lane moves forward.

  “Well, good luck with that. There is no shortage of ‘characters’ in this town. Have you met Frank? He owns this place.”

  “Yeah,” I say, twirling a piece of my hair around my index finger. “I came in looking for a job. He was not impressed with me.”

  Lane laughs and nods his chin again. I move back. He moves up. “Frank is not impressed with anyone. He’s the very definition of a curmudgeon.”

  A grin tugs at my lips. “Mmm,” I say. “I love a good vocabulary word.”

  Lane returns my grin. “Really? How about superfluous? Boondoggle? Idiosyncratic?”

  I fan a hand in front of my face. “If this is your version of dirty talk, I’m in.”

  We both laugh and I turn to face the register now, unable to face him after my brazen flirting. I tell the waitress Becca’s name and hand over the cash. She gives me my change and a bag of food from under the counter. I turn to Lane.

  “Well, I’ll see you around. I’ve gotta get back to work,” I say, moving toward the door.

  “Bye, Stella. This capricious meeting has been scintillating.”

  I giggle and make my way out the door, across the street and back into Grace Books.

  “That’s a big smile you’re wearing for a cheeseburger and fries,” she says. I just shake my head and hand over the food.

  We stand at the front counter, eating our lunches, and have only seen three customers all day. When it’s quiet, my mind often returns to Lane coming to my rescue last night, our chat in the diner.

  “So, the guy who was here yesterday…” I say, trailing off.

  Becca smiles. “Lane Holder? What about him?” she asks, raising one eyebrow higher than the other.

  “He’s my neighbor. His real name is Lane Holder?” I ask with a chuckle.

  “Yep,” Becca says. “Was a real pain in the ass when he was a kid. But now he’s all grown up and nobody seems to mind. You must have bought the old Whitman place? Nice. I always loved that house.”

  “I love it too.” I stare at her, waiting for more, but Becca remains quiet. “Are you going to make me ask again?”

  “What?” she asks. “Oh! Lane, yes. He’s my accountant,” she says. “Helps me out with taxes, payroll, whatever I need. I’m friends with his grandmother. Super smart kid.”

  The word kid guts me. “He certainly doesn’t look like a kid,” I say.

  Becca laughs. It’s a big, guttural sound that startles me. “When you’re my age, everyone is a kid,” she says. “Doesn’t mean I would kick him out of bed, sweetheart.”

  I laugh and decide to change the subject. “Is it usually this slow?” I ask, returning my attention to my lunch.

  Becca nods and pops a French fry into her mouth. “Yeah, ebooks are killing bookstores. But we seem to be able to hang on with the older generation. Once the old farts around here die off, who knows what will happen. Hey, maybe print will make a comeback, huh?”

  My eyes drift to the
huge display for Alaina Taylor at the back of the store. “Maybe. Do you ever have any author signings or events? I imagine that would be a great way to bring in customers, especially since Alaina Taylor is a local.”

  I watch Becca for a reaction, hoping I’m not pressing for information too soon. While my insides scream, “Yes, I’m a stalker. I love her. Please introduce me!” my expression remains indifferent.

  “Every once in a while, we’ll have an author blow through town, wanting to support an indie bookstore. It helps,” Becca says before sucking on her straw.

  “But what about Alaina Taylor? I mean, she lives here.”

  Becca stares at me and then looks out at the street. “Well, that’s a different story,” she says. “That woman is reclusive and never does public appearances. We get autographed books, but never a personal signing.”

  “Never?” I whine.

  “Never.”

  I push my food away, no longer having an appetite. All I can think about is how I partly picked this town, a thousand miles away from home, for a chance to meet my favorite author, and she ends up being some kind of hermit.

  “Well, that sucks,” I say, resting my chin in my palm.

  “I know you’re a fan,” Becca says. “Maybe we can get her to sign something to you. Let me contact her people.”

  I grin, hope is restored. “Her people? She has people? Can I be a people? I’m good people.”

  Becca laughs and pats my shoulder. “I’m sure you are, Stella.”

  _______________

  I sit at my kitchen table, picking at a microwaved dinner while still wearing my nametag. A pounding knock rocks through the house and I jump from my chair to see who it is. When I swing the door open, Marley is smiling back at me. She’s holding a bottle of wine and a white box.

  “How was the first day, love?” she asks, while moving past me into the kitchen. She sets the box down and proceeds to open the wine.

  I close the door and follow her. “You know I had plenty of wine already, right?”

  “Yes. But this is a special occasion. This is ‘She got her own house. She got her own car. One job, work hard, you a bad broad’ wine.”