by Hazel James
“Can she drive your car back to her house?”
“Why would she need to do that?”
“Because I get off in thirty minutes. Why don’t you come home with me and hang out before the movies? I want to spend as much time with you as possible while I can.” I bite my lip and pray silently. She stares at me for three full seconds, then smiles and pulls out her phone.
“That sounds like an excellent plan.” She sends a text to Avery then picks up her menu. “I should order some lunch before you get off shift.”
“Just make sure you save some room for dessert. Gran will have fresh pie when we get back to my house.”
“An afternoon with my school husband and his gran’s infamous pie. How did I get to be such a lucky girl?” She closes her menu and flashes a beautiful smile at me before I take her order and head back to the kitchen.
“One last ticket before you go, Fletcher. Make it good. This one’s for my girl.”
“Rachel’s your girl?” he asks, grinning.
“Not officially, but yeah. She’s it, man.” I glance toward her booth. She’s dressed in her typical track pants and running shoes, and her hair’s in some froofy half ponytail thing that girls do. She is seriously beautiful.
“You’re sure Avery’s alright with going with me tonight?” Fletcher asks. You wouldn’t think a good-looking guy like him would be nervous, but I can see him chewing the inside of his cheek.
“I promise, she’s stoked. She seems to think that you’re not interested in her, though. You gotta step up your game, bro.”
Fletcher assembles the ingredients for Rachel’s lunch. “Dude, she’s the main reason I applied to work here. She just seems so… I don’t know. Untouchable. Guys are always chasing after her, and I have no idea what she’d want with a nineteen-year-old short-order cook who still lives at home with his parents after graduating. She probably thinks I’m a loser.”
Fletcher needs to get his mind out of the defeated zone or tonight is going to royally suck. “There’s nothing wrong with living at home to take care of your mom.”
“How’d you know that?” he asks, mid-wrap.
Shit!
“Um, you mentioned it earlier this morning. Must have been before your caffeine kicked in. She’s not gonna think you’re a loser, I promise.”
He exhales. “If you say so.” He plates Rachel’s turkey wrap and fries. “Thanks for helping me out, dude. I’ve wanted to ask Avery out forever, I just never know what to say around her so I usually don’t say anything at all.”
“No sweat, Fletch. See ya later tonight.”
I set Rachel’s plate and Diet Coke on her table. “Your lunch is served, Mrs. Tennyson.”
“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” she asks, giggling.
“Not unless you want me to.” My fingers brush hers when I hand her the bottle of ketchup.
“It doesn’t bother me any.” She turns an adorable shade of red, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Well that settles it. I’m gonna grab my stuff while you finish lunch. I’ll be back in a few.”
“Make yourself at home.” We walk into the house and I toss my keys on the kitchen counter. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower and wash off the nine layers of grease before we have pie. You can hang out here, or in my bedroom.” We walk down the hallway past the living room and powder room. The house is eighty-nine years old, but Gran and Grandpa have remodeled it over the years. I’m glad they kept the wood floors and the original fireplace. I swear to this day that I saw Santa Claus there the Christmas that I was five. Now I like to play my guitar in front of it.
“My room’s around the corner here.” I push open the door and watch her enter.
Rachel Wheaton is in my room. Holy shit.
“Wow, I admit I didn’t expect to see a clean room.”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness.”
“Are you saying you’re a god?” she teases.
“Hey, if the shoe fits…”
“Go shower, grease boy. I want pie.” She playfully shoves me in the chest.
Part of being a teenage boy is strategy. In this case, I grabbed a new pair of jeans and boxer briefs before my shower, but my shirts are still hanging in my closet. After my shower, I casually walk across my room for a shirt and feel Rachel’s eyes follow me.
“Sorry, forgot to grab a shirt.” I look at her over my shoulder and her mouth is hanging open a bit. I reach for a navy blue crew neck shirt and slip it over my head. Mission accomplished in three… two… one…
“Wait!”
I turn around before putting my arms in the sleeves. “What?”
She hops off the bed and makes a beeline for my right side. Her fingers trace the lyrics running the length of my ribcage. It feels amazing.
“What is this?”
“One of my favorite songs.”
“Which one?”
“I’ll show you after we eat our pie.” I lead Rachel back into the kitchen and take two plates from the cabinet. “Do you want cherry or blueberry?”
“What are you having?”
“Both,” I say, flashing her a smile before removing the glass pie covers.
She laughs. “Clearly, you have issues making a decision.”
“Wrong. I had no problem at all making my decision.” I slice a thin piece of each pie and push the plate toward Rachel. “You’ll thank me and my decision-making skills in a second.”
She takes a bite of blueberry pie and moans. “Oh mah goh, zhish ish amazhig.” I totally know how she feels. Gran’s pies are the shit.
“Just wait until you try the cherry.”
We eat the rest of our pie in silence. Rachel finishes her last bite of cherry and sighs. “James, I’ve never had pie that good in my life. Why isn’t your grandma selling this stuff?”
“I know, right? Maybe we can talk to Devin about Gran selling her pies at the Sweet Pea.” I load our plates and silverware in the dishwasher and take Rachel’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you that song.”
We lay on my bed and I move through my phone to find Just Ask.
“You’ve probably never heard it, but it’s amazing. Gives me goose bumps every time. My tattoo is the third verse.”
I push play and bring Rachel into the world of Lake Street Dive. On cue, the goose bumps start at three minutes and eleven seconds in. She lifts my shirt, and as the third verse plays, she traces the lines of my tattoo.
“That’s a really beautiful song,” she says when it’s over. “What made you want the lyrics as a tattoo?”
“You promise not to laugh? I’m about to get musically nerdy on you.” She crosses her heart with her fingers. “This song is one of the sexiest songs I’ve ever heard. The way she holds that note out? And then starts in with the third verse? I sort of feel like she’s making love with the song.” I did not just say that. I clear my throat and continue. “Anyway, like I said, it’s a nerdy thing.”
“I don’t think it’s nerdy at all.” Her fingertips graze my stomach as she lowers my shirt. Did she do that on purpose?
“I got the third verse tattooed because at the time, I wanted to capture that feeling and use it as a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That the girl I fall in love with should make me feel like that part of the song.” I bring my lips to Rachel’s. She’s so warm and soft. Our tongues caress each other lazily and I run my fingers through her silky golden hair. This girl, this moment, is perfect. “Thanks for not laughing at the reason behind my tattoo.”
“No way. It’s beautiful.” She lifts her head and stares at me for a beat, then drops her eyes. “I hope one day you find that girl.”
I think I already have. And she’s right here. And you’re her.
“Yeah.” I kiss her again and she settles her head on my chest. I wonder if she can hear how fast my heart is beating. I run my fingers up and down her spine and focus on regulating my breathing.
“This is nice,” she murmurs, before ya
wning. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of sunshine and vanilla and drift off to sleep with Rachel in my arms.
I’ve always loved that moment where you’re floating between sleeping and being awake. Where you have enough time to savor your dreams before you open your eyes to start the day. Like right now, where I swear I can feel James’ arms around me. He’s got this woodsy smell to him that’s insanely sexy and comforting. I keep my eyes closed and take one last deep breath. I haven’t slept this good in a long time. I picture his delicious lips as I stretch my body. Muscles satisfied and relaxed, I let my arms fall out to the sides.
“Ow!”
My eyes snap open and I bolt upright. I’m not at home. Or at Avery’s. I’m in James’ house. In his room.
In his bed.
My hands jerk to my face in search of drool, and I offer up a mental high five to God when my fingers come back dry.
“Sorry, I forgot you were there.”
“And now my ego is crushed. Pardon me while I go stick my head in the oven.”
“No! Sorry, I guess I was sleeping deeply and forgot where I was. Please don’t kill yourself on account of me,” I giggle and settle back down into his arms. This must be what heaven feels like. Or nirvana. Zen. Something.
“You know,” he says, turning my face to his. “This was a momentous afternoon for us.”
“How so?”
“Because we just slept together.”
“Oh my God, you’re terrible.” My head bounces slightly on his chest as he laughs.
“I’m a guy, what can I say?”
“Hey, what time is it?”
James glances at his phone. “Four-thirty. What time does Avery get off work?”
“At six, then she’ll go back to her house and get cleaned up. I figure we can stop by there first so she doesn’t have a heart attack before Fletcher picks her up.”
“Sounds like a plan. Do you wanna eat here with us?”
“Sure, I’d love to.”
“Come on, let’s go see what Gran’s got cooking.” Whatever it is smells amazing. James sits up and grabs my hand. Our fingers entwine, and I don’t know how I went seventeen and a half years walking around by myself.
“Hello, son.”
“Hey, Gran.” James kisses her on the cheek. “Whatcha cooking?” Their kitchen looks so much homier than mine. Mom and dad love stainless steel, but Gran’s appliances are all antique white. It fits in perfectly with the butcher-block countertops and copper Jell-O molds along the far wall.
“Sweet potato chili and homemade cornbread.”
“Is it okay if Rachel stays for dinner?”
“Only if you properly introduce me.”
“Sorry. Gran, this is Rachel, my… Rachel.” Oh my gosh, he’s adorable. Technically, he’s not my boyfriend. Even if he was, that word sounds so cheap. It’s like saying Michelangelo is just a guy who paints and sculpts things. I wonder if there’s word for “I’m not in love with you yet, but I’m pretty sure I will be soon.”
“Hello, James’ Rachel.” Gran chuckles and shakes my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs…”
“Call me Gran. You’re welcome to stay for dinner. Why don’t you two get the cornbread started? The recipe is in the box on the counter.” She turns back to the pot on the stove, humming as she adds more spices and tastes the chili.
James and I do as we’re told. There’s something so domestic about being in the kitchen with the guy you like. Maybe it’s because of our Economics project, but I admit I’m enjoying the opportunity to play house this afternoon. I could seriously get used to falling asleep next to him and doing mundane tasks like cooking together.
“So James tells me you’re a runner?” Gran asks. I crack the eggs into a bowl, and James adds the milk before melting the butter.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been running since I was about eight. I have an invitational coming up in a couple of weeks.”
“Maybe I can come cheer you on?” James asks.
“That might be kind of risky,” I say, wrinkling my nose. I’m beginning to dislike my dad more each day.
“Don’t worry, I’ll wear a hat and one of those Groucho Marx glasses.” He kisses me on the cheek on the way back from the pantry then adds the cornmeal, flour, and sugar while I whisk the batter.
“Well, you’re always welcome over here,” Gran says. “You’re the first girl James has ever brought over.”
“Gran, I’ve only lived here for a few weeks. But she’s right, you are the first girl I’ve ever brought home.” James winks at me and my insides feel like I’ve taken the whisk to them, too. I put the cornbread in the oven and set the timer.
No pressure, Rachel.
James seems to sense my sudden onset of nerves. “Relax,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re doing great. Gran loves you.” The hairs on the side of my face and neck stand at attention, and goose bumps line my arms. I’m not sure how his mouth isn’t illegal, but since I’m still underage, I’m glad it’s not. We lock eyes. Being this close to him moments after he said the “L” word—even though he didn’t say it that way—has my heart racing. But more than anything, I’m surprised at how easy all of this is. The stories I hear in the hallways and locker rooms about mixed signals and immaturity are nothing like what I’m experiencing here. James is just so much… more. The fact that it’s me he wants here is mind-boggling.
The front door opens and a head full of blonde curls walks through the door. “Hey guys, I’m home!” The woman turns to hang her jacket on the hook in the foyer and I see streaks of pink and purple in the back of her hair.
“Hey, Mom,” James says.
Her eyes immediately spot me when she enters the kitchen.
“Hi, son! Who’s your friend?”
“This is Rachel,” Gran answers for him. Her eyes are sort of sparkling and she offers his mom a wink.
“Oh, this is the reason River’s been smiling all week.”
River?
James leans his head on the counter and groans.
“Mom, you did not.”
“What, call you by the name I gave you after laboring with you for thirty-two hours? Yes, I did.” She pats him on the shoulder on the way to the sink, where she unloads a lunch box. She unties her Healing Touch Massage apron and walks toward me.
“Hi, I’m Sunny, River’s mom.”
“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Rachel,” I say, biting back a grin. River? Really? It’s a good thing he never had a sister. Her name would probably be Stardust or Sage Blossom.
“Alright, let’s get this over with.” James lifts his head from the counter and looks at me with a pained expression. “My hippie mom named me River, but every other person on the planet calls me by my middle name, James, after my grandfather. Because thankfully his parents gave him a normal name.” He shoots his mom a sidelong glance and rolls his eyes.
“It’s not that bad,” I say. A giggle slips out, but I cough to cover it up.
“Okay, this is enough embarrassment for one evening. I’m setting the table.” James grabs five plates and five bowls from the cabinet.
“Oh, I meant to tell you earlier, Gran. Your pies are delicious,” I say. “Why haven’t you sold them to local bakeries or restaurants?” This woman could make a killing.
“Oh, I’ve always just enjoyed making them for my family or giving them away. Besides, I don’t know the first thing about running a business.”
“My best friend’s aunt owns the Sweet Pea and her mom manages it. I’m pretty sure they could take care of everything for you.”
“Yeah, Gran. You should really think about it. This town needs your pies,” James says.
She dismisses his comment with a careless wave and announces dinner is ready. “James, go let your grandpa know it’s time to eat.”
“Yes ma’am.” He takes my hand again (yay!) and we walk outside, step off the wrap-around porch and head toward a greenhouse.
“What’s this?”
�
�Grandpa’s working on this year’s tobacco crop. The seeds start in the greenhouse before they’re transplanted to the seedbeds and then into the fields.”
“He’s a tobacco farmer?”
“Yup, he’s been doing this for more than thirty years.” He leads me through the door and I’m greeted with a delicious, earthy aroma.
“That’s kind of badass.”
“Grandpa is definitely badass,” he says with a grin. “Hey Gramps! Gran said to let you know dinner’s ready.”
“Thanks, boy. Say, who’s this here?”
“Grandpa, this is Rachel.”
“Ah, I thought you were smiling more.” He winks at James and chuckles, then pulls his gloves off and sets them beside small beds of soil. His hands are rough from years of farm work, but the deep laugh lines on his face show he’s enjoyed every minute of it.
“Hi, young lady,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I’m Jimmy, but you can call me Grandpa.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Grandpa. I’m beginning to think this guy never smiled before he met me,” I say, tipping my head toward James.
“Oh, I smiled plenty, I just never had as good of a reason to,” James says. “Come on, let’s go eat.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. Please, as if I could walk right now. How can something so simple turn me into such goo on the inside?
A few minutes later, we’re all settled at the circular table. James’ grandpa starts the blessing and takes Gran’s hand. She grabs mine, I grab James’ and he takes his mom’s hand. Sunny completes the circle with Grandpa.
“Lord, bless this food and the people who prepared it. Thank you for family, friends and reasons to smile. In Your name, Amen.”
I can’t remember the last time my family said grace. Or even sat at the table together. Dad’s always working late so it’s usually just me and Mom. I look around the table and I’m overwhelmed by the feeling of family. Mom and I are obviously related, but there’s never been this kind of warmth at our dinner table. Maybe that’s why I prefer to be at Avery’s?
“Alright, let’s see. Who’s up for a game of Embarrassing Stories About James?” Grandpa asks, rubbing his hands together.
