Ridge

by Scott, S. L.

  A barista walks to our table and sets down two hot drinks and a plate of treats. “I love these biscuits . . . I mean, cookies.”

  “Wow, you really acclimated right into the English lifestyle.”

  “I went into survival mode so I wouldn’t be made fun of. Over there, they called me ‘the American,’ but here, my sister says I picked up an accent.”

  “You did. It’s not strong, but I hear it.”

  Of course he does. Musicians have great ears. But that he noticed after so few words, that . . . well, that makes me feel a little special.

  “It will fade completely once I return to Texas.” I spin the mug around and read the tea tag, “Your life is made of infinite possibilities.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Yes,” I say amused. “I’ll be saying y’all before you know it.”

  “The part about your life and the possibilities.”

  I nod. “I’m starting to believe it’s true.” I leave the tea bag in the cup and don’t use cream or sugar violating British law. Well, I’m sure it has to be a law over there by how much I was harassed by Darcy to remove the bag before drinking. The memory makes me smile. “Thank you for the tea. You remembering what I like means a lot to me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  When I look up, his eyes are trained on me, running the course of my face as if checking for other differences between who he knew me to be then and now. I say, “Stella said the band has already played fifteen shows this summer.”

  Wading into safer waters, he sits back and begins to relax. Like me, I can tell he’s trying to figure out so much of what we were versus what we are. “We have fifteen more to go and then Europe in September.”

  “How many shows?”

  “Four overseas and then we’re back.”

  “You’re popular in London. Sometimes I would hear the songs playing through the open windows of a passing car or speakers in the park, and my roommate listened to your albums more than a few times.”

  “You’d hear us played everywhere, but did you ever listen to the songs?”

  Avoiding the question, I reply, “I know the songs. I know them by heart.”

  He sees through me, still knows how to see the truth. He chooses not to pursue that avenue, and asks, “So you’re going back to Austin next week?”

  “Yes, I’ll be registering again, but it’s mainly because I have to meet with my advisor to turn in my paper. The internship provides credits I need to graduate, but it all has to be verified as well as me writing about it. The trip will be fairly quick since I need to be back for the wedding planning.” My gaze falls to the tea that’s getting cold. “Are you going to drink that?”

  Looking obligated, he picks up the mug. I’ve never seen him drink tea before, and I watch with rapt attention as he takes a sip. “Do you like it?”

  “It grows on you. It’s good to hear you’ll be back.”

  “Thanks. I’m trying to help my sister as much as I can. She’s always been there for me. I want to be there for her.”

  “You’ve always been close. I remember the first time I saw you . . . two. The Fellowes sisters.”

  Taking a shortbread cookie, I break it, devouring one half and savoring the other. “What do you remember?”

  “I remember the jeans you were wearing.”

  “The jeans?” I ask, shocked by his answer. “I don’t even remember what jeans I was wearing.”

  “They were tight in all the right places.”

  I burst out laughing. “Of course, you remember that.”

  There’s no shame in his memory game. He adds, “They hugged your ass, and your legs looked a mile long.”

  “I need to find these jeans. They sound awesome.”

  He takes another sip, seeming to let it grow on him as he puts it. “They are.”

  Conversation with him smoothed out and got easier. So much so that we lose track of time until his phone buzzes across the table, stealing his attention away from me. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

  “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

  He stands and goes outside. With one finger plugged in the opposite ear of the phone, he stops pacing on the sidewalk and looks down. It’s not a pleasant call by the visual cues. I check the time and wonder how long we can honestly let this carry on.

  I don’t want to our time to end, but there’s something to the saying—Always leave them wanting more. I stand when he comes in the door. When he comes back to the table, he stops in front of me. “Are you leaving?”

  “I have to go.”

  Our eyes lock over the familiar words that were said so long ago. He laughs to himself, his gaze falling to the phone in his hand. When he looks up, he says, “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Today was nice. Really nice, but—”

  The toe of his shoe bumps against the toe of my flats. “But?”

  But you’re still as gorgeous and genuine as I remember. But I want to work out what I should do with my life. But time with you is so easy, easy to get lost in you again. “But for now . . . that’s all there is?” Why did I phrase that as a question?

  He leaves some cash on the table, and we walk out silently. As soon as the door closes, though, he turns to face me. “Is that what you want, Meadow?”

  “For now, it is.”

  “Not sure I agree with you there, beautiful. What if we could be whatever we want to be? What if we get to define our lives however we see?”

  Caught up in the moment, I ask, “What do you see when you look at me?”

  “Infinite possibilities.”

  5

  Meadow

  A beautiful backyard with an incredible view gives me the perfect opportunity to avoid responsibility. So does a certain rock star with soulful eyes who I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

  Focus, Meadow.

  My inner voice has become more demanding since this morning; the reminders to concentrate became harsh since treating myself kinder didn’t work. That voice has also been using a mean British accent, but that’s because my head is all messed up as I transition between two countries.

  A nicer voice chimes in from the other side of the pool, and I look up to see Stella with two drinks in her hands. “You’ve been out here for hours.”

  “I can’t seem to wrap my head around my time in London for this paper. Twenty thousand words seems like a lot until I try to squeeze an experience that feels bigger than an internship on the page.”

  She sets a glass of iced tea in front of me and then settles in a chair across the table with her own drink in hand. “It changed you.” She doesn’t get into the nitty-gritty of how I’m different, but we both know.

  “Yeah, it did. I don’t know what it was, but I felt alive when I was there.”

  Although I know my sister is happy for me, she seems to be struggling to hide something that resembles pain in her eyes.

  “Don’t go quiet on me.” I ask, “What is it?”

  “I’m in LA. You’re in Austin now, but I was hoping you would come out here once you graduated. Now I’m worried you’ll fly off to London.” Guilt weaves into her brow, and she looks down, dragging a finger through the condensation on the glass. “It’s selfish, but I miss you.” When her softer shade of green eyes find mine, she adds, “I thought you would come back to visit at least while you were gone, and you didn’t. If you move there, will I ever see you again?”

  Stella has always protected me from the uglier side of life. That includes our parents when she could. She’s not been just my sister but also a best friend, a mom, and a dad. So hearing her share her feelings is something newer, something she’s learned to do after the bad she went through . . . we all went through last year. I guess life-and-death situations do that to you. It taught me that my sister needed me. Prior to that, like most younger siblings, I had no clue. Particularly because of life circumstances, she was my go-to person. Now, as adults, we’re closer and more . . . equ
als.

  “I’m not moving to London. At least I don’t think so. I have no reason to be there. It was an amazing experience, but it was temporary, which is why I stayed and didn’t visit. I’m sorry if that hurt you. It was honestly because I was trying to live in the present and enjoy the opportunity that you and Rivers made possible.”

  “We only contributed money, Meadow. You earned the opportunity through your hard work.” Resting back, she looks out over the yard, staring at the trees. “They’re fruit trees. Lemon and orange, and we have an avocado tree over there. Imagine walking out and just plucking them right from the branch.” The smile that everyone falls in love with appears. “I think I died and went to heaven.”

  Rivers leans out the open pocket door that divides their inside living space from the patio outside. “Hey babe, any packages come?”

  “Strings?”

  “That would be it.”

  She replies, “I put the box on top of the blue guitar case so you could find it.” Glancing at me, she does a half eye-roll, teasing. They’re funny together.

  “That would be a good place to find it.” Rivers is laughing at himself, but stops to ask, “You guys need anything?”

  This time, I reply, “We’re good.”

  Satisfied, he goes back inside.

  I say, “Heaven on earth.” Wanting to steer the topic away from me, I take a sip of tea. “How’s the wedding planning?”

  “Considering I have a planner, I’m busier than ever.” She laughs lightly. “I want to get the house in order before we’re married as well. When I come back from Hawaii, I’m going to look for work.”

  “You’ve been busy since moving here. It’s a lot to move across country.”

  “And a luxury not to worry about money.”

  “For sure.” Her gaze darts to mine before we both burst out laughing. “See? It was only a matter of time before I sounded like me again.”

  “Well, the Valley girl version. Eventually, you’ll work your way back to the Texan. Speaking of you, did you hear from Mom while you were gone?”

  “No, but Dad called once.”

  We no longer speak to him for choosing booze and gambling over his daughters. The result was devastating for us since we had to pay the price, so like her, I was surprised to hear from him as well. I thought I had been clear about no contact the last time I saw him. The unannounced visit to the diner where I worked didn’t bode well for him. “He did?” she asks. “What did he say?”

  “That Mom had called him looking for me. He told her to try my number. Guess she didn’t. Does she not love us at all?”

  “No. She doesn’t. She loves a man who wants her to have nothing to do with her own kids while playing stepmom to his. She doesn’t even know I’m engaged. Or moved. She has no idea what I’ve been through or seen what a beautiful woman you’ve become. I don’t understand how she could walk away from her children like she has, but you know what? I don’t care anymore.”

  My sister’s voice is firm and unshakeable, unlike mine. Maybe that’s what age and wisdom does for you—makes you strong. There’s a pause in the conversation that she doesn’t seem anxious to fill. I hear her suck in a breath before she says, “I’m not sending her or Dad an invite.”

  Our parents have chosen to love other people or things over their daughters. The past five years have been hard on both Stella and me, but our four-year age gap never stopped us from being close as sisters or best friends. “Neither of them deserves the honor.” I struggle to keep the bitterness from my tone. “Because we share the same bloodline with them doesn’t make them family. Family consists of the people who show up when you need them most. I’ll be there. You have Rivers by your side. Jet, Tulsa . . .” My voice softens. “Ridge. Everyone you’ve invited is your family, Stel. This is the reward for the hell you’ve been through.”

  “When did you become the big sis?” I can hear her happiness, the lightness returning to her tone.

  “I’ve had an amazing example.” I have always idolized my sister. Still do. From pursuing her teaching career to opening her heart to the man she’s always loved. Seeing how hard they fought to be together can make any cynic a little envious.

  She stands. “I think the pizza should be here soon. I’ll be back.”

  While she’s gone, I take a quick break, stretching my legs and reaching for the sky. Breathe. I bend forward into downward dog and hold before rising into sun salutation. Just a few moves and four deep breaths later, I’m feeling more centered. And hungry.

  The screen of my phone lights up with a message. I smile, the reaction too quick for me to hold back.

  Dave: I like your red lips.

  Me: Is that why you’re texting me? To tell me you like my lipstick?

  Dave: I meant to tell you yesterday, but we were interrupted. Sorry about the call.

  Me: Your openers are getting better.

  Dave: LOL. I didn’t know they needed work. #takesnote

  Me: We all do, don’t we? I’m a #workinprogress

  Dave: Question: Why do we use hashtags in text messages?

  Me: Question: Why do we pose questions with Question?

  Dave: Good point. So . . . about that call I got yesterday—

  My fingers fly across the screen. Me: You don’t have to explain. You don’t owe me anything.

  Dave: I want to owe you something. I’d like to make up for it before you leave LA.

  I pause, staring at the phone. When I left for London, I checked the life I had been leading at the counter and left it at Heathrow when I arrived. It was a chance for me to have a fresh start, to live life on my own, and I did it. That wound began to heal. Am I willing to reopen it when I’m about to leave again?

  Dave: Your silence says a lot. I’m sorry if I overstepped—

  Me: You didn’t. Do you mind if I think about it?

  Dave: I leave in the morning for two days.

  Me: I’ll let you know . . .

  I stop typing and call instead. He answers, “Hey.”

  “Hey. I, um, thought I should call because it will come out all wrong in text, and I don’t want that.”

  “I don’t want that either.”

  “It was good to catch up yesterday and easy to be with you again, but we’re different. I know you feel it. Time and life have opened our eyes in new ways. I’m finally figuring out what I want in life while you’re living yours.”

  Dave Carson is a quiet man in general. Ridge, his rock star persona, is much more vocal. I almost prefer a witty comeback or a one-liner that will make this conversation easier, but he remains quiet, listening and waiting for me to continue. I say, “What we had—”

  “Was good.”

  “Yes, it was good. Very good, but I’ve changed. I know what I need right now.”

  “And that’s not me. You don’t want to date.”

  “I didn’t know you were offering yourself up for the job.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to read between the lines.”

  I nod even though he can’t see me. “It’s not you I don’t want to date. Time away helped me realize that I can’t tie myself to anything or anyone,” I add, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Not right now.”

  “How about friends, Meadow? Do you need friends?” Yes. I’ve been so focused on work and my studies that I was lonely. I didn’t realize how much until I landed in London. Darcy, my coworkers, and even Carrig made it apparent that I had drifted from the friends I used to have in Austin. I don’t want to be alone . . . lonely once I return to school again.

  Although the words themselves can be construed as a snipe, I hear the kind and open tone of his voice, and know his offer is genuine. “I do. Is that something we can be?”

  “Yes.”

  That light as air, easy to talk to feeling seeps back in, making me smile. “I think it would be a good place to start.”

  “I like starts.”

  “A new beginning. No guilt for not calling. No hurt feelings when we can’t hang out
, especially since you’ll be here, and I’ll be there. Casual.”

  “Nothing serious,” he says, but I detect some sarcasm.

  “Are you using my words against me?”

  Now he outright chuckles. “No. I’m using it for you. Saving you the trouble.”

  “You’re prickly sometimes, rock star.”

  “Comes with the territory.” He exhales, then says, “So maybe I’ll see you around when you’re in town.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Laughing again, he follows up with, “The non-plan plan. We’ve always been great with those.”

  “The best.”

  “Thanks for calling.” Him ending the call actually surprises me. He was always so honest with his emotions, never wasting time with what he called the “bullshit” that gets in the way. So I have no reason to doubt him now.

  “Anytime. I meant what I said the other day. You have my number. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

  “I won’t. That goes for you too.”

  “Break a leg this summer.”

  “Kick some ass, Mead.”

  “I intend to.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  His words mimicking how I feel about him cause my smile to grow until my cheeks hurt. I cradle the phone close, and say, “Take care.”

  “You too.”

  6

  Meadow

  Rivers walks in the front door with two large pizza boxes. Glancing my way, he grumbles, “I had to walk down the driveway to get the delivery.”

  “Why not just open the gate and let them drive up?” Standing, I trail him in the wake of the pizza, inhaling the delectable smell.

  “It’s stuck, and I’m hungry.”

  “That’s fair.” Settling on a barstool at the counter, I situate myself in front of the supreme.

  Stella sets three beers down on the island and slaps his ass. “I’ll call the company again.”

  “At least we’re in for the night,” he replies, taking a slice. We start eating. No fancy plates. Heck, not even paper plates. Hot pizza right out of the box. I haven’t done this in a long time. Darcy insisted on glass as the bare minimum if I wouldn’t allow her to use china. Rivers asks, “What was with the Brit at the bonfire?” He’s swiftly elbowed. Stella’s tensed lips and wide eyes are easy to read.