A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.
-Edgar Allan Poe, “To One in Paradise”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Present Day
Kylie
It wasn’t meatloaf.
It could have been roast beef, or pot roast, but meatloaf? There wasn’t a planet in the universe where that thing was considered a meatloaf.
I didn’t say anything though, not when Devin was grinning so hard, my face was having sympathy pains. I let him have his little swoon-fest over the so-called meatloaf his current girlfriend, Britney, had brought over for dinner, and I tried to focus my energy on Nate. His heated thigh pressing into mine and the whistling of his deviated septum.
But really, it wasn’t meatloaf, and I wish she’d stop saying it was.
“I hope you like it,” Britney said, carefully putting the platter down in the center of the table. It was thinly sliced, a few shreds of beef haphazardly laying on the stark white of the plate.
“It looks great, babe,” Dev said with an encouraging nod. I refused to believe he actually believed that, but he said it. To get laid, I assumed, but Devin had no problem getting laid. He had nothing to worry about, so there was no reason to lie about the meatloaf that wasn’t meatloaf.
“You think?” she asked, biting her lip. “I’ve never made a meatloaf before. I followed a recipe from Beef Baby’s website, because I know how much you love beef.”
“Oh, Dev sure does like his meat,” I chimed. “He enjoys it every single day.”
“Thank you, Kylie,” he said through clenched teeth.
I shrugged. “Don’t mention it,” and I turned to Britney, as she nervously wrung her hands out over the pseudo-meatloaf, and smiled. “So what was the recipe called?”
“Um …” She furrowed her brows, her forehead crumpling in the way it always did. Britney looked like a bulldog when she was deep in thought. Not a criticism; just an innocent observation. “I really can’t remember. Why?”
“Just wondering,” I quickly concluded, glancing over at Nate as she scurried back into the kitchen.
I hoped he reflected the same thoughts in his eyes: It’s not a fucking meatloaf, but all I saw was his cell phone in his hand, as he absentmindedly thumbed through his inbox. “Nate,” I said flatly, and he grunted. “Can you, uh … Can you put the phone away until after we eat?”
There was a delay in his reaction as his hazel eyes read another subject line, and I nudged my fingers against his thigh. He looked up then, saw my stern glare, and sighed. “Kylie,” he said in a patronizing tone that never ceased to make me feel microscopic. “I left work early to be here for dinner, but I told you, that doesn’t mean I can just leave my job at the office.” And he was back to swiping across his screen, and I was back to staring at the so-called meatloaf, with the shame of being scolded searing my cheeks.
Devin’s hand held to his fork tightly and he edged further across the table, pointing its prongs at Nate. “Hey, bro, how often do you really get to see her? You can’t put that thing down for a little while, just while we eat?”
I glanced across the table and smiled gratefully at my best friend, although it went unnoticed as Devin held his eyes on Nate. His brows furrowing and his jaw ticking painfully.
Nate lowered the phone. “Oh. Sorry. Bro.”
Britney came out of the kitchen, her little blonde pigtails swinging as she walked. “Boys, do we need to fight? Why can’t we have a nice dinner?”
“Yeah, boys,” I agreed, flashing a cheeky grin at Devin, and he rolled his eyes.
“Nobody’s fighting. Right, Nate?” he asked my boyfriend.
“Oh, not at all. The meatloaf looks great, Britney,” Nate said without an ounce of sincerity in his voice, and I sighed.
I teased Devin a lot for his insistence on bringing home girls destined to only stick around for a date or two. Britney had been luckier, she’d had the privilege of being with him for a total of two weeks now. I couldn’t understand why though, and I probably didn’t want to know anyway. But in any case, I still teased him for his lack of commitment. However, after a few asshole boyfriends, I was now beginning to really get it. The untethered strings of non-commitment.
To be fair, Nate wasn’t always a jerk, but when he was, I questioned what the hell I had seen in him for those six months.
“So, Nate, how’s the, uh … business going?” Devin asked, spearing slices of meat for himself and Britney. “What is it you do again, anyway?”
“Well, for the thirtieth time, I’m in accounting at a law firm, and it’s going great, thank you. How about you? Build anything worthwhile lately?”
On the surface, there was nothing inherently wrong about their casual conversation, but Devin’s narrowed glares across the table, the aggressive stabs of his fork, and Nate’s impartial blinks told me otherwise.
“Actually, we just landed a housing complex deal, so yeah, I’d say so.”
Britney nodded her encouragement. “Oh, wow, babe. That’s great.”
“Thank you,” he said with a polite smile in her direction. “It’ll keep us busy for the next several months, that’s for damn sure.”
“Where is it?” I asked, taking a slow sip of my iced tea.
“It’s a ways from here. Over in Middletown. It’s actually right by my old apartment. It’s crazy being back over there,” he said, his guard dropping a little as he talked to me.
Ever since Trent and Brooke bought a house out in Stonington, and Devin moved in with me, we never had a reason to head up to Middletown. Nostalgia crept in and settled deep in my chest as I thought about our younger days.
“Wow, yeah, I should come by and check it out.” Nate sniffed his annoyance at that, so I added, “Well, assuming we don’t have anything going on, right?” I said, touching his arm, and Devin frowned.
“I think he can handle you making plans without him.”
Nate twisted his lips. “Sure can. She does all the time, anyway.”
I sighed and decided to ignore the snide retort. “Anyway, Dev, you’re still playing tomorrow night, right?” I asked, changing the subject.
The annoyance was wiped clean from his face as he flashed me a half-smile. “Have I ever missed it?”
He never had, not since Black & Brewed opened in 2010. Every Wednesday, he played an acoustic set of original songs and covers, and every Wednesday, he brought me daisies. Like clockwork.
“You should come,” I said to Nate.
“I’m busy,” he replied without an ounce of regret as he stole a glance at his phone.
“Oh, but you’re always busy. You should come. Dev’s really good, and—”
Nate turned his head and with a heavy sigh said, “Kylie. I understand that, in your world, people don’t have incredibly important jobs. But I do have an important job, and I can’t just drop everything, the second you want me to come over for dinner, or watch your friend play his stupid guitar, okay?”
The scolding was demoralizing and without a moment to think, I dropped my fork to my plate and turned to him. “Wow, Nate. You know, you’ve said some really shitty things to me before, but that? That one takes the cake. I hope tonight, you and your iPhone will be very happy together.” I shoved my chair out from under the table, and stood, looking from Britney’s blank stare to the anger flicking within Devin’s eyes, and said, “Sorry, guys.”
I stomped into my room, shut the door and flopped to my bed. With the paper-thin walls, I listened as a chair screeched against the floor and the heavy, steel-toed boots walked across the wooden floorboards, until the front door opened. I smiled at the sound of Devin’s voice, demanding that Nate get the hell out if he was too good for the rest of us, and moments later, the door shut.
“Fuck him,” I heard Devin say to Britney, and I grinned into my pillow.
♪
Half an hour later, a knoc
k came at my door.
“It’s open,” I grumbled into my pillow, and Devin walked in wearing his pajama pants and a t-shirt.
“’Suddenly, I heard a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door,’” he recited, fanning out a selection of horror movies in his hands. He dropped down next to me on his stomach. “Okay, so we have The Descent, The Conjuring, and, an oldie but a goodie, Scream. Which is it gonna be?”
I lifted my head. “Oh, you’re not screwing Britney tonight?”
He shrugged, his cheeks pinking in the gentle glow of my room. “Nah, she went home.”
“Thank God,” I said breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m not in the mood to listen to her little—what the fuck does she do? It sounds like a cross between a cat in heat and a horse and it’s fucking weird.”
Devin broke out in an embarrassed grin and something edging on giggle territory as he flopped his face into my pillow. “Oh God, I know,” he groaned, shaking his head. “It’s horrible.”
“I’d wear ear plugs if I were you,” I laughed, shoving against his arm. “I don’t know how you do it—”
“Oh, well, that doesn’t surprise me. If you ever dated a real man, you’d actually know how to do, it,” he said, lifting his head and nodding thoughtfully. “Nate looks like a missionary-only, lights-off type of guy. Go on, tell me I’m right.”
I groaned and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you.”
“Hey, you started it,” he said with a shrug. “I’m actually impressed you even have one at all with a guy like that.”
“I know you hate him, Dev. You don’t need to remind me every time he comes around.”
“Well, maybe if he came around more often, I’d get along with him better—”
“Or maybe you’d hate him even more,” I turned my head to glare at him.
“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?” He teased with his own narrowed eyes, and nodded slowly. “Or, you don’t think very highly of him …”
Truthfully, it wasn’t either. I just didn’t hold any relationship on a pedestal, period. Not since meeting Devin and not since losing Dad. But I didn’t need to tell him that.
“So, uh …” He chewed the inside of his cheek before saying, “I feel like we should talk—”
“Nope.”
“Come on, KJ. I know if I were Brooke you’d want to.”
“Devin ...” I groaned with a shake my head, sitting up and grabbing the movies as I went. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
I climbed off the bed and walked out into the living room, where I found cups of iced tea and a bowl of popcorn on the table. I sunk my teeth into my lower lip, just to keep from smiling at a time when I should have been wallowing in sadness over my dickhead boyfriend.
“Can I just say one thing?” he asked, bounding after me. “Please?”
He was persistent. “Okay, fine,” I huffed. “One thing and then you’re cut off.”
“Then I have to make this count.” He rounded to my front, lowered his brows and stared me straight in the eye. His playful demeanor had vanished and there was only protective, angry Devin, always playing the hero. “I swear to you, if that guy ever says something like that to you again, I’m not apologizing when I punch him in the throat.”
“Brooke would not have said that,” I chided, playfully poking him in his abs, and I couldn’t ignore how firm they were, how defined.
“Yeah, well, I’m not Brooke and I’m telling you, I’m going to knock the wind out of that guy the next time he says that shit.”
“Okay, you’re cut off.” I tried to get around him to put one of the Blu-rays in, and he grabbed my arm to stop me.
“Kylie, I’m fucking serious. He’s a piece of shit, and if that’s the type of guy you insist on being with, then fine—that’s your choice. But if he says something like that again when I’m around, it’s my choice to make sure he’s never able to talk to you or anybody like that ever again.”
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, “and the next time the girl you’re seeing brings over a chunk of dry meat and calls it meatloaf, I’m going to tell her to come back when she’s learned how to cook, okay?”
At that, Devin threw his head back and fell to the couch, laughing all the way. “Oh my God, right? That was the shittiest meatloaf I’ve ever had.”
I put one of the movies into the Blu-ray player and dropped onto the couch next to Devin, settling into his side as one tattooed arm wrapped around my shoulders. I clenched his threadbare Foo Fighters t-shirt between my fingers and breathed him in.
Cedar and spice.
Comfort and home.
He kicked his bare feet up onto the coffee table, tipped his temple toward mine and asked, “Will you make me a real meatloaf on Thursday?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “With mashed potatoes and green beans?”
“Fuck yes,” he groaned, throwing his head against the back of the couch as Edgar Allan “Eddie” Van Halen, jumped onto his lap. Devin scratched him behind the ears, bringing the black fur ball to a rumbling purr. “Now, hit play. I need to see Neve Campbell kick some ass.”
♪
The sun streamed, with an irritating dose of cheer, through the open window of my bedroom. I groaned, struck with immediate regret after staying up until two in the morning, watching horror movies with Devin.
If only Nate had pissed me off on a night where I didn’t have work the next morning.
I climbed out of bed and stumbled my way out the door, to find Devin sitting at the table, with his gym clothes on and a fried egg sandwich in his hand, as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up at me and nodded his chin in my direction with a chipper “good morning, sunshine,” and I flipped him the middle finger.
“There’s a sandwich for you in the bag,” he said, gesturing toward the center of the table, and I grumbled a barely coherent “thank you.” “You’d think after all these years of living with me, you’d be more of a morning person by now.”
“I will never be a morning person, Devin.” I grabbed the paper bag from Dick’s Diner and dropped into a chair. Sitting at the table instantly reminded me of the night before, the things Nate had said and done, and I pulled my sandwich from the bag with a burst of aggression. “Fucking Nate.”
Dev looked up from his phone again. “What’d he do now?”
“Nothing. I’m just thinking.”
“You know what happens when you think,” he said, pointing his sandwich at me. “You wind up pissed off for the rest of the day and you take it out on the people who don’t deserve it. Like me, or Eddie.”
I rolled my eyes as I took a bite. “I never take it out on the cat.”
“Really?” He cocked his head, eyes wide. Incredulous. “So, should I remind you of that time you were PMSing or some shit, and I brought home sweet and sour chicken instead of sesame? Eddie was just sitting there at your feet, innocently begging, and do you remember what you did?”
I leaned my forehead into my other hand. “God, Devin, why are you so fucking annoying when I just wake up?”
“Well, your sleep-deprivation is obviously having an effect on your memory, so,” he said, standing up, “let me remind you of the aggressive manner in which you shook your chopsticks at him. Do you remember that? The guy was so distraught, he wouldn’t jump on the counter for a week.”
“I hate you,” I mumbled, rubbing my fingertips against my forehead.
“I mean, if you need to get your frustration out, I’m willing to sacrifice myself, but please, leave the cat out of it.”
I looked up at him. “Kindly fuck off, please,” I said, regaining the strength in my voice after a night of little sleep. But looking at him, with his backward baseball hat and sleeveless t-shirt, showcasing two solid arms of muscle and ink, I couldn’t be annoyed, and my lips curved into a smile.
“God. Go shower. You smell,” I lied, just to get him to walk away and let me stew in my
I-hate-mornings mood.
He lifted an arm, sniffing himself, and I made no attempt to hide my disgust. “Yeah, I do. Okay, I’ll see you later at B&B.”
And he hurried off to the bathroom, patting me on the shoulder as he went. I eyed the glass he had left on the table, along with the empty paper wrapper from his sandwich, and I shook my head. I glared down at the floor, eyeing the little blue-eyed cat we had adopted together and whispered, “Don’t worry. He just gave me all the motivation to take shit out on him today.”
I finished my sandwich in silence and wondered what to do about Nate, or if I should even do anything at all. I picked up the wrappers and glasses and I walked into the kitchen, only to find my vase filled with fresh daisies.
And just like that, I was happy, and I smiled at the flowers.
Some things follow us throughout our lives, as though they were stitched into our souls from birth. Daisies were one of mine.
Daisies brought me happiness, and peace. They brought me to times in my youth when things were good, when things were okay, and they brought me to hundreds of times in my adulthood when Devin had bought them for me. To make me happy, to calm a dark mood, to fill the apartment with sunshine and goodness, because you can’t stay sad around daisies.
And I couldn’t stay sad around Devin.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Devin
Black & Brewed was our love child. My learned craftsmanship and eye for carpentry aesthetics, coupled with her love of the various mediums of art, all mellowed out with a brooding ambiance, artisan teas and coffees.
It took us two years to turn the place into our conjoined vision, and we had done it all without killing each other. If anything said we were perfect together, that was it. Our dynamic was solid, and even when we were disagreeing about whether to put slate or ceramic tile down in the bathroom, we could do it without wielding knives.
I was pretty certain I’d lose my mind if I were ever to lose that.
“Oh look. It’s Devin,” Brooke said dryly as I walked in, turning her head from the table she was busy wiping down.
Daisies & Devin Page 10
