Falling for a Former Flame: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love)

by Brenna Jacobs

  Rose took both of Hadley’s hands. “He’s fine.” She said the words with such authority that Hadley felt herself stop worrying, right in that moment.

  “What happened?” Hadley asked, but before Rose could answer, Fletcher walked up the stairs beside the front door.

  “Hi, Hadley. Come in,” he said, nudging his mom and giving her a pretend-stern look. “We don’t leave our guests standing in doorways,” he said with exaggerated politeness.

  Rose mimed a playful swat at the back of his head and Fletcher winced. “Careful,” he said, a bit of a hitch in his voice.

  “Oh, honey,” Rose said, sucking in a breath and covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Just kidding. You didn’t even make contact.”

  Rose swatted him again, this time on his arm. She muttered something Hadley was certain she wasn’t supposed to hear.

  “Mother, please. There’s a lady present,” Fletcher scolded.

  They all laughed.

  “You two come in and sit down,” Rose said. “I’ll order us some dinner and be in shortly.”

  Hadley folded her legs under her in the corner of the big brown couch. Fletcher sat in the other corner, facing her.

  “Hi.” He didn’t look injured.

  “Hi,” she said back. Could he tell she was scrutinizing him for signs of brokenness?

  “Don’t take this like I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?” he asked.

  Hadley felt her face heat up. “Rose texted.”

  Fletcher rolled his eyes. “She shouldn’t have. I’m fine.”

  “You got hurt,” Hadley said, with a hint of a prod.

  “It was literally one half-step away from nothing,” he answered. “It’s dumb. I’m completely fine.”

  “Okay.” She was dying to know the details, but she promised herself she wouldn’t be nosy.

  He said nothing, just watched her.

  She fiddled with her jacket zipper. She would not ask.

  A smug grin began to bloom on his face, which saved Hadley from herself. He knew she was going nuts waiting to find out what happened, and he was going to make her ask.

  She folded her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow.

  They sat like that, unspoken challenges in the air, until he got bored. “You close the store early?”

  She shook her head. “I left Faith to close up.”

  “Does she know that?” he asked.

  “What? Do you think I’d just leave without telling her? Of course she knows.”

  Right then, Hadley’s phone chimed. It was a text from Faith.

  Did you leave?

  Hadley burst out laughing and held her phone out so Fletcher could read it.

  “Maybe I should go back.” She started to stand up, but he put his hand out to catch her.

  “Wait. Please, stay.”

  She stopped. His hand was still on her wrist, and her skin flamed under the touch of his fingers.

  “Please?” he repeated. “I’ll pretend to be injured if it will make you stay.”

  She rolled her eyes and sat back down. “Don’t flatter yourself. I came because Rose promised me pizza.”

  They shared a look that suggested nothing at all related to pizza.

  “Want to hear about my day?” Fletcher asked.

  “Oh, all right. I guess,” Hadley teased.

  “So there was a fire in a barn out in Eagle Creek.”

  “Mr. Vincent?” Hadley asked, sitting up straighter.

  “Mister someone who has a farm with a barn out in Eagle Creek.”

  “You didn’t talk to him?”

  “I did talk to him. Do you want to hear this story or not?”

  Hadley pressed her mouth closed, enjoying the way he pretended to be annoyed. He still had that carefree, teasing smile she’d loved so much.

  That carefree, teasing smile she’d appreciated once in her life, she meant. Because it was a smile worthy of appreciation.

  “So there was a barn fire. I led in,” he said, “which means I got to be the guy who kicked the door open.”

  “And a beam from the ceiling knocked loose and smacked you in the head?” she said.

  He stared at her, his mouth open. “Seriously?”

  “Sorry. Get to the good part.”

  “You,” he said, pointing a finger at Hadley’s nose, “are going to sit quietly and let me tell my story.”

  She nodded and watched him try not to smile. He was unsuccessful.

  “I went inside and found this guy and his grandson. The barn was black with smoke. They had to get out of there fast, so I escorted them outside.”

  “Where you were jumped by bandits.”

  He slid down the couch until his head rested on the back of the cushion. Closing his eyes, he said, “I’m going to sleep now. You just tell yourself a story because my reality can’t compete with your fiction. Your story is way better than anything I could possibly tell you.”

  She sat and watched him for a minute or two. She wondered if he actually had fallen asleep. “So,” she whispered, leaning close to his ear, “are you going to tell me what really happened?”

  Without opening his eyes, Fletcher placed his palm on her face and gently pushed her away from him. She slid his hand away and snuggled against his shoulder. Still whispering, she said, “Please tell me the story of your bravery. I find acts of heroism extremely attractive.”

  When he spoke, there was no modulation in his tone. “I got attacked by an angry horse.”

  Speechless, Hadley held her breath, knowing she should move further away from him but too comfortable being so close to him to listen to the advice her brain tried to send her.

  When there did not appear to be more to the story, she said, “Really? Is that what actually happened? That’s terrifying.”

  Fletcher’s eyes were still closed, but he shifted so she was more comfortable. “You’re picturing something dramatic, aren’t you?”

  “Well, of course I am,” she said. How could she not? “Are you really okay?”

  “Right this minute I am,” he said, tucking her inside the circle of his arm. Alarm bells went off in her head, but she shut them off and laid her head on his shoulder.

  He didn’t say anything more, and Hadley watched his face as they lay there, her eyes skimming the line of his jaw, the dark stubble on his cheek, the curve of his black eyelashes below his eye.

  It had always been a good face. He’d grown into it, now.

  She felt him relax, and then relax more, until his breathing deepened and evened, and she knew he’d fallen asleep. Carefully, slowly, she sat up and inched away from him. She stood and watched him lying there for a minute, and then found Rose sitting at the table in the kitchen.

  “Everything okay?” Rose said, and Hadley nodded and sat, too.

  “I hope it didn’t look like I was luring you here under false pretenses,” Rose went on, tilting her head to indicate Fletcher in the other room.

  “He’s hurt?” Hadley said. “He looks fine.” Picturing his face relaxed, his half-smile, his welcoming arm, she knew he looked so much more than fine.

  Rose shook her head. “He took a solid hit in the head and got himself a little concussion, and Chief insists nobody works unless they’re at full capacity. I think he’s embarrassed. If you get hurt on a call, you’re supposed to break a bone or something. He’s hurt, but maybe not quite enough for maximum tough-guy credit. You’re not bothered that I called you over here, are you?”

  “No. I was worried, though,” Hadley admitted.

  “Yeah, I could tell by the speed with which you made it from your shop to our door.” She chuckled. “I haven’t seen you hustle over here that fast since the time I made pierogis for lunch last spring.”

  Hadley was less than totally comfortable discussing why she came so fast, so she grabbed onto the other part of that sentence. “I miss our lunches,” she said.

  “Me, too. Think we could get back int
o them? We don’t have to tell him,” Rose said with a wink.

  “I’d love to. But we don’t have to keep it from Fletcher. Just as long as we don’t have to invite him.” She leaned over and put her arm around Rose to give her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m selfish that way.”

  Rose scoffed. “You are not selfish in any way. But we might have to arrange the days more carefully now and then.”

  Hadley understood. “How are treatments?”

  “Fine. Doing the job. How’s the store?”

  “Amazing,” Hadley said, and she told Rose funny stories about mishaps and successes, families walking away with new treasure, and Edison creating trouble. They were interrupted by a knock at the front door.

  “Dinner’s here,” Rose said.

  “Let me get it,” Hadley said, and she met the pizza guy at the door, taking the warm cardboard box from him and paying quietly so she didn’t wake Fletcher. She should not have underestimated his sense of smell, though. Even if he’d been on the other side of a concrete wall, Fletcher had always been able to tell when there was Gino’s pizza in the vicinity.

  She watched him wince as he sat up, so whatever it was that had happened to him, it had hurt him; she felt grateful it was mild. There would come a time, probably in the three o’clock hour tonight, when she’d explore what had made her run to Fletcher’s side this evening, but for the moment, she was happy to be here, in this home she loved, with Rose and hot pizza and, sure, even with Fletcher.

  Chapter 11

  Fletcher’s three-day convalescence would, he knew, kill him. He’d been hurt in high school sports enough to know that the “play through it” mentality impressed a coach but not a trainer. If getting back into the job was his goal, resting his head was the right road.

  By day two, he was climbing the walls. Not literally, of course. He cleaned Rose’s bathrooms from ceiling to floorboards. He vacuumed the entire house and took her car to the detail carwash. Then he power-washed the driveway, and by that time it was only 10:30 a.m.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Rose suggested. “You’re pacing a track in my floor.”

  “Give me something else to do around here. It’s not even noon.” Fletcher stopped walking circles around the living room.

  “And look how much you’ve accomplished,” she said.

  He scowled.

  “You should go over to Hadley’s shop. She’s always got more to do than she has time for.”

  “I’d love to help her, but what can I do? I can hardly rewire her electrical system in the next two days.” Fletcher knew his voice sounded whiny and he stopped talking before he made it worse.

  “I don’t mean a complete rehab. But she’s got a million projects. Maybe there’s one perfect for a guy with a sprained brain.” Rose handed him his sweatshirt and nudged him out the door. He was making himself crazy, and it looked like he was bugging her, too.

  When he pushed inside the Second Glance front door, Hadley looked over to see who had come in.

  Did he imagine that she startled? He didn’t imagine her smile. She looked glad to see him.

  “I thought you’d be laying in a hammock waiting for someone to bring you a tropical drink about now,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching the way it always had when she was teasing him.

  She really was so beautiful.

  Why, he asked himself, are you thinking about that?

  He didn’t have to answer. He could see.

  Shaking his head, he smiled back at her and asked, “How many daiquiris can a guy be expected to drink in one morning?”

  She nodded. “Good point. What’s happening?”

  “I am here to be a partially useful laborer. You can have the use of both of my arms, both legs, and about half my brain.” The rest of my brain, he did not say, is busy thinking about this girl I know.

  “That’s a pretty good offer,” she said. “And it just so happens that I have a job for half a brain. Follow me.”

  She led him through a maze of book stacks, tables, and shelf units until they ended up in a nook by the rear wall.

  “I’m about to blow your mind,” she said.

  He fought the urge to reach for her. She was completely irresistible. “Thank you for the warning.”

  “My pleasure. Okay. These two boxes,” she gestured to the two hulking cardboard containers taking up most of the nook, “have board games in them. I have this fantasy of creating one of those board-game diners in here.”

  “You’re turning this into a restaurant?”

  “No, but I’m zoned to sell and serve food in here. We’ll start with pastries, and maybe move into the intricacies of soup and sandwiches sometime in the future. But for now, I want to make this area of the store the game sector. Square tables here and here, funky lamps hanging over each, shelves full of board games that people can come in and play. Good, right?”

  He could see how excited she was by the idea.

  “Great,” he said. “I love it.”

  She looked at him sideways. “Really?” she asked. The vulnerability in her voice stopped him from answering glibly.

  “Really,” he said. “I think it’s a great idea.”

  “You’re not going to tell me all the ways in which that’s inviting flood, fire, or famine?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe later,” he said. He’d have to see how things looked before he’d make a judgment. Besides, he thought maybe she was joking.

  She gave a halfhearted chuckle. “Want to hear what my dad said when I told him about it?”

  “Depends. Will I still like him after you tell me?”

  Shrugging, she said, “I still like him.”

  “Okay. Tell me.”

  “Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat and preparing to give a monologue. “Do you ever,” she said, hand on her heart and voice pitched low, “plan on making money in your store?”

  “Ouch.” Fletcher watched her face for signs that her heart was broken. Hadley loved her parents, practically worshipped her dad, but sometimes they did not understand her. Looked like that hadn’t changed in the last few years.

  “There are ways to turn the game-room thing into a money-maker,” she said, “but there’s something so much more awesome about just making this a place where people can come hang out. Make memories. Enjoy each other.”

  Fletcher was having a hard time focusing on what Hadley was saying because that busy, non-resting half of his brain kept telling him that this would be a very good moment to kiss her.

  Come on, brain, he thought. Stay with me.

  “So how can I help make this free enterprise happen?” He asked, avoiding looking at her mouth. Almost avoiding looking at her mouth.

  “If I bring you a chair and a very large Diet Coke, will you go through these board games and see if all the pieces are included?”

  He looked at the boxes. They must have originally held washers and dryers. Industrial-sized ones.

  “Okay,” he said, hoping that she would tell him the boxes also contained about two dozen throw pillows from Pier One taking up most of the space. These boxes were huge.

  “Do you think you can handle it?” she asked.

  Oh, now it was on. “Do you recall that I have a degree in engineering?”

  She grinned at him. “Then one half of your engineering brain might be exactly what I’m looking for.” She reached behind one of the boxes and dragged out a paint-covered folding table. “Here, help me set this up,” she said. They unfolded the legs of the table and she pulled an armload of board games out of the first box.

  Plopping them on the table, she promised to return with a tall, icy soda within “not too long,” which, in Hadley language, meant, if memory served, any time between five minutes from now and next February.

  He slipped the lid off the first box. Every piece inside seemed to be in pristine condition, much of it still wrapped in plastic. He pulled everything out anyway and checked the pieces against the rule sheet. Looked great. He boxed it all back
up and set it aside.

  The next box was a game of Life, held together with duct tape that had turned brittle. When he opened it, he was hit with the smell of nostalgia, specifically his great-grandmother’s house. There was a hint of that smell here in the shop—the dusty, musty smell of old books—and the game board seemed to be made of that scent. The tiny cars that held pink and blue peg people, the spinning dial, the crumbling cards and stock certificates all held an air of antiquity that lent a strange gravity to the kids’ game. Fletcher went through the box, pulling out some of the pegs that seemed to have been chewed on, and decided that enough of the original pieces still existed that four people could play.

  By the time Hadley came back, Fletcher had gone through eight games and three puzzles.

  He pointed to a pile on the edge of the table. “These are keepers. That puzzle is still sealed, so it didn’t take much for me to decide it was all there. Those two,” he said, indicating the other puzzle boxes, “are a mess. So many different things are going on in there, I don’t really think you even want to look.”

  “Great,” she said, and pulled the boxes to her heart. “I’ll find something to do with them.”

  He pointed out the other piles. “These games have everything. This one smells like my grandma’s house. And these are missing one or two pieces, but I wrote down what they were so we can probably find them in there somewhere,” he said, indicating the giant boxes. “If you have access to the tables you want, we could get this up and running by next week.”

  “Can you lift square dining room tables into your truck by next week?” she asked. “Because you and your truck are all part of my scheme.”

  He didn’t need to answer because she had assumed (correctly) that he would say yes. To all of it.

  She pulled another pile of games from the huge box and laid them on the table. “Back to work with you. Be a good boy and I’ll buy you lunch in an hour.” She patted him on the shoulder and left the room.

  She seemed utterly unconcerned when she touched him. Like her skin didn’t ignite. How was that possible, when he felt like his entire body was going up in flames when she brushed past him?