by Tara Brent
Brent waves it off like I’ve asked him to get me a bottle of water before a big conference. “No, I completely get it, and I don’t mind at all.”
“Perfect, thank you so much,” I say, patting him on the shoulder.
I grab my keys and head out to the car, a genius idea popping in my head. Grandma’s always loved flowers, and I think the best way to make up for not telling her that I was in town the second I arrived is to buy her a nice bouquet. I do a quick Google search on my phone, frustrated when I find out that all the shops around have closed for the night. My last resort is a cheap bouquet somewhere. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I can do on such short notice.
I twist the key in the ignition and back out, deciding that I’ll also need to pick up some chocolates to make up for the fact that the flowers aren’t going to be the nicest quality. I smile dejectedly. Jessica would probably be proud of how quickly I’ve learned to apologize to a woman.
Shoving the thought of my ex-wife out of my head, I back out of the driveway and head out to find some place open that carries flowers.
Chapter 3: Amber
Nothing can kill the excitement I feel walking through the grocery store, not even the janky wheel on my cart that continues to spin in circles no matter what direction I push the cart in. My favorite show on Netflix just recently dropped a new season, and now it’s time to load up on the worst of junk food and spend my weekend laying on the sofa and binge-watching every episode I can get my hands on.
I stroll through the aisles of the store, collecting various bags of chips, cartons of ice cream, and my favorite flavored water, humming a song to myself that I heard on the radio on the drive over here. My favorite time to shop for food is later at night because most people in Mayberry have settled down and aren't buzzing all around the store.
Once my cart is piled high with all kinds of items that would probably make my dietician scream in horror, I decided that I should probably get something healthy to balance all of this out. I swing by the produce section to pick up a few fresh fruits, as well as a couple of prepackaged salads. I could very easily make these myself with a little elbow grease, but I'm a millennial, and convenience holds much more weight to me!
As I round the corner on my way to the cashier, I bump into a man stepping out in front of me.
“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I say, holding out a hand and flushing with embarrassment. When I look up at him, he looks vaguely familiar. His thick, stylish beard covers half his face, and his matching brown hair is styled perfectly. When I look into those green eyes, it all comes flooding back to me.
Logan.
It’s been almost five years since I’ve seen him, and he instantly takes me back to that night. I don’t want to remember as part of me still feels shameful, guilty. But I’d be a liar if I said I felt this way the night we almost made love.
Rhett had just been buried, and all the friends of my family had given me their condolences on their way out of the service. I felt hollow and frail, like at any moment, the wind could blow one way or the other and I’d turn to dust. Everything hurt, from my eyes to my heart to my chest. I just wanted to disappear. I wanted to die that night. To be buried next to my brother so that I wouldn’t feel so alone in the world.
The one person who didn’t leave me that day was Logan, and how could he? We’d grown up together. He’d been Rhett’s best friend. When I first heard about the car accident that took my older brother’s life, he was the first person I could think to call. For a long time, neither of us said anything. We rode back together in silence.
To my surprise, Logan turned off course from the drive to my house and told me that he was starving. He hadn’t been able to eat at the memorial. He couldn’t stomach the idea of people laughing and joking while he’d just lost someone he considered to be a brother. I couldn’t argue with him, either. I’d never felt so alone sitting in a room of people with high spirits.
We stopped at a small diner a few minutes away from his home, and for the first time in the two weeks that Rhett had been gone, I felt happy. I felt like someone finally understood me, that they got what it felt like to lose a piece of yourself and realize that you were now expected to go on with this massive, gaping hole in your identity. He understood me better than anyone else, so when we eventually made it back to his home, I couldn’t resist the urge.
He pulled me close, his strong arms around me, and just hugged me. It was there, in those arms, that I let it all go. I screamed into his chest, sobbed until my face felt sore, and finally when he looked down at me to see if I was all right, I kissed him.
It was wrong. I knew it was wrong. I’d known Logan my whole life. He’d been Rhett’s best friend, and Rhett was adamant about keeping us from messing around. Not only would it make things a bit awkward, but he felt that because he and Logan were five years older, the gap was too big to manage.
But every reservation I had against that kind of intimacy shattered the moment Logan kissed me back. He must've been hurting as badly as I was, otherwise I don't think he would ever do that. Rhett meant the world to him. We didn't stop with just the kiss. All the fleeting glances and gentle accidental hand-touching that happened without Rhett's knowledge came rushing back, and before I could even stop to think about what I was doing, Logan had his hands on me, caressing me in ways I'd never known I wanted. He'd been the first man to ever touch me that way, to make me feel like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. He laid to rest any doubts that I had as a twenty-one-year-old. About my body. About my confidence. He showed me that I was worthy of affection in every possible way.
And then he left.
“Logan,” I whisper, unsure whether or not I’m looking at a mirage. He’s older now, obviously, but not in the kind of way that the hot kids from school got older. He looks even more handsome, with his thick, low eyebrows and a few lines around his eyes that make him appear more esteemed. Weathered.
“Amber,” he replies. I can see it on his face how unsure he is.
"I didn't know you were coming back." It feels like a trivial thing to say but at least I didn't admit that I waited for years. I waited for him to come back with some kind of amazing explanation as to why he left a few nights after Rhett's funeral.
Logan smiles uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. The act of this shows off the tone of his arm muscles. I hate that my heart still squeezes and I instantly think about the way his muscles felt with my lips pressed against them.
“I, uh... I didn’t really know I was coming back either. Life’s got a funny way of catching you off guard.”
“No kidding,” I say. Trying not to sound too woefully hopeful, I straighten up my shoulders, and nonchalantly ask, “Are you going to be staying here long?”
He nods. “I’m here to stay. Permanent resident of Mayberry”
This shouldn’t make me feel slightly dizzy with pleasure, and I squeeze the handle of my shopping cart just enough to regain focus. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you around town then.”
“You too,” he says, nodding again. There’s a moment of silence between us before Logan clears his throat and glances at the cashier. “Anyway, I should get going. I’ve got a very special lady to give these to.”
He shakes the nearly-wilted bouquet of flowers in his hand, and I feel every ounce of childish hope inside me die. Of course, he met someone else. Of course, he moved on, unlike me, who remained the same girl I was that very night we were together.
“Logan, you need to get your eyes checked.”
“What? Why?”
“Because those flowers aren’t going to make any woman in Mayberry happy. Look how dead those poor things are.” I take the bouquet from his hands and investigate. It’s pitiful how poorly these flowers have been treated.
“I was looking for a floral shop earlier, and they’re all closed. This is really just a last resort,” he says, almost bashfully, like he has to defend himself.
“Here, let me he
lp you.”
I place the bouquet he chose back on the shelf and begin putting together a new one made with flowers from all the others. I put in baby pink long-stemmed roses, a few bright red carnations, and an assortment of other flowers until the bouquet in my hand looks like something actually presentable. Rosie would be proud of me for how quickly I whipped this up and how professional it looks.
When I hand the new bouquet over to him, I say, “This is something any woman would love to receive.”
He shakes his head and smiles, taking the flowers from my hand. He glances at the ruined bouquets on the shelf and says, “You do know that I’m going to have to pay for all of these, right?”
"I'm sure she's worth it," I say confidently. Part of me wants to kick myself. One, for the simple fact, that I still care about Logan and still think about what we almost had together, and two, for my obnoxious need to help everyone, even when I'm doing myself a disservice. If I ever had dreams about getting back with Logan, I wouldn’t be standing here, helping him make some other woman happy. Yet here I am, doing just that.
“She absolutely is,” he says. Logan reaches forward and grabs all the other disheveled arrangements.
“The next time you want something like that, swing by the shop I work at. Angel’s Bouquets. It’s only a few miles from here.” Hey, if there’s one thing I learned from co-owning the shop with Rosie, it’s that a smart businesswoman is always looking for clientele.
“I’ll be sure to do just that,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up. I’d nearly forgotten about it until right this very moment, and I squeeze the handle of my cart once again.
“I’ll be waiting. Catch you around, Logan.”
Taking a deep breath, I push my cart forward and head to the cashier to ring up all my food. My ice cream is probably melted by now, but I don’t have the strength to turn around and go back for more. I just want to get out of here as quickly as possible and shut myself off from the world. Process what it means now that Logan’s back in town with his mysterious new girlfriend.
Once I’ve loaded up all my groceries, I climb into my car and finally breathe regularly again. I take hold of the steering wheel and plop my forehead against it, groaning loudly. I need to pull it together and get my head back on right. I can’t let Logan’s sudden reappearance throw me off my game. In fact, the smart thing to do would be to get back out there and start actively looking for a guy.
That’s what I need to do. I pull my phone from my pocket and finally open one of the messages I’ve received on the latest, hottest dating app. To my surprise, the guy isn’t obscene in the beginning. He didn’t even send me a dick pic before saying hello.
“We’re off to a great start, Richard,” I say, typing a response to him. I place my phone down in the passenger’s seat and take a slow, controlled breath. I’m fine. I got this. Logan isn’t going to come back into town and shake up everything I’ve built.
But as I head home with my Doritos and cookies n’ cream flavored ice cream, my confidence wavers.
Chapter 4: Logan
I've dreamed about her for the past two nights. One was a replay of our meeting in the grocery store, the awkward, uncomfortable silence and the things I wanted to say to her but didn't. How much I missed her, or all the times I thought about her while I was in Kansas. I bit back the words because I knew, even then, that it wasn't fair to her. What I did wasn't fair. I'm not the kind of guy to apologize unless I know for a fact that what I did was wrong, and with Amber, I did her wrong.
The second dream was about that night after Rhett’s funeral where all of my desire came rushing to the surface. I got way too close to crossing that line. Rhett’s body wasn’t even cold in the ground before I took the jump and made a move on his little sister. But something about the way Amber looked that day broke my heart. She was alone. She’d lost the last family member she had, and everyone around her expected her to just get on with life. Move on, let it go, and grow from it.
But the pain hadn't truly set in for her. I saw every instance of it etched in her face, her brows furrowed as she tried not to cry. The way she shook when she sobbed in my arms, like a dam unleashed, her emotions overflowing in dangerous rapids. What kind of asshole would I be if I didn't hold her close and comfort her when the entire world turned their back on her just the same?
I should’ve stopped before I even got close. I should’ve kept my hands to myself. My lips to myself. But I couldn’t, and more important, I didn’t want to. I’d had feelings for her for three years, but I’d kept my mind off of her and tried to focus on other girls. More available girls. Girls that wouldn’t end with my best friend kicking my ass.
That night changed everything, for better and worse, and it haunts me relentlessly. Even now, as I'm sitting in my office, listening to my lawyers discuss a settlement for an injured worker; I find my mind wandering back to her. The way her soft body felt in my hands. The way her curves felt beneath my fingertips. The way her breasts felt pressed flush to my chest.
Before my body can react to the lewder details, I sit up forward and clear my throat, centering my attention on the matters at hand. Alison and Dennis inform me about every detail. One of our factory workers, Sarah Adams, was working on moving merchandise into the delivery truck when another, much more oblivious worker accidentally dropped the heavy box on her foot, breaking three of her toes.
Understandably, Sarah wants compensation. The other worker in question, Thomas Pine, has caused a handful of problems in the past. He’s notoriously neglectful, I hear, but the on-site managers have done nothing about it, leaving me with the responsibility and a potential lawsuit on my hands.
It’s obnoxious, but I know what my father would tell me to do. Throw as much money at Sarah as I need to keep her happy and get rid of Thomas. He’s a problematic employee, and the best way to handle those is to not have them working for you. I relay this to Alison and Dennis, who nod in agreement.
“That’s what we would suggest,” Dennis says, closing the folder in front of him. “It’s a simple problem, but an annoying one.”
“Aren’t most of them?” I ask sarcastically. Alison cracks a smile.
After our meeting, I say goodbye to them and wait for them to leave before calling Brent into my office. He appears in the doorway, ready for my request.
“You mind running downstairs to the vending machine and picking me up a bag of chips?”
“Not at all. The usual?”
“Yes. Oh, and get a pack of Skittles for Dustin, too. I’m gonna wrap up here soon and take those home.”
“Gotcha,” he says, hurrying off downstairs. Once he’s gone, I check my emails and finish up with all my other tasks for the day. By five, I’m done and out the door, nodding to a few employees on my way to the car. The drive home reminds me I still have to pick up groceries after I grab Dustin from daycare, and I fight back a childish groan. The last thing I want to do is cook dinner. Maybe I’ll order takeout instead.
At the light, my phone rings, cutting my internal debate short. I see Grandma’s name and smile to myself. “Hey, you,” I answer.
“Hey, handsome. What’re you doing right now?”
“I’m in the car on my way to pick up Dustin. What about you?”
“Well, I was thinking about making dinner, and I thought it would be nice to have my boys over to eat. I still haven’t seen Dustin since you got back after all.” She says it lightly, but I know she’s making it a point. I’ve been so busy adjusting to the new living space that I haven’t had time to swing by her house with Dustin.
“You know what? That sounds like a great idea. Give me thirty minutes and I can be over there?”
“Perfect,” she exclaims. I can see the smile on her face, and it only makes me smile. When Mom and Dad died, she took me in and raised me. Spending the night with her is the least I can do. I just miss having home-cooked meals that I haven’t burned a little.
I swing by Dustin’s new daycare to pick him
up, putting on an upbeat smile when he comes running towards me to tell me all about the cool things he did. The ladies looking after him assure me he adjusted completely, with no troubles, which puts me at ease. I don’t consider myself a high-strung person about a lot of things, but when it comes to Dustin, I feel like an utter basket case. Thankfully, this is just one more problem I don’t have to worry about.
“Are we going to Nana’s house, Daddy?” Dustin asks as we park outside of her house. I can’t help but smile. I can’t get anything past him.
“We are, yup. Are you excited to see her again?”
“Yeah!”
Once he’s freed from his car seat, Dustin takes off to the door, ringing the bell a few times. A moment later, Grandma opens the door with the widest smile on her face. She bends over to hug him, lifting him off the ground and rocking him side to side.
“Look how big you’ve gotten!” she exclaims, pulling back to get a look at him again. “Your daddy’s been feeding you well, hasn’t he?”
“I try,” I say as I approach. “It’s hard when he’s a picky little thing. Plus, I can’t cook for the life of me.”
“Well, that just means I need to come up with a few recipes that even you can handle,” she teases. Grandma ushers us inside and we take a seat in the living room. Dustin drives his race-car around the walls of the house while the two of us talk about the drive back.
“I can’t believe you didn’t just fly,” she says.
“Honestly, it was good to clear my head. I had a lot of time to think on the road. About Dustin. About Jessica.”
“Oh, Jessica,” she says. There’s disdain in her voice, like the mere mention of my ex-wife might turn her stomach. It’s funny. Sometimes I feel the same way. “That wicked girl never seemed right to me. The only good thing she ever did for you was Dusty.”
“I can’t argue with you there,” I say, glancing at the boy. He looks like his mother, with his shaggy blond hair and his wide brown eyes. For a long time, looking at him reminded me of my failure of a relationship with Jessica, but I put all of that shit to rest. He’s better than either of us. Better than the mistakes his parents made.
