“I’m going to come,” Presley moan-whispers, and it’s the sweetest sentence I’ve ever heard.
Not the sweetest sound, because that comes a moment later when she’s burying her face in the pillows.
“That’s it, baby, yeahhh …” I coax her, wanting to draw out her orgasm as long as possible.
And when I feel the last of it start to leave her, I let go, jutting up against her perky ass and feeling the come burst out of my tip as her cheeks slap back against my groin.
I lose my breath, flashes of pleasure rolling over me, drowning me. At some point, I collapse onto Presley, our slick bodies one on top of the other.
“So, you happy you cut class now?”
Her mocking voice is granted a rough laugh back.
“Playing hooky is starting to grow on me.” I roll off of her but take her hand and keep it in mine.
She plants a kiss on our joined hands. “I’ve created a monster.”
In more ways than she knows.
27
Presley
“Oh, fudge!”
Grandma’s words follow a crashing sound that comes from the supply room.
I rush around the counter and across the store, into the back.
“I’ll be right back!” I yell to the two customers checking out books in the fiction section.
When I get back there, a dozen boxes have spilled onto the floor and Grandma is kneeling among them.
“Oh my God, are you hurt?” Bending, I check to see if there is any blood or broken bones.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She swats me away. “Just the damn box that was stuck.”
Taking her elbow, I help her up and keep my hold on her just in case she’s shaky. “What were you trying to get?”
“The damn box of packing envelopes,” she replies crankily.
My heart stills. “Grandma, the packing envelopes are on the bottom shelf over there by the duct tape.”
She’s silent for a moment, and I know she either couldn’t read the boxes she’d just knocked down, or she’d forgotten that’s where we always kept those envelopes.
“I know that, don’t tell me something I already know!” Her voice is ornery and aggressive.
But she didn’t know that … or at least she couldn’t see it. And my heart breaks for her at that moment. It was probably terrifying not recognizing the shop you’d worked in for years. It was probably even more aggravating that your brain or body was failing you, and there was nothing you could do about it.
“Okay, why don’t you go up front and check those customers out? I’ll clean this up.” I don’t hug her, not wanting to make her feel more of whatever she feels right now.
I hold my breath until she leaves the stockroom and then release an emotional exhale that threatens tears at the tail end of it. She’s getting worse by the day, and I don’t think there is much time left until we have to make a decision about the store. About her life away from it.
After cleaning up the mess of boxes, I collected myself to face Grandma with a soothing smile. I found her in the empty store, skimming over the books in the historical fiction section.
“Did you know that your grandfather’s favorite writer was Steinbeck, but I can’t stand his books?”
She held a brand new copy of The Pearl in her weathered hands, staring down at the cover.
“Honestly, I was never much of a reader myself. But working here, hearing your stories about the pages Grandpa snuck while he was on the clock, it makes me want to be.”
“You’re a real good kid for coming here and helping your old grandmother out.” She looks up at me, her eyes giving away the lump of emotion that must be sitting in her throat.
“Of course.” I take her hand in mine, mentally preparing to be slapped or something. “Grandma, I think it’s time you made some decisions about retiring. About what’s going to happen to the store.”
But instead of shrugging me off or talking back, she just nods her head.
“I know I do. So let’s make them right now.”
“Me?” I say in surprise.
“None of the rest of our family has bothered to bring their asses home to deal with it, so you get half of the say. For starters, I want to retire. Goddammit, I’m old. My bones ache and my back hurts from standing all day. I’ve already lost my partner, but I think I could still sit in a rocking chair sipping lemonade.”
My heart thuds against my chest. “What is going to happen to the store then?”
“Do you want it?” Her question was point-blank.
This was it. Stay or go. She was asking, and I’d avoided answering it myself for two months.
“I … I’m not sure.” I was sure, but I wasn’t.
This was all too fast. Was my life goal to go into owning a post office slash bookshop? Sure, I didn’t mind working here, but forever? I’d barely come to grips with the fact that I wanted to stay in Fawn Hill, let alone run my family’s shop all on my own.
“Well, maybe someone else can take over this shop.” Grandma looks at me from over her glasses.
I stop stacking certain size envelopes on the shelf behind the counter. “What do you mean? This store has been in our family for decades.”
“And now this old bird can’t hack it anymore and maybe my family needs a new start.” She clucks her tongue at me.
“What are you talking about, Grandma? You want to sell the store?” I’m thoroughly confused.
She sets the book back on the shelf. “You don’t want to run this shop. We both know it. This isn’t about staying in Fawn Hill, because even though you haven’t said the words out loud, we both know you’re staying here. But this shop isn’t for you … and that’s okay. You’ve gotten that fresh start. Look how amazing your yoga classes are going. You’ve been running them for the past two months, and they’re only growing. Hell, you have women from surrounding towns coming out to take a class from you. I think it’s time you put your money where your downward dog is.”
“Grandma!” My laugh is hysterical. “Where did you learn that phrase?”
She shrugs. “I listen to you sometimes when you’re planning your classes.”
“So what are you saying? I should start my own studio?”
The idea strikes a chord so deep in me that it vibrates through my entire body. It felt so … right.
Grandma nods. “And you have your first investor right here. I’m going to put this place on the market tomorrow, how about that for a decision?”
“Grandma … I can’t ask you to do that …” My skin crawls with anxiety.
She places her hand on my cheek and scoops it under my chin, tilting my head so that I’m looking directly into her wise, cloudy eyes.
“All your life, you’ve taken a back seat to other people’s successes. Somewhere along the way, someone told you that you weren’t good enough, and you believed it. In my time of need, you uprooted your whole life to come help me. And you’ve done it without complaint, you’ve not pushed me or taken advantage. Your nature is sweet and your spine is steel, and I know that I’m backing a truly good horse when I say I want to invest in you. I want to invest in making your dreams finally come true. No more taking the back seat, kid. You get to drive.”
Tears spill onto my cheeks, but not at her offer to fund my dreams. She’s right about it all but truly right about her first statement. I have always been told I was never enough. Even if it wasn’t those exact words, the actions and neglect of those around me cemented that idea to my soul.
The fact that Grandma is so sure of me, proud of me, and willing to help me reach a goal I didn’t even realize burned so passionately in me until this very moment?
It was the only thing I’d ever asked for coming true.
28
Keaton
Seeing the for sale sign in front of the home my father built for my mother was somewhat surreal.
Having Presley here to see it, and to meet my mother as my official girlfriend for the first time, felt
even more like I was living in a fantasy world.
“Mom?” I called as we walked in.
The house looked … different. Where the overstuffed furniture and farmhouse charm had once existed, were now clean lines and the scent of a sterile, model home. Anyone who lived in Fawn Hill would walk in here and know that this was the Nash home, but it no longer held traces of little boy’s school pictures lining every available surface or the advent calendar my father had carved for my mother that she kept hanging on the wall year-round.
“Wow, this place is …” Presley breathes beside me, her head extending all the way back on her neck to look up at the cavernous ceilings and exposed wood beams. “You grew up here?”
I chuckle. “That I did.”
“This is something out of a Georgian plantation.” The smile on her face is goofy.
“Want to buy it? Only a cool five hundred thousand.”
I really hoped Mom got the asking price for the house. It was the highest listing in the area, but this house was worth it, and we were hoping someone from out of the county would come in and scoop it up. There had to be a family from any of the nearby cities who had been considering a move to the country and would see my parent’s home and fall in love.
My heart beats a nostalgic, sad rhythm when I think about someone else growing up here. When I think about other little boys hiding in all of its nooks, and about a mom rounding them all up to sit at the dinner table until they’re excused. This house deserves that, and I know my own mom won’t rest until a buyer of that caliber makes an offer.
“Oh, Keaton, good! I need you to—”
Mom is a ball of energy as she comes barreling down the hallway toward us with stacks of boxes in her hands. And the minute she sees the gorgeous redhead standing next to me, she shoves them into my arms.
“Presley! Oh gosh, my son didn’t tell me you were coming over! I would have mixed us up a nice couple of glasses of my strawberry iced tea. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” She hugs my girlfriend.
I bobble the boxes, peeking inside as one of the lids almost clocks me in the jaw. Photos, hundreds and hundreds of them, are stacked inside. She must have gotten these down from the attic … which is a good thing because it means she’s finally taking my advice to clean house. Literally.
“Oh, there was no need, really. I’m just glad I got to come over here before it sold to see the place where Keaton grew up.”
“And I’m glad that my son finally got his head out of his butt and asked you out.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t you practically force me to ask her out by sending us up alone on a Ferris wheel?”
She waves her hands at me and motors past us into the kitchen. “I need to clean out a couple more things before the open house this weekend. Keaton, honey, could you get the boxes of China down from the upper cabinets? You know I never could reach those.”
Presley sits at the counter as my mother uncovers the boxes I just set down on the island, and they’re thumbing through pictures while I struggle not to drop priceless antique dishes. Being up here, cleaning out these cabinets, it reminds me of when my father would reach into the high places and take things down for my mother. How he’d tease her for living among a hoard of gangly giants, also known as her sons. And then she’d swat him and he’d wrap her up in a hug.
Looking back, my parents had their own language of love that I’d never noticed as a kid. The grief that always resided in my figure sighed with weariness. It lived in the ache in my chest, the set of my shoulders, the clenching of my jaw. After you lost a person so essential to who you were, their passing and the sadness of it took hold of your bones and muscles.
I know I was the one who finally convinced Mom to put her house on the market, and it was for practicality and her own sanity. But I hadn’t understood what it would mean for me. Every time I walked over the floorboards, I thought about how it would be my last. The scratches on the walls where my brothers and I had knocked them playing tag, the creaky step we avoided when sneaking out … the memories hit me full force. It’s the end of an era, and I’m not manly enough to hide the sadness I feel.
Not that I’d ever admit that to my brothers. They’d probably punch me in the arm and tell me to grow a pair.
“Oh. My. God. Who is this cute little Dalmatian?” Presley squeals with laughter as she holds up a picture to show Mom and me.
“That would be Keaton. It was his first Halloween, and oh, he was just as cute as a button.” Mom takes the photo, covering her smile with a hand. “You loved animals even then.”
I have to smile, too, because I was pretty freaking adorable. “I was the cutest baby of all your boys. Admit it, Ma, don’t worry, none of the rest of them are around to hear.”
“Oh, no you weren’t!” Mom shakes her head like she’s in a presidential debate. “Fletcher was the cutest baby.”
Presley howls at my mom’s diss. “Don’t worry, Keaton, you’re still the cutest baby in my eyes.”
The glare I give her has her laughing even harder. I heft the last of the china boxes down and blow the dust off them, a little getting in my eyes and causing me to squint.
Mom takes the lid off one, and the gleaming white and silver of her set blinks back at us.
“Oh, they’re gorgeous. How old are these?” Presley marvels, running a hand over one of the plates.
“They were my grandmother’s. The set dates back to the early nineteen hundreds, and I’ve tried to keep them in the best condition possible so I could pass them on.”
The way Mom is looking at Presley right now has alarm bells going off in my head.
“Now, I know I may have forced you two onto that Ferris wheel, and I’m about to jump to conclusions again.”
“Mom—” I try to cut her off.
The thing Presley gets spooked about the most? Putting down roots. And my mom is about to play right into her worst fear.
“Keaton William, don’t try to silence me. I know you two just started dating, and I know I’m an old woman who wants grandbabies and weddings and things you aren’t ready for yet. So what I’m going to say is just an offering … a starting point. I had Keaton get these boxes down because I am going to send them home with him. Him, not the both of you. They should go to my oldest daughter-in-law, which is why Keaton is inheriting them. But, that being said, I really hope that daughter-in-law can someday be you, Presley. I think you’re perfect for my son, and I see the way he looks at you. So, this china is a promise, and I hope you’ll see it as one, too.”
My lungs burn, and I’m surprised to find that I’ve been holding my breath the entire time my mother speaks. When I look to Presley, I find tears shining in her eyes and a smile on her face. Which … has to mean that she isn’t completely freaked out by my mother basically proposing marriage to her as my proxy.
“Thank you, Eliza. Truly, this is very special.”
I clear my throat. “Okay, now can you stop proposing to my girlfriend so we can empty this place out?”
That gets a laugh out of the two women, and I’m glad to have de-escalated the situation a bit.
Nothing like a mother’s guilt to send your girlfriend heading for the hills.
29
Presley
“This might be even better than the yoga class we attend here.” Penelope giggles as she tilts her chin up to salute the sun.
“Hey!” I spritz her with my spray bottle, which is the only thing keeping me hydrated out here. “I heard that yoga class was the shit.”
“Teasing.” She chuckles, sighing. “This is the best kind of day. Especially because my kids are at camp and I have a glorious eight hours to myself.” Penelope wiggles on her towel next to me.
My skin burns from the sun exposure, but it was the good kind of burn. The kind that felt purely summer, with the heat beating down on you so much you could practically feel each new freckle sprouting up on your nose.
I’m not sure who volunteered the idea of tanning by the l
ake at Bloomsbury Park, but it was the best suggestion any of us had had all summer. Living in the city, I had to take two subways and a train to the nearest beach. Having a place to lie out right in my own backyard was something I’d have to take advantage of more often.
“I can’t even imagine pushing a human out of my body.” Lily laughs at her best friend, sitting up on her elbows to look at Penelope.
She’s in a yellow bikini that highlights her fun-loving, cheery personality and also matches her long, curly brown hair that’s threaded into a braid.
Penelope snorts. “You were there for the third, Lil, you saw it. It’s not fun once, let alone three times. Also, your body will never be the same again. Every time I sneeze, I pee, and have you seen these stretch marks?”
The curvy blonde points to maybe two faint silvery scars on her tight stomach and sighs.
“You look like a Kardashian, only blond. So Khloe, but not as tall. Seriously, shut up,” I chastise her.
“She’s right. Now you only have to make a sex tape and you’ll get famous.” Lily laughs.
Penelope applies some more tanning oil to her supple chest. “Who says I haven’t?”
Lily and I whip our heads to her. “You have?” We say in unison.
She just smirks, and I turn onto my stomach to tan my back. “I’ve always thought making one might be hot, but also I feel like I’d just be looking at the imperfections of my body jiggling the whole time I watched it back. And is it weird to watch your own porn?”
It’s Lily’s turn to frown at me. “Um, have you seen your body? You have like zero percent fat on you, plus people kill for your shade of hair. You’re gorgeous … and I don’t think Keaton would object to watching your porn tape over and over and over again.”
That sends a blush all the way from my toes to the tip of said red roots.
Fleeting: The Nash Brothers, Book One Page 13
