Almost Had You

by Rachel Robinson

  Mercer clears his throat. “You deserve to be treated like a queen and I haven’t managed to give you a half of a normal date. I bet the other men you’ve dated didn’t get your clothes stolen.”

  It has been one hijinks after the other since he came back to town. “I’m not with those other men, am I? Maybe there’s something to riding a four-wheeler without a brassiere. Or drinking tequila from a South of the Porder glass. Kissin’ when it’s only stayin’ kissin’ and nothing more. Maybe when it’s right, everything is different.” Maybe when it’s different, everything is right, I think.

  We continue talking as I work on Grandma’s pie. Mrs. Ballentine pops her head in a few times to see how it’s coming along or if she can bring me anything. I make sure to call out the steps as I do them so she can hear in the big kitchen next door. She’s working on dinner and Mr. Ballentine is playing a round of golf with his buddies. Mercer would be with him if I wasn’t here. “I feel bad you didn’t get to play golf with your daddy and his friends. I’m taking up family time.”

  “He plays most days, Clover. Trust me, I’ll have my fill of golf before I go back,” Mercer replies, looking away. The far off, glazed over appearance transforms his face and a pit settles in my stomach. I cut strips of dough for the top of the pie and try to make small talk about the weather forecast for the week. Small talk comes easy for us. It’s how we fill all of the silences. The only downfall is Mercer knows what I’m trying to do. “If you want to know something, ask me. I might not always want to answer, but at least I know you want to know,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t need the weather report.”

  I fake a laugh. “You’ve never settled down with a woman?” I toss it out like it’s as significant as weather, not very, but I want to know. How much does his job affect the rest of his life?

  Mercer rounds the island so he’s standing on the other side of the narrow counter, facing me. “There’s not much time for meeting women. There’s even less time for meeting the right kind of women.”

  I glance up from making my lattice top and meet his eyes. “You left ‘Bama and couldn’t find a Southern woman elsewhere? Go figure. Here I was thinking you were of the intelligent sort.”

  He shakes his head. “I never said anything about Southern. It’s hard to find someone who keeps my attention in general. I said the right kind of woman.”

  “Lots of women who don’t hold your attention?” I ask, pressing my lips into a grin.

  Mercer tilts his head, studying me. “There aren’t very many ways I can decompress, Clover. I’m working more than I’m not. And even when I’m not working, I’m training to work. Or I’m sleeping. Even though I’ve traveled the world, my scope of it is actually small. If we give this a real shot, it’s going to change a lot of things.”

  My heart pounds. “Like what?”

  “I’ll make time to call you every day when I’m away, if I can. When I come home, I’m coming home to you. When I have time off, I want it to be with you.”

  I finish crimping the edges and dust my hands off on the apron I’m borrowing. “You have three weeks off. We’ve spent one night together and you’re already talking serious.” I make sure to keep my voice down so I don’t give his mama a reason to listen closer. “I don’t understand why you don’t find a woman that wants a fun time and just keep things simple. Why me? Why something more? I’ll keep you dizzy as a tornado.”

  Half of his face pulls into a grin. My insides melt into a gooey pile of mush as I take in his white teeth and confident stance. “I like storms.” He holds up one finger.

  I cross my arms. “How rude.”

  Mercer laughs and pulls one of my flour-covered hands into his. “I complimented you, ma’am. That’s not rude.” He crooks his finger, requesting my other hand. “Come closer,” he whispers. Leaning on the counter, I give him both of my hands. I glance into the main kitchen and don’t see Mrs. Ballentine. Mercer closes the distance and plants his lips on mine. Pulling back, blue eyes sear into mine. “Plus, I think I kinda like you.”

  I smile. “What if I’m just the first proper lady you set eyes on after coming home and you’re all mixed up?” I peck his lips because he’s grinning so big. “I know I’m a catch, don’t get me wrong, I want to make sure you realize I’m a catch. More of a wild catch. Sort of like a mad, feral catfish or a big ole’ mean fish that breaks the line, but keeps coming back because it can’t resist the bait.”

  “Are you calling me bait, darlin’? Here’s what I think, I think we go up to my room so we can pull out the old yearbooks and make out instead. How long is the pie in there?”

  Biting my lip, I stifle a laugh. “We have an hour,” I say.

  Mercer calls out to his mom to tell her we’re going to look at yearbooks and he drags me up the stairs by one wrist, like we’re seventeen. He spins on me once we’re in his childhood bedroom, and closes the door behind us. There are photos and posters covering his walls. It looks untouched from his teenaged years. “Feral catfish, huh?” he drawls, leaning against an antique wooden desk.

  “I told you I almost got engaged to a man because it would have been advantageous to my life, not because I loved him. You need to know what you’re getting yourself into.” It sounds as bad as it did in my head before I spoke. “I’ve never been the type of person to play it safe, Mercer, but I press the limits inside of the boundaries laid out for me. This,” I say, nodding to him, “Is so outside the boundaries. I texted Goldie earlier to tell her we needed to talk about the move and the salon.”

  He crosses the room to sit on his bed. It’s covered with a dark green comforter and matching throw pillows. “If you break one boundary, you’re going to break them all?” he asks.

  “Yes. All the ones I find confining,” I say, lacing my hands behind my back as I take in all the family photos on the wall. “Mama is going to have a duck fit. All at once will be easier on her.” I pause and turn to face him. “She has to know I’m unhappy. When many of my friends were getting married in their early twenties and I had no interest, I saw the disappointment. Then again when I began the non-profit because she saw that as a gross misuse of my time. It’s been one thing not on her agenda after the other.” I swallow hard. “Weren’t we going to make out?”

  Mercer holds open his hands. “Talkin’ is good too. Believe it or not, I’m starved for decent conversation. I could watch your lips all day long.” He smiles with his eyes. “Also, you’re wearing my mama’s dress and I’d feel a little weird taking it off you.”

  I laugh. “You know how to lighten the mood.” I tap my chin with a finger. “Are you saying if I took this dress off right now, you would turn me away?”

  “No, ma’am, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” He chuckles, then clears his throat. “I think we should take it slow. Good things take time. Becoming a SEAL took two years. It was miserable, painful, more intense than anything I’ve done in my life. Planning a mission that might take an hour takes months, sometimes even years, if we want it to be successful, if the stakes are high. There’s no sense in rushing into sex.”

  “Because I’m a virgin? You should know better by now. Tell me not to do something and I want to do the opposite.”

  “I’m not using reverse psychology on you. You aren’t a child. I’m being honest. I want this to be more than a way to spend my time off. If we give it space and time to grow, I think it could be something grand. Big. Do you feel that way?” He shakes his head once. “I’m not getting any younger.”

  I feel a whole mess of things when I think about a relationship with Mercer Ballentine. “I agree. That sounds like a good idea.” I take another few steps to stand in front of him. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed with his legs wide. He pulls me to him, his hands splayed against my backside. Resting my hands on each side of his face, I say, “I do declare, Mr. Ballentine. You have snagged yourself a catch.”

  He slides his fingers down to the hem of the dress and slides his hands up high enough to fe
el I’m not wearing panties. He groans and lays his head against my stomach. “A wild catch.”

  _______________

  Dinner with the Ballentines was a polite affair. There were shared jokes, but I felt comfortable at their dinner table. They made sure to include me in the conversation and we talked a lot about Mr. Ballentine’s friends and their golf game. I know of them because they are either my friend’s dads or my father has spoken about them in my presence. They accepted me into the fold immediately—warmly. I had thinly veiled clap backs ready without need. My guard dropped completely for the first time…ever.

  “After eating the best apple pie my mouth has ever had the pleasure of partaking in, I need to announce some news,” Mr. Ballentine drawls. Mercer’s mother claps her hands, pin curls shaking with her excitement as her giggle ricochets the dining room.

  “Oh, good gracious, thank heavens you’re finally telling him. I’ve been losing my cool trying to keep it under wraps.” Mrs. Ballentine releases a pent-up breath.

  His dad meets Mercer’s eye and grins wide. It reminds me of Mercer’s smile. When his gaze flicks to mine, the smile disappears. “The timing of this is a little bit ironic, Ms. Wellsley.”

  I clear my throat and take a sip of water. The polite thing to do is nod, so I do.

  “What is it, Dad?” Mercer says, excited accent twanging.

  Mr. Ballentine leans back in his chair and puffs out a breath. “I’m doing it. It’s official. I’m running for mayor this election.”

  “What?” I squeal the impolite question because I’m so shocked. “No one has run against my daddy for the last decade.” Possibly more. There was one time when someone tried, but it didn’t last long. Daddy probably strong-armed him from the race. Which is what I realize he’s going to do with Mercer’s dad. It makes my stomach hurt.

  Mrs. Ballentine coos. “Oh, sweet Clover, we love your father and it’s not personal at all. It’s just that there are a few antiquated procedures and policies that need fixin’.”

  Mercer stays quiet, his hands sitting in his lap, eyes focused on me. Waitin’ for my tornado to blow, surely. They work together. Why couldn’t they work together to fix things? I know how politics work, and I know it’s more complicated than that, but I also know Southern manners and friendships mean more to us than they do to most other people in other parts of our country.

  “Congratulations, Dad,” Mercer says, raising his glass. “This is something to celebrate. I know how long you’ve been working toward this.” He’s dutiful in avoiding eye contact with me. “I’m so glad I’m here for it.”

  I swallow down the nails I want to spit and choke out the words, “Congratulations, Mr. Ballentine.” I leave off, good luck, because that’s a given. My daddy is going to thrash him and here I thought everything between Mercer and me was complicated before.

  Mr. Ballentine thanks us, and we toast again. Mrs. Ballentine clears plates and I help. She watches me closely, trying to read my mood. I make it difficult by wearing my pride as a shield. Not even the best lady can see through that. My mind is racing with a thousand different scenarios as I dry the china. I can fix this. If I can nip this in the bud quickly.

  As soon as we’re alone in the driveway, I pull Mercer into Tannie’s old car. “You have to get him to drop out,” I nearly shout when he’s in the passenger seat.

  Mercer narrows his eyes. “How can you say that? Why? He’s not good enough? Not ‘Bama royalty? Doesn’t have the right name to do the job?”

  My heart drops. “It has nothing to do with names or whether he’d be good at the job. Actually, I’m sure he’d be great at the job, Mercer. My daddy doesn’t play nice when challenged. That’s why he needs to drop out.”

  Mercer scoffs. “Seriously? You’re trying to tell me you’re worried about my father? That’s rich, Clover. You must think I’m an idiot. We aren’t afraid of a fight.”

  I grip the steering wheel. “This changes everything, don’t you see? I will literally be sleeping with the enemy when he gets hold of this information.”

  Mercer is seething mad, breaths pushing through his lips. “This is why my dad should be the new mayor. You Wellsleys are antiquated. Who cares who you’re with? It shouldn’t matter.” He looks away, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing you didn’t sleep with the enemy then, isn’t it?”

  The butterflies move from my stomach to every other area inside my body. “Why do you think I want out, Mercer? This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. Look!” I shout. “You’re mad about it, and I’ve already told you this is why I’m not like them. Why I’m leaving.” I tell him to look at me. He doesn’t, so I ask louder. He turns. “You haven’t been around. The last man that challenged my dad in the race for mayor left with tail tucked between his legs. I’d hate to see anything bad happen to your dad…to your family, because of my daddy.”

  “So, he shouldn’t even try? You do see the flawed logic in what you’re saying right? Admitting things need changing around here and also trying to halt the change. I think we let the people vote and the chips will fall where they may. It’s a democracy, Clover. This isn’t war. There are rules.”

  I shake my head. “He plays by a whole different set of rules.”

  “We’ll take our chances. I need to go celebrate with my family. Spend some time with them.”

  I nod. Won’t be much to celebrate in a few weeks’ time. I know it now. The Ballentines will know it soon.

  “Call me,” I shout out before he shuts the car door.

  I won’t hold my breath.

  Chapter Eight

  ___________________________________

  Clover

  FOR THE PAST three days, I’ve thrown myself into my work for the festival. Everything is finalized and there are only a few loose ends to tie up. I spent five hours at the shelter working on the books and meeting a couple of new women who Winnie took in while I was busy with Mercer. My cousin Goldie knows I’m ready, and she’s working on getting a few things fixed in the duplex for my impending arrival. Even if my heart hurts thinking about Mercer, I know he gave me something in two days that took me a lifetime to reach out for. Bravery—the courage to go against the grain and to follow my passion. He still hasn’t called and it’s extremely frustrating.

  The last thing to do is to tell my mama and daddy about moving. I’m still trying to decide the best way to do that. Last minute—giving them less chance to try to stop me or to pull some harebrained trick to lure me to stay? Or just tell them now and get it out in the open? I don’t put anything past my mama. As far as I know, Mr. Ballentine hasn’t announced his run for office yet. That will spread quicker than wildfire.

  I’m sitting in the town square underneath a jasmine covered pergola, on my laptop looking at a map of Cape Cod. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be close to Mercer. How often I’ll see him. If I can run into him when I’m settled in a new life. An email pings. It’s from the auto body shop telling me a part they need to fix my car is backordered and it’s going to be another few days. I send back a quick reply and then fish out my cell.

  Tannie answers on the first ring. “Hey, I’m going to need your car for a few more days at least. A part is backordered or something, you know how that stuff goes. Anyway, I hope that’s okay.” She tells me I can keep the car as long as I want. She still feels bad about gossiping, is what she’s saying in different words. “Want to meet for lunch?” I ask.

  “Late lunch? I need to wrap up some stuff here at the office.”

  “Sure,” I reply.

  Tannie clears her throat. “Still no word from Mercer then?”

  “Like I’d tell you,” I hiss back.

  She swallows hard. “I’m sorry. What happened? I won’t say anything.” I have casually mentioned that Mercer and I are cooling off after a hiccup. I didn’t dare give her details, and honestly, she’ll know soon enough. It gives me an idea. A more organic way for everyone to find out about my new life.

  “I’ll tell you what’s be
en going on today at lunch. Thank you for letting me keep your car a bit longer.”

  She bids me goodbye after we agree on a time, and I hang up the call. “Was wondering how long it would take to run into you,” Mercer drawls, voice licking up my spine.

  I turn around and see him leaning against the jasmine. “You’re supposed to pretend you don’t see me and take the long way around the square. Don’t you know anything about living in a small town?” I reply.

  He chuckles. It makes my skin crawl. In the good way. I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes. Jasmine. One of my favorite scents. I focus on that. “Memory isn’t what it used to be,” he says, sitting next to me on the bench. “That must have slipped my mind.”

  “That’s it then,” I bite back.

  “That’s what?”

  I sigh. “Why you didn’t call me when you said you would.”

  He reaches around the bench to sling an arm around my shoulder. “You ordered me to call you. I never said I would. Let’s call it a difference of opinion.”

  “I guess you don’t remember telling me you thought we could be grand, either? Or the fact we basically agreed we were an item. You’re not as strong as I thought you were. It’s okay though because most people in my life disappoint me. You’re not special.”

  “Ouch,” he says, drawing the word out. “I spent one full day golfing with my dad, another day talking about gardening and your grandma’s apple pie with my mom, and today was spent with Bentley at the DR on his day off.” He clears his throat. “I was hoping to run into you.”

  “Yet you didn’t think to call me?” I rasp, sliding my laptop into a soft carrying case and zipping it up. “Again, I’m questioning your intelligence.”

  Mercer lays a hand on my wrist. “I don’t do this. Relationships. You were mad. I was upset. Figured it would be best to let you lead. Come to me when you were ready and cooled down.”