I’d toss this car off a cliff if it meant I never had to sit in it again at this point. We only have thirty minutes of driving left and my whole body is stiff and aching. I shrug. “I don’t know, it was a gift.” Honesty concealing a lie. The true Southern way.
Mercer passes me a look. The one that says he doesn’t believe me. “I’m just curious. I don’t judge you for your insane wealth. How much? Come on.”
“You called it insane,” I fire back. “That’s judging.”
He nods. “It is quite insane, but I didn’t call you insane.”
I mess with the top knot on top of my head. “Less than a hundred…I think.”
“Dollars? Pesos? Quid?” Mercer throws out, knowing darn well what I mean.
I grunt. “Thousand. Because for some reason you want to hear me say it. Less than one hundred thousand dollars.” One hundred and seven if we’re being specific. I only know because I saw the figure on the invoice after it came back from the shop.
He shakes his head and readjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “And you’ll drive it to the salon to cut hair. You’re a walking oxymoron. Pointing out, again, I’m not judging you, just giving you a plebian point of view. This car costs more than some folk’s houses, Four Leaf Clover. Your co-workers work to pay bills. No offense, but you don’t know what that feels like.”
Mercer is pointing out obvious things. “You don’t think I know that? How do you think Goldie got the funds to buy the salon to begin with? I’ll be with her, and yeah, so, maybe the stylists that work there won’t understand, but she will. Goldie did the same thing I’m doing. She just figured it out earlier than I did.” And her parents supported her decision, I think. “The car is just a car.”
“Only someone with wealth can say this is just a car.”
Rolling up my window, I fiddle with the controls on the A/C. “You came from blessed circumstances, too. Don’t act like you were running around the corner store with jiffy feet and hand-me-down pants.”
Mercer chortles. “Jiffy feet. You know people up here won’t understand some of your…colloquialisms, right?”
“Who doesn’t know what jiffy feet are? That’s an obvious one. Black feet from running around the jiffy store barefoot.”
He pauses his laughter only to inform me that people up north may not even know what a jiffy store is. I’ve visited other places around the United States over the years, but I never compared myself to others because I knew we weren’t like them. Not in any way, shape, or form. Now that I’ll be living in a completely different climate, these are actual things I’ll need to take into consideration, or get ready to do some apologizing and explaining.
I see hedges shaping the words Cape Cod and I know we’re finally nearing our destination and my backside cheers in relief.
“Now that we’re almost here, give me the summary.”
“Summary of what?” I ask, glancing at him from the side. He’s grinning wide, one wrist on top of the wheel, the other hand fisted and against the side of his head. It makes me happy to know that he is in fact just as uncomfortable as I am. He’s just used to living in barbaric conditions.
“The summary of our drive. We’ve been stuck in a car together; without any road head, might I add. Tell me what you’ve learned about me. I’ll return the favor after.”
“With road head?” I quip.
“If you want, but was thinking you’d want to know the important things I learned about you.”
Stretching my neck, I grab my Chapstick from the pocket in the door and smear some more on. “Fine. Go on. Tell me what you’ve learned.” I pull my legs up underneath my body and clasp my hands in my lap.
He glances at me, a quick, just to be sure gesture, and places both hands on the wheel. He opens his mouth to speak, and closes it again, his strong jaw working. “You didn’t wake up like this,” he says, clearing his throat. “This has always been inside you. The will. The fight. The desire for something more has always been waiting. You aren’t letting your fears dictate which self you allow yourself to embrace anymore. You can do this, I know, because the same things live inside me. Have always been there.”
He stuns me silent. After a beat or two, I nod. “That’s pretty deep.”
“Did you expect some kiddy pool stuff?”
I shake my head. “No, but how did you figure all of that out.”
I can tell he’s not going to hold back, and I brace against whatever is coming next. “Growing up, everyone always assumed you were acting too good, or you thought you were better than others because of the family you were born into.” He makes a turn, and memories from my past trickle in. He’s right, and again, I never gave it a second thought. “It wasn’t because of the family you were born into. You acted that way because you were always destined for more than what others expected of you. Sure, you never dated any of the guys in high school and everyone thought you were an Ice Queen because of it.”
I hold a finger in the air. “Daddy wouldn’t let me date,” I explain. “And I was always friendly to everyone. I was a friend to everyone.”
He nods. “I know that. We are a product of our surroundings and somehow you managed to get it.”
“Get what?” I ask, swallowing the love sized lump pressing against my throat.
“Life. What’s it about. Helping others. Saving the people who can’t save themselves. Even with the pageants when you were younger, I remember you had the same platform. Helping. Four Leaf Clover, you’re a helper in a world of taking. You aren’t anything like what people think you are.”
“I appreciate that. You saying that. It’s easy to forget when you’re so busy living life. Or maybe the helping gets all foggy while I’ve been trying to find my own happiness because it’s such a selfish thing. To abandon causes.” I think of the shelter and a pang of regret hits me square in the chest.
“It will always be there, and those people will always have somewhere to go because of you. You did more for Greenton than any politician could hope to achieve. Be proud.”
“That’s all you learned about me on this drive? Sounds like you’ve known this for a while.”
He lifts and lowers one bulky shoulder. “Needed an excuse to compliment you.”
“You never need an excuse to compliment a lady.”
Mercer reaches for my hand over the console. I take it. “You like cake over ice cream, white wine over most everything else, you love your family, you’ve always wanted a bird, but never had the courage to kill something other than a plant.”
I squeeze his hand. “Hey, that’s not nice. I mean, it’s true though and I hate that.”
His thumb slides across the pad of my hand. “You only like old country music, not that new stuff.” Mercer nods to the radio where some hip, new country song is playing.
“I’m a purist. What can I say?”
“You are pure, Clover and it scares me. You scare me.”
It’s my turn to glance over. I see it then. “You’re scared of little ole’ me?” I razz, tilting my head.
He snuffs out a breath. “You have no idea.” Mercer turns down a small street next to a mom and pop grocer. The speed limit is fifteen, and after being on the interstate for so long, this feels like a crawling pace. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” My father’s words echo, and I think they may have gotten to Mercer Ballentine.
He pulls into a neatly kept duplex and I know we’ve arrived. The houses look completely different from what I’m used to and as I take note of the differences, the words I want to say twist in my mind.
“Mercer,” I say. He puts the car in park and looks at me. The fact that we’re stopped and neither of us are exiting the vehicle immediately says a lot about what we’re feeling. “Most of the time I’m on autopilot because that’s what it takes to get through a busy day—a busy life. There are moments of happiness, a joke shared with someone via text, that first sip of latte in the morning, my favorite show, but they’re fleeting thing
s, just part of the script I’ve accepted.” His beautiful eyes flicker with an indescribable emotion. “For the first time in my life, I’m feeling what it’s like to live because I’m happy. I am in love. Every moment is filled with exhilaration and promise.” I blink away a tear. “And you’re to blame for it.”
A blinding grin crosses his face. “There you go blaming me again.”
“I’m serious,” I say. “My legs are about to go gangrene and fall off, but I want you to know that I choose you. I want you. Because you’re one of the kindest, most honorable people I know. Because you are strong and vulnerable at the same time, you’re a Southern purist reformed in only the best kind of ways. Mercer, you are ungodly beautiful, and your heart is the softest place I’ve ever landed. You are my decision and if that still scares you, well we have some different problems to tackle.”
“That’s what you learned about me then?”
“That’s the gist of it,” I say. “Everyone knows you’re awesome. I just realized you’re my kind of awesome.”
Mercer lays a hand on the door handle, and I do the same. “You can’t get gangrene by sitting in a car too long, by the way.”
Raising my brows, I say, “I know.” I don’t know, but I do now. We exit the car and I tell Mercer where Goldie put the hide-a-key. It’s under the girl garden gnome, next to the yellow tulips. He grabs the key while stretching out his legs. I make a show of dancing, arms and legs jiggling to get the kinks out. “I moved too quick and now I have to pee,” I exclaim, crossing my legs at the ankles.
He slides the key into the lock, and I can see his hesitance. He opens the door and holds out an arm for me to go first. I feel Mercer’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my head as I take in my new home so different than my last. The bathroom is easy to find, and I stare at the wall as I pee quickly and wander back to the living room. There’s a sofa, a coffee table, and the small kitchen is feet away. I hear the door click shut and Mercer announces he’s going to find the thermostat to get the air pumping. I realize minutes have passed and I haven’t said a word.
“Mercer,” I call out, standing in front of the queen-sized bed in the sole bedroom. Under my breath, I whisper, “Farm truck.”
He’s right next to me and I didn’t realize it. “How bad is it on a scale of one to having a panic attack and requiring medical services?”
“I love it. It’s perfect, I just need to ask you a question.”
He snakes an arm around my waist. “Anything.”
I swallow hard. “I pretty much told you I’m in love with you and you didn’t really reciprocate.”
He spins me to look at him, hands on my shoulders. “I feel the same. I thought I made my feelings abundantly clear. I rode in a car with you for a solid day.”
My heart pounds as I gaze into his eyes. “You love me enough to help me paint the walls in this joint?”
He chuckles, lifting one brow. “Really? The walls? That’s it? You know when you rent you can’t just paint the walls, right? You have to ask your landlord.”
“It’s the same color as my bedroom in Greenton. Any other color. Literally. Any other color. You pick it. We cover the walls with it. Goldie will let me paint.”
He nods, looking around, taking mental measurements. He rattles off how much paint and supplies we’ll need and moves into the kitchen, calling out questions as he goes. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t jarring realizing that this is my new home. There is no pomp or circumstance in between these walls. There isn’t priceless artwork or rugs that you can’t walk on top of. The furniture, while new, as Goldie promised, came from one of those stores inside a mall, not a custom store overseas. I wander into the living room and see Mercer, hands perched on his hips, gazing at the blank space above the couch.
“I got an idea for up there,” he says, shaking a finger at the wall.
“Yeah?” I reply.
“You trust me?”
“Obviously, I do. I spent a day in the car with you,” I say, smirking. “By the way, how far away do you live from here?” I know the Cape is a small town, but when compared to Greenton it’s probably ten times the size. The Cape might as well be a metropolis in comparison to what I’m used to.
Taking my hand in his, he walks us to the front bay window and stabs a finger at the house across the street. It is a two-story house with light green doors and shutters. It’s the same style as my duplex, but much larger. “I’d fathom it’s about sixty yards door to door,” he says. “Give or take.” The relief I feel is tinged with something else, something inappropriate and carnal. He’ll be close to me. “But I’m leaving, and it will be empty until I get back. Maybe you can keep it up for me?”
“I can’t believe you’re that close. It’s so ironic…that even here we’ll be in spitting distance. Why don’t you have any roommates? It looks like it’s big enough.”
He clears his throat. “Well, it was what was available when I needed a place and well, I’ve gotten to an age where when I’m home, I want my peace, and things my own way. I considered getting a roommate when I first purchased it, but it’s easier to just worry about myself.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I told you the address of my place?”
Mercer sighs. “I figured it would be best to tell you just like this.” He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his arm across his chest to stretch.
“I have an addendum to what I’ve learned about you. You’re this loud, rowdy Southern boy who is actually a quiet recluse who prefers seclusion to company.”
“Should I be offended?” he edges, stretching his other arm.
After taking in his house, I spin to my own meager accommodations. “Only if you don’t want company.”
His grin widens. “I want your company any day of the week that I can walk around naked and don’t have to label my peanut butter in black Sharpie.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what to do with those two things in the same sentence together, but I’ll take it. I’m going to call Mama to let her know I’m here safely and then Goldie to thank her for everything.”
“I’ll grab stuff from the trunk and then we can hit the hardware store. Oh, and Four Leaf Clover?”
Smiling at my nickname, I focus my gaze on his. A bout of self-conscious dread hits me when I think of what I must look like because of the way he’s studying me—eyes sliding up and down, all over my body. “What?” I ask, stomping a sneaker-clad foot in mock irritation.
He swallows hard. “I fell in love with you in Greenton, but I love you most right now. Looking like that, standing here, with me, giving me something to live for.”
It’s a lot to hear, it’s a lot to acknowledge, and it’s what I’ve prayed for my entire life. Someone who sees me and still wants to keep me when my makeup comes off.
Chapter Thirteen
___________________________________
Clover
“GOLDIE IS ON her way over here right now,” I shriek. “Fix it!”
“I can’t fix a hole in the drywall in five minutes, darlin’,” Mercer chirps back, smile still wide even though I’m perfectly horrified. “You have to admit, your sweet backside driving a hole in the wall is pretty funny.” I cross my arms over my paint-covered chest. “Come on, Clover. This is easy to fix.” He gestures to the butt sized hole mid-wall in the hallway. When I don’t respond, he laughs again. “I’m telling you I’ll fix it in no time, just not in five minutes without supplies. It was an accident. You tripped.”
“Stop laughing, Mercer.”
“I bet she’ll find this just as funny as I do. I mean, Clover Wellsley doing home improvements, painting the walls, stumbles over the paint tray and crashes into a wall, ass first.”
“Some kind of lady I’m turning into,” I huff out, just as I hear the screech of the doorbell. I wince. “Can we fix that sound next?” I ask, uncrossing my arms and offering a weak grin.
He shakes his head. “Still using those Southern ways to get what you want, are you
? You forget where we’re at?”
“Are you telling me no?” I fire back.
He stands, paintbrush tipped in white in one hand. “Quite the contrary. I’ll always have a hard time telling you no, it may require a bit more than asking with a sweet smile on your face though. I’ll get back to you on the terms. Go grab the door.” Mercer winks.
My heart races as I think about tonight when I’ve washed the paint from every square inch of my body and I have Mercer alone, not confined in a moving vehicle. I’m exhausted, but something about the promise of later drives me forward.
I pat my hair and feel dried paint stuck in clumps as I rush toward the door. I pull it open and make sure that pageant smile is in place. “Goldie,” I exclaim.
“Oh Clover,” my cousin returns, but then her eyes peruse over my clothes and hair. “Are you okay?”
I slide my hands down Mercer’s old t-shirt I have tucked into a pair of jeans. “I’m doing some painting, remember,” I say, smile slipping a bit. I texted her to let her know about the paint color and my intentions. “Mercer is helping me of course, like I mentioned. It’s going to be beautiful.”
Goldie pulls me into a tentative hug. “Wow. Okay, well, you look as beautiful as always.” She pulls away to look me in the eye. “Still the picture of youth.” Goldie is in her forties and she is obsessed with youth. Being young. Anyone who is younger than her. How old everyone around her is. I’d forgotten how much it drives her personality. “I figured Mercer would paint and you’d sip sweet tea from the couch.”
I offer a fake, high pitched laugh. “And not get in on this DIY action? A full-on life change, Goldie,” I remind her. Mercer rounds the corner and I see Goldie’s eyes widen. Sure, she’s been up here for a decade and maybe her Southern roots have morphed into Northern steel, but I know what the look crossing her face means and I don’t like it one bit.
She crosses to him, her hand extended. Mercer wipes his hands on a rag he pulls from his back pocket. “Goldie,” he says, shaking her hand. “It’s been a really long time. Looks like you’re doing right fine for yourself.”
Almost Had You Page 14
