by Phoebe Mills
“You’re the best, Shorty.” He plucked a roll from the bowl sitting between them. “So what’s your other resolution?”
She should’ve known that question was coming. Why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut? To stall, she went to the fridge to fetch them each a can of carbonated water. “I’ve only got plain—no lime—you good with that?”
“Sure.” He cracked open the can she passed him. “So what’s resolution number two?”
Damn it. She opened her can and gulped. “Um, well…to find the perfect guy.”
“Ah, come on, really?” Tim set his can down and peered at her. “That’s a lot of pressure. You know there’s no such thing as the perfect guy, right?”
Maybe not perfect, but Tim Fraser came pretty damn close. The only thing he lacked was actually clueing in to how great they were together. “Okay, correction, the perfect guy for me. I fully believe somebody is going to come along who will check off all the boxes.”
He peered at her across the table. “You’ve mentioned these boxes before. Elaborate, please.”
She braced her feet on the rung around the bottom of her chair. “Well, for one, he needs to be self-sufficient, because this girl is not looking after anyone.”
Tim snorted, amusement lighting up his eyes. “Valid. Go on.”
“Two, he has to be family oriented and ready to settle down.” She put her spoon down and reached for her water.
“And three?” he prompted.
Emily let the cool liquid buzz around her mouth, considering. “Romantic, fun, spontaneous…” Too bad she wanted these things with the one person she couldn’t have.
He wiggled the tab on the top of his can back and forth until it snapped off. “Take it from me, the more perfect you think someone is, the greater their ability to hurt and disappoint you in the end.”
“Pfft…Not true,” she countered, furrowing her brows and shaking her head.
“It is true. Truer words have never been spoken.”
She blinked rapidly and beckoned with her fingers. “Gimme back the soup.”
“What?” His spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “I’ve already eaten half of it.”
“Gimme.”
“No.” Without breaking eye contact, he guarded the bowl with his arm and shoveled soup into his mouth a little faster.
Emily’s gaze fell on his US Navy tattoo, the arm of the anchor drawing her eyes down his forearm. She gulped her water again.
Tim ate his last bite and pushed his bowl away. “I think we all need to stop looking for the one, the happily-ever-after, and just enjoy the here and now. Real life does not breed happy endings. People will just end up hurting you if you let them get too close.”
“You’re just jaded right now.”
“I’ve come to my senses.”
She shrugged. “I don’t buy it. Obviously you’ve just never met the right person.”
“You can say that again. And I’m not planning to, either. I am so done with relationships.”
A declaration she’d heard about thirty-seven times in the past four months. “Right. Because they’re not a part of your rules.” If she had a dollar for every time he brought up his damn rules.
“Exactly.” Oblivious to her disinterest, he held up a finger. “Casual dating only…”
She tuned him out as he ticked off rule numbers two and three. No opening up, no getting close. Blah, blah, blah. She could list them in her sleep.
“And most important of all,” he was saying, “no developing feelings.”
Emily waited a few seconds to make sure he hadn’t added anything else. It was a growing list, after all. “Rules are overrated.”
Tim shook his head and grinned. “Not my rules.”
When he didn’t say anything more, she leaned back in her chair and stretched. “So any resolutions for you?”
“Nah, you know me. I don’t like to make those kinds of commitments.” His eyes fell on a stack of broken-down boxes, propped up against the door of the coat closet. “When is the move into the new apartment?”
The guy at the end of the hall was finally moving out. For years, Emily had been on a waiting list for one of those apartments. They spanned the whole width of the building, getting the morning sun from the harbor and the afternoon light coming across town square. She picked at a thread on her jean shorts. “He should be out by the end of the month. I’m going to get a head start packing things I never use. New Year’s resolution, and all that.” She winked.
“If you need help moving some of your heavy stuff, I’ll give you a hand. Just say the word.” His phone chimed, but he ignored it. “And I’ll have plenty of boxes at the shop, if you need more.”
“Sure, that would be great. I don’t have much stuff, but I’ll keep you posted.”
He flashed his teeth, and they practically sparkled like a 1950s toothpaste commercial. He held her gaze a second, then cleared his throat. “What do you think Fuzzy has in store for us at next week’s council meeting?”
“Holiday recap and spring event planning, probably, which I hope he spares me on. I’m exhausted from the Christmas events, and I could use the break to prep for wedding season. I’ve already gotten ten cake orders, including Leyna and Jay’s.”
Because her life wasn’t complicated enough already, she and Tim were none other than maid of honor and best man at their friends’ upcoming wedding in May.
His phone chimed again and he pulled it out of his pocket. “My mom. She wants me to come over and put an Ikea cabinet together.” He got up and gathered their dishes. “Cute shirt, by the way.” He pointed to a young Justin Timberlake before carrying the dishes to the sink. “I tried frosted tips back in the day.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Shit. Did she just say that out loud? Why not admit she remembered the exact brand of jeans he wore back then too. Gap.
Her phone rang, thank God. “I, um…It’s Nana,” she stammered.
He put his ball cap back on and backed toward the door. “I’ve gotta get going anyway. Thanks for the soup. And for distracting me.”
With her thumb hovering over the Answer button, she stuck her head out the door as Tim retreated down the dim carpeted hallway. “Don’t watch the show.”
He spun back around. “I won’t, Shorty. Bye bye bye.”
As the door clicked shut, Emily answered the call, mustering her most bubbly voice. Her grandmother hadn’t been herself through the holidays. She’d been quiet and mopey—a rough contrast to her usual energetic self.
“Happy New Year, Nana.”
“Happy New Year, Emmy. How was the party last night?”
Pinching her lip, she turned her head toward the window, where soft flurries collected on the fire escape. “All right.” But I left at eleven thirty so I didn’t have to bear the humiliation of having no one to kiss at midnight. Again.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about my birthday party. We should book soon.”
“Nana, your birthday is five months away.” Not that she was judging. Emily had planned her last birthday party six months in advance.
“Damn straight. It’s not every day a gal turns eighty-three.”
That’s right, eighty-three. Not a particularly celebratory number like eighty, or eighty-five. Reserving a few tables for her grandmother’s birthday wouldn’t be a problem, though. Not when her best friend Leyna owned the most popular restaurant in town. “What did you have in mind?”
From the rattling in the background, Emily knew Nana was digging into her trusty bag of pink peppermints. She’d been hooked on them for years.
“I want a classy little soirée on a boat, beginning at sunset and lasting until after dark, with warm little lights strung everywhere. I’m thinking smoked salmon for an appetizer and sparkling wine. Mini cheesecakes for dessert. I’m sure it’ll be no problem for you to pull together something great with Leyna for the food and Tim for the boat tour.”
The woman had it all figured out. Emily put her phone on speaker and padded
into the living room to relax on the couch. She picked up the remote to scroll through the guide. “Why a boat, though? The new rooftop patio at town hall is pretty swanky, if you want a change of scenery from Rosalia’s.” And it didn’t involve coordinating with the guy she’d just sworn off.
“Uh-uh. At my age, who knows how many parties I have left. I want a nice little boat cruise, like when your grandfather and I got married. That was the most romantic night of my life, you know.”
Well, shit. How could any other option compete with that? “Okay, leave it all to me. Just don’t forget I have to help organize Leyna and Jay’s wedding, too, which is the week after your birthday.” Priorities and all that.
Nana continued to chat, changing the topic to the new book she’d started. Half listening, Emily selected the channel airing Behind Closed Doors and lowered the volume. She may have told Tim not to watch tonight’s episode, but she damn well would.
She picked her nail file off the coffee table and ran it along her thumbnail. The live feed already ran across the bottom of the screen with commentary. The show reminded Emily of a real-life soap opera, with cattier fights and real booze flowing freely. Viewers seemed to embrace Melissa and Dak, and to be glad she’d decided to break up with her boyfriend.
When a glammed-up Melissa drove by the WELCOME TO SAPPHIRE SPRINGS sign, the lake beyond glistening in the September sun, Emily tossed the nail file and tapped her phone off speaker. She interrupted midway through her grandmother’s latest book club gossip. “I have to let you go, Nana. Sorry. I’ll keep you posted about the party planning.”
Her hand trembled as she ended the call. Why was she so nervous? She already knew, more or less, how the episode played out.
Emily’s breath hitched when the camera panned the boats bobbing along the dock and then moved along to the group of bold-colored clapboard buildings nicknamed Crayola Row before framing in on Tim’s shop. She and Leyna had been in the kitchen at Tesoro the day the footage was shot, and they’d spied through the window as it all went down. It was innocent enough at the time, but this…This felt almost voyeuristic, somehow.
Had Melissa really needed to break up with him at work, so the whole world could google him and the town where he lived?
There on her TV screen, Tim stepped out of the shop and closed the door behind him. He looked amazing—still tanned from the summer, wearing faded jeans and a dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He flashed a big, genuine smile before hesitating at the sight of the cameras. Then he hugged Melissa, his greeting muffled by the microphone on her denim jacket.
As always, Melissa looked gorgeous, her caramel-colored hair falling in long waves. Just seeing her again made Emily feel out of Tim’s league.
The comments on the bottom caught Emily’s eye. Abort mission, this guy is hot!!!
Emily’s jaw turned to stone.
Tim clasped hands with Melissa and glanced over her shoulder at the camera and then back at her. “This is a nice surprise. I’m so glad you’re here. How are you?”
She mumbled something about how she’d been better.
“Can you come inside, away from these guys?”
When it cut to Melissa, she was shaking her head. “I can’t. What I came to say won’t take long, anyway.”
He let go of her hands.
Melissa made a show of wiping a tear and breaking eye contact with him before launching into a confession about falling for this guy, Dak.
The camera zeroed in on Tim’s face, his eyes filled with comprehension and betrayal. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, struggling to hold back his emotions in front of the cameras.
Emily gripped the TV remote so hard she had to relax her hand when it cramped. The live feed rushed across the bottom of the screen so fast it was almost impossible to make out the comments.
Tim’s brows were drawn in, like he was trying to make sense of her words. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Did you sleep with him?”
Chin quivering, Melissa confirmed it with a nod before rushing to explain. “You and I have barely been able to talk to each other since the show started filming, and we haven’t seen each other in months. And Dak…He’s just like been there.”
Tim’s lip trembled slightly. He glanced out at the lake and then back at her, his eyes tortured and his jaw rigid. “So this is how you launch your acting career?” He tipped his head back in a laugh that sounded forced—a sure effort to save face rather than break down in front of the camera. “This is so”—here the producers inserted a bleep—“clichéd.”
The camera zoomed closer. “Get away from me,” he muttered, and then his hand masked the lens. The footage shook for a few seconds and then stabilized in time to show Tim storming into the shop and slamming the door hard enough that the OPEN sign crashed to the ground.
The image faded and a sappy song kicked in, cutting to Melissa, in the back seat of the car, crying in some sort of “confessional” interview. But it was the bottom of the screen that grabbed Emily’s attention. Fans were suddenly turning on Melissa and Dak.
How could she hurt her boyfriend like that?
He’s gorgeous.
#Tim4Season2
Within seconds, the hashtag appeared across the screen easily a dozen more times.
Her phone rang and Emily jolted halfway off the couch. Tim.
“Hello?”
“Em, what the hell is happening?” Tim’s voice was frantic. “My Instagram is blowing up.”
She could hear his phone buzzing continuously with notifications. “The episode just ended. Viewers seem to be smitten with you—they’re going ballistic.”
“Why?” He sounded horrified.
Um, because you’re sexy as hell? “They think it’s awful, what she did to you.”
“I thought everyone wanted her to hook up with Dak. Christ, I feel ridiculous even saying this shit out loud.”
She heard a door slam in the background. “They did, but now…They seem to be siding with you. There’s even a hashtag. Tim for season two.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Just what I freaking need.” He cursed again and said he had to go. He was still trying to assemble the cabinet for his mother.
When the call ended Emily went straight to Twitter and searched the hashtag.
Tim was going to lose his shit.
He was trending.
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