We disconnect, and I scroll through the pictures I’ve saved on my Pinterest. I have a board for every room, and there’s only one left.
“The master suite,” I say to Cosmo. “Check it out.”
He blinks slowly and purrs loudly as I show him my ideas for the bedroom and bath, matching curtains, wallpaper, pillows, and comforters all in a minimalistic, blue lines on cream background.
“It’s very Gloria Vanderbilt, don’t you think? Grandmillennial.”
Yes, I’m the crazy cat lady talking to my aunt’s giant calico. I don’t care. Cosmo is a very good listener, even if his eyes are closed right now.
“Right.” I give his ears a scratch. “Swaggy.”
Pushing off the stairs, I trot up to the second floor and into the massive bedroom with its attached bath. I’ve already started collecting fixtures.
I found an oversized footed tub I want to place under the picture window. Jacuzzi tubs are a big draw, but it would take a major renovation for this old house, and I can make the space equally inviting.
Walking to the thick white porcelain, I kneel beside it, running my finger along the edge. The hardware hasn’t been installed, so I can’t use it yet. Still, I can imagine soaking with candles all around, bubbles… My eyes close, and I picture myself slipping into warm waters. Scout slipping in behind me, strong hands spanning my waist…
My eyes snap open. What was that? I have not fantasized about him since senior year.
Okay, that’s a lie, but I’ve felt stupid every time I did. So what if he kissed me that one time? It was only a kiss… Only the best kiss I’ve ever had.
His fingers slid across my cheek, lifting my chin so he could lean down and devour my lips. His tongue slid along mine, tasting and when the soft moan rippled from his throat, I almost burst into flames.
That was when I told him it was off. He’d wanted us to “have each other’s backs,” which to him meant pretending we were a couple. He didn’t want the pressure of everyone expecting him to settle down with a local girl, and I made fun of him for being a coward. Then I got a taste of his medicine that night at Homecoming.
From the nonstop stares to the mean girl cutting remarks, it was like all of Fireside had decided we were an item. The girls hated me, while the guys suddenly noticed me. People who’d never spoken to me before were smiling and saying Hi. It was the kiss that ended it. I knew by my response I was the one who’d get hurt in the end. I ended it because I didn’t want to be left to pick up the pieces when he did what he said, and I didn’t want all those eyes watching my every move, picking me apart, and dissecting my behavior.
Oh, and don’t forget, I was leaving Fireside, too.
Only… here I am.
My phone starts to buzz, and I sit with my back against the side of the tub. Looking at my phone, I see my dad’s name over his confused selfie that always makes me giggle.
He accidentally took a photo of himself, and it’s the funniest thing.
Shaking my head, I swipe to answer. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”
“A man is interested in the Victorian chair. He’s offering cash up front. Eight fifty.”
I’m on my feet at once. “Dad! No! That chair belongs to me. I already called it.”
“This isn’t a game of shotgun, daughter. I have a business to run.” My dad has always spoken to me like an impatient college professor. “Now are you going to come get it or do I need to let this man take it?”
I dash out of the master suite and around the banister to the bedroom I occupy. It’s the same one Sly and I shared in high school, only now it’s converted to a guest room. “I’m coming now. I’ll be there in three hours.”
Tossing my phone on the bed, I strip off my pajama pants and grab a bra. It’s late May, so it’s warm enough for cutoffs and an oversized V-neck tee. I grab my cable cardigan just in case. I always seem to get sick this time of year. My aunt always says it’s allergies.
Quickly brushing my teeth, I figure I’ll grab a coffee on the road, and just like that, I’m out the back door, moving fast and fiddling with my keys when I slam into a wall of granite.
“Oh!” I stagger back, grabbing the railing of the steps.
“Damn, are you okay?”
I think I see stars. “What the… What?”
“You dropped your keys.” It’s Scout.
He’s dressed as always in faded jeans and a tee, and I watch as he reaches down to grab my keys from the grass.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was sitting around Gran’s, and I figured I’d check on you. Make sure you’re not trying to cut your arm off again with a giant cock.”
His hair falls across his blue eyes, and an image of me reaching out, sliding it away, flashes through my brain.
This boy is nothing but trouble.
“I don’t need another cock.”
He grins, and that damn dimple appears. “You never know.”
“I know. Thanks.” I take my keys and start for the Bronco.
Scout’s right behind me. “Where you going?”
“Greenville. Dad has a chair I have to pick up today or he’s going to sell it.”
“Must be some chair. Greenville’s a three-hour drive.”
Exhaling my frustration, I nod as I open the driver’s-side door. “It is. Sorry, I can’t stand around and chat.”
“I’ll go with you.”
He jogs around the front of my vehicle, but I don’t move. “No, you won’t.”
“Why not? You can’t load a chair by yourself.”
“My dad will help me load it.”
He pulls open the passenger’s side door and climbs in. “What will you do when you get back?”
Standing beside my Bronco, I look across the bench seat at him. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t you have something to do?”
“I’m doing it. Your aunt sent me over here to help you.”
“Yesterday. She sent you to help Sly, who’s not even here, yesterday.”
“Maybe we got our wires crossed. Or she did.” He fastens his seatbelt and stretches a muscled arm across the top of the seat in my direction. “You’re wasting daylight.”
This is a mistake. I know this is a mistake. Scout Dunne could charm the pants off a donkey. Still… Dad is getting too old to move furniture.
“I’m going to regret this,” I mutter, climbing in and slamming the door. His hand grazes my shoulder, and I pull away. “You should take your arm down. It isn’t safe.”
He shoves a lock of golden-brown hair behind his ear and laughs. “You’re not afraid, are you?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” I turn the ignition, and we take off out of town.
A half-hour into the drive, the radio’s blasting “Please Mr. Please” by Olivia Newton-John, and we’re both singing at the top of our lungs.
Very badly.
Scout actually has a pretty decent falsetto, but I waver on the chord progressions.
We’re just crossing I-95 when I see a Starbucks sign. “I need coffee. Want anything?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He shifts his large body to face me, lifting a knee onto the seat. “Maybe I’ll get out and walk around.”