by Kate, Jiffy
“Amenities, huh?” I ask, smirking.
“There’s free entertainment,” he says, sweeping his arm out to where Emmie and Jack are playing basketball with a few other kids their age. “Just stick around for the half-time fight. It usually occurs when Emmie steals the ball from Jack and makes him look like a loser in front of his friends.” His expression is matter-of-fact and it makes me laugh. “See, she’s taller than him right now. You know, that whole puberty thing...”
I laugh again, nodding. “I get it.” I remember when Brant and I were younger. The first time he kissed me, way before we were boyfriend and girlfriend, we were in sixth grade and he had to stand on his tiptoes. Obviously, he passed me up before it was all said and done. My chest aches at the memory, wondering how things changed so drastically.
“Well, this is it,” he says, placing my bags on the table. “Liza is at the store right now, but if you need anything, just holler...like, literally, because we’ll hear you.”
Chuckling, I nod. “Okay.”
“And anything you don’t have right now, but need, I’m sure we have extras. If we don’t, my mama does and she loves taking care of people.”
“That’s so nice. Thank you.”
Clapping his hands together, he takes a step toward the door. “Guess that’s it. Keys are on the table.” As he makes his way down the stairs, I hear him call back, “No wild parties and don’t burn the place down.”
“Got it!” I yell back, walking over to shut the door while I take the place in. It’s nothing special, but it’s my own space...there’s a small kitchen—fully equipped—a couch and chair, bed, and dresser—everything I need. And since I didn’t have to use all of my savings to move in, I have extra money to buy a few new things, like some bedding and a few throw pillows...maybe a piece of art for the walls. I’ve been admiring some pieces from local artists who set up in Jackson Square.
Glancing at my phone, I realize it’s still early. I’m supposed to be at Shaw’s at seven o’clock. Since it’s only two o’clock now, I have plenty of time to unpack and take a nap. With all of the working and volunteering, I’ve been exhausted lately.
When my clothes are tucked away in the drawers and my toiletries are stocked in the bathroom, I walk back in and eye the bed, but opt for the couch instead. I don’t want to sleep the whole day away, just thirty minutes or so...just to rest my eyes.
Opening my eyes, I realize the apartment is cloaked in darkness and my heart leaps into my throat as I reach for my phone to check the time. For all I know, it could be in the middle of the night. I felt like I slept for hours instead of minutes.
Finally finding my phone and pushing the button to light up the screen, I see that it’s only six o’clock and let out a sigh of relief. At least I still have time to shower and get dressed before I’m supposed to be at Shaw’s.
At Shaw’s.
It’s kind of crazy that just a few days ago, I thought there might never be a time when the two of us would be in the same room together, let alone, at his house. It’s also not escaping me that the thought of being there dredges up memories of hot passionate sex that seem to ignite my desire.
But I push that to the back of my brain and bury it under the memories of him yelling at me, essentially exploding over a wet towel. I know it’s more than that and I’m hoping he gives me all the answers I’m searching for, but I’m not holding my breath and I’m definitely not going into this dinner with any expectations.
I’m tired of being let down by people I care about. So, my plans for the evening are to go to his house, eat dinner, and hear him out. That’s it. I don’t let myself go past that point.
As I’m showering, I don’t go overboard on grooming. It’s like I’m subliminally telling myself no sex with Shaw. When I get out and dress, I also opt for jeans and white tank top with a grey sweater. Nothing overtly sexy or inviting.
This is just dinner and conversation.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Shoving my feet down into my boots, I glance around the apartment, deciding to leave the light in the kitchen on so I don’t have to come home in the dark. Grabbing my backpack, I stop...
Ever since I’ve been in New Orleans, I’ve been living out of someone else’s space. Taking my backpack with all of my most important things has become habit. But I don’t have to do that anymore. Smiling to myself, I drop it to the floor by the door and pull out my small crossbody purse. It’s the only thing I used to carry when I lived in Houston, just big enough for my phone and keys and a little cash. That’s all a girl really needs, right?
Since I decided to just walk to Shaw’s, I bypass the streetcar stop and make my way down the block. It’s dark, due to winter being in full effect, but there are still people milling about. It only takes me about ten minutes to walk to his house and when I get there, I hesitate on the sidewalk for a few extra minutes.
Should I knock on the front door?
Should I go to the backdoor since I know that’s the one he uses?
I take a few indecisive steps toward the house before walking toward the large front window and peeking inside. There’s a lamp lit in the front room, casting a warm glow over the interior. Holding my breath, I wait to see if I can get a peek of Shaw, but there’s not a direct line of sight from the window to the kitchen, which I’m assuming is where he’s at, because...dinner.
Right.
I just need to walk up there and knock.
Why am I nervous?
I’m not the one who has explaining to do. All I have to do is listen. I can do that. I’m a great listener. But maybe it’s the explanation I’m dreading? Is it easier not knowing?
Probably.
Is it easier to walk away and pretend I wasn’t falling for him?
Maybe.
However, I want to know...I need to know. So, as bad as this may hurt the both of us, I’m ready to hear him out, even if in the end I’m walking away again.
When the porch light turns on, I jump, my entire body tensing. The door opens slowly and Shaw’s standing there, watching me.
“You gonna come in...or did you want to eat on the sidewalk?”
“Uh, yeah...I mean, I’m coming...inside.”
God, please save me from myself.
With my eyes trained to the ground, I make my way up the steps and onto the porch. Shaw opens the door wider, allowing me ample space to walk through. The smell of something delicious hits my nose and I want to groan in pleasure. Other than a slice of left over lemon pound cake and coffee around noon today, I haven’t had anything else to eat.
Now that I’m living alone, grocery shopping is imperative.
“Shepherd's Pie,” he says, closing the door behind me. “I hope you like it.”
“I do,” I tell him, turning to smile at him. Beneath his typical bravado, I can tell he’s nervous too, probably more so than me, and something inside me makes me want to put him at ease...which puts me at ease. “It was in the standard dinner rotation at Cole Fine Dining.”
“Cole Fine Dining?” he muses.
“That’s what my mama always called her kitchen. If you didn’t like what the staff was serving, you were always welcome to their delicious PB&J or the equally enticing ham sandwich.”
“Ahh,” he says with a slight nod. My eyes roam his face, looking for anything that’s different about him. The dark circles seemed to have faded and even though his beard is a little longer, it’s well-groomed...and tempting...I want to run my hands over it like he just did and feel it against my skin.
Stop, Avery.
Dinner.
That’s what I’m here for.
“Your mama sounds a lot like mine, except yours sounds a little nicer. Mine told us we either ate what was on the table or went to bed hungry.” He laughs at the memory and dips his head to his chest, hiding his smile.
My chest aches at the small glimpse and I want to see more.
“I hate when you hide your smile,” I blurt out. “It’s probabl
y my most favorite thing about you...well, one of them.” I feel my cheeks heat with that admission, but I suck it up and continue. “The first time I saw you smile was when you and Sarah were laughing about something. Up until then, I thought maybe you’d forgotten how.”
With his chin still angled down, he raises his eyes to meet mine, the smile fading.
“All I wanted was for you to smile at me like that...and then you did. It was one of the best moments of my life.” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood that’s suddenly turned heavy. “It’s a great smile...lights up the whole room.”
Shaw grips the back of his neck and then runs his hand over his beard again, sighing. When our eyes meet again, there’s an intensity there with so many unspoken words. “Avery...” he begins, but stops. “Let’s eat dinner.”
I want to know what he was going to say, but I can tell he needs to be in control of the evening, so I let him.
“Sounds great. I’m starving.”
The table in the dining room is set with two place settings. A dish of steaming Shepherd’s Pie and a basket of bread is in the middle. There’s also a bottle of wine opened, waiting to be poured. It’s perfect and I look to Shaw to see him waiting, presumably for my reaction.
“So, Sarah’s not the only cook in the family?” I ask, walking to the seat closest to me. Shaw beats me to it and pulls out my chair.
Hello, chivalry, nice to see you.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, taking my purse off and setting it on the floor.
“Here,” Shaw says, bending to take my purse, putting himself in my direct line of sight and making me swallow hard. He’s so close and looks so good. “I’ll hang it on the hook by the door,” he says, walking quickly out of the room.
“Okay.”
His steps retreat down the hall but are back in just a few seconds.
“Sorry,” he mutters, taking his own seat. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve had anyone here for dinner...or well, anything...except for you.”
Taking a large spoon, he serves me a helping of Shepherd’s Pie and offers me a piece of bread, which I, of course, take. It all looks so good I feel like my stomach is going to jump out and take over if I don’t dig in.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies in his normal gruff tone that makes me wonder what’s going on in that head of his...how much has this moment been weighing on him? If I’ve been nervous about hearing what he has to say, Shaw must be even more so.
“Wanna talk while we eat?” I ask, thinking the distraction might be good.
Clearing his throat, he holds up the bottle of wine in question.
“Please,” I tell him, watching as he pours some into my glass and then fills his up. Before taking a bite of his food, he lifts the glass to his mouth and drinks.
A little liquid courage might not be a bad idea.
“Mmm,” I groan at the first bite. “This is so good.”
Shaw’s gaze darkens as his brows furrow. “Glad you like it,” he says tightly.
We eat in silence for a few moments and I try not to make any more inappropriate noises as I thoroughly enjoy Shaw’s cooking. “Where did you learn to make this?”
“My mom,” Shaw says, his tone lightening back up. “We ate pretty traditional Irish food at our table. However, as the years went on and she made friends with local women, she started blending in some Cajun cooking. It’s something we’ve all taken to over the years, but this recipe is one we don’t touch.”
“It’s delicious,” I tell him. “Reminds me of my mama’s, but I think there’s more potatoes, which I’m not complaining about because they’re my favorite.”
“Lizzie loved it too,” Shaw says absentmindedly. “I kind of forgot about that until now. She’d scoop the potatoes off the top and it’d piss me off because when I’d go back for seconds, all that would be left was the meat and vegetables.”
Shaw’s eyes are trained on his plate in front of him and he seems to be lost in a memory.
“Shaw?” I ask, using as much gentleness and caution as I can muster. “Who’s Lizzie?”
His shoulders lift with a heavy breath and then he exhales. “My wife.”
My heart drops and I set my fork down on my plate, trying to process what he just said and not overreact. His wife? As in he’s married...and we. . .oh, God.
“She died five years ago.” His tone is flat and monotone, like these words have been written for him and he’s just the messenger.
My heart drops even further, but now for an entirely different reason. Clutching the napkin in my lap, I brace myself for what’s to come.
“She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer about seven years ago and fought it...for a long time. I...I loved her...love her. We were together more than fifteen years, married ten. She was my soulmate. When she died, a part of me died with her. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, let alone move through this world without her.”
Finally, he looks up and meets my gaze. The unshed tears in his eyes break me—heart, body, and soul. I feel a sob trying to force its way up my throat but I swallow it down. If Shaw can get through this without shedding a tear, so can I.
“The morning after...after we were together,” he says, cringing at the memory and at this point, I don’t know if his regret is directed at what we did or how he reacted, so I hold my breath as he continues. “Lizzie hated when I’d leave towels on the floor, especially wet ones...it was her pet peeve. Since she’s been gone, I’ve kind of gone overboard keeping her memory alive. The wet towel thing is one of the ways I do that. At first, I’d leave them there, hoping she’d show up to yell at me,” he pauses and laughs lightly. “But then, I started being a little OCD over everything...towels, dishes in the kitchen sink...leaving my shoes by the door. When all those things were taken care of, it made me feel like she was still here.” He sighs and runs a hand down his face. I almost want to tell him it’s enough and he doesn’t have to say any more, but he continues.
“About seven months before you came to work at the bar, Sarah performed an intervention. She came to the house one Sunday, right before Christmas, and made me pack up Liz’s clothes and shoes. I couldn’t donate them to Charity House, because I was afraid I’d run into someone wearing them and I couldn’t handle it. So, we packed them up and shipped them to a friend of Sarah’s who runs a place in Tuscaloosa. And it was just the day before you came that I finally stopped wearing my wedding band...that day would’ve been our fifteenth wedding anniversary. It was time. And I needed that closure, but I’ve still struggled with it.”
Pausing for a moment, he picks up the wine glass and downs the rest.
“I think the morning after we had sex,” he says, lost in thought as his words pour out. “I came home from my run with breakfast and I was so wrapped up in you, thoughts of you. I hadn’t thought of Liz once, not from the time I walked you through the backdoor and I carried you to my bedroom. Not one. But when I walked in and saw that towel on the floor—”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice quaking, sounding foreign to my ears—thick and full of emotion. Those tears I was trying to keep from shedding are now leaking out of my eyes.
“No,” Shaw says, grabbing my hand and holding it firmly in his. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s sorry. After such an amazing night, I fucked it all up by losing my goddamn mind. You have no idea how sorry I am about that...so fucking sorry.”
When he sucks back his own emotions, I realize he’s crying too and that shatters my heart even more. Taking a deep breath, he continues. “I’ve been going back to therapy, attending some group sessions and it’s really helped...help me to understand my grief and get to the point where I can accept it and move past it.”
My hand turns to squeeze his, unsure of where all of this leaves us but still wanting to comfort him in any way I can. “I’m glad,” I tell him with all sincerity. When it comes down to it, I care about Shaw on the most visceral lev
el. He’s a good person who has been through a tragic ordeal and has every right to his grief and the walls he’s erected make sense.
“Slowly,” he says with a bit more composure as he tries to collect himself and rein in his emotions, “I’m realizing I can hold onto Liz’s memory and love you too.”
Love...
Me...
“I’m falling for you, Avery. I didn’t plan on it, and God knows, I fought it, because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. I’m damaged and I come with a shit ton of baggage, but I’d like a chance to...God, I don’t know. I want to make it up to you—start fresh—or just pick up where we left off...shit, I don’t really care. As long as I can be with you, protect you...love you...if you’ll—”
“I don’t want to be a replacement,” I say, cutting him off and disclose the fear trying to take root in my gut. The pieces to Shaw’s puzzle coming together so clearly now.
Lizzie was his wife.
He loved her more than anything in this world.
And she died...taking parts of him with her.
Where does that leave me?
I want everything—to be with him, have him in my life, know what it’s like to wake up to him and share mundane things like meals and morning coffee. . .I want Shaw’s care and protection...I want to know what it feels like to completely give myself over to the simmering heat and threatening floodgates of feelings. Shaw isn’t the only one who’s falling.
But one thing I don’t want is to be a consolation prize.
Is that essentially what he’s offering? Since he lost the love of his life...he’ll what? Settle for me? No, I don’t want that. As much as I want Shaw, I don’t want to live my life playing second best to the ghost of someone I’ll never live up to, always wondering when the other shoe...or towel, in this case, will drop.
Chapter 28
Shaw
I see her expression shift from deep sympathy and compassion to uncertainty and caution. Her brown eyes shadowed with so much sadness and longing. When she swallows and opens her mouth to speak, I stop her...needing to get everything on the table...all of it, down to the last painful detail, something no one else knows.