by R. S. Lively
"Wyatt —"
"Love you."
I hear a strangled scream through the phone and quickly realize it’s coming from the front of the house as well. I put down the phone and rush through the living room to the front door. When I open it, I see Wyatt sprawled in the grass, soaking wet. Grant stands a few feet away with his garden hose, staring down at Wyatt with a blank expression.
"Grant!"
"The hose slipped," he says. "I was watering the grass, and it just got away from me."
"He tried to drown me!" Wyatt sputters, thrashing around like getting sprayed with a hose could completely disable him.
"Oh, shut up," Grant says.
I smile at Grant, and he walks away with the hose.
"Why are you putting me through this?" Wyatt asks, still rolling around on the grass.
"Putting you through this?" I ask incredulously. "You can't be serious. You actually think this is any kind of struggle compared to what I had to deal with for you?"
"Why don't you love me?" Wyatt asks in a pathetic, whiny voice. "I never did anything to you."
"You cheated on me with a woman whose idea of marketing was wearing a terry cloth jumpsuit and waxing cars with her ass. After I encouraged you and stood by your side while you tried to open that car wash."
He's silent for a beat.
"Other than that."
"Go away, Wyatt."
I step back into the house and close the door, locking it behind me.
"I'm not done, yet" he calls after me. "You're my wife, Emma. Once everything's finalized with my other wife, that is. There's nothing you can do about it. We're going to live happily ever after!"
Thanksgiving morning…
I carefully look outside before answering the door the next morning. Judy is standing on my porch, holding a covered pie dish, and looking confused. I open the door and step back to let her in.
Things with Jeremy and Judy have been going really well, and she has been spending more and more time with him lately. So I haven’t had the time, or the nerves, to tell her about Wyatt’s sudden reappearance.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" I exclaim, accepting the dish from her and putting it on the table before giving her a hug.
"Happy Thanksgiving," she says. "I just wanted to stop by and bring you that for your dinner before heading back to Gram’s. It's her double pecan pie."
"Double pecan pie?" I ask.
"Mmm-hmmm. There are pecans in the filling, in the topping, and the crust. Nuts all over the place. Speaking of which... were you aware there's a naked man in your yard?"
I sigh and pick up the pie to bring it into the kitchen.
"Yes," I say. "That's Wyatt."
"That's your ex-husband?" she asks. “My condolences. What the hell is he doing here?”
I nod, reaching into the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of cranberry ginger ale.
"He says he's on a clothing strike until I get my act together and remarry him."
"It's 45 degrees outside."
"I'm pretty sure he's aware of it. He'll get cold enough eventually, and go inside. Or he'll get arrested for indecent exposure. Or freeze to death."
"Well, from the way he's sitting, you can't really see anything. I'm not sure how indecent it really is. I mean, it's definitely indecent. But probably not enough to lure Sheriff Jesse from his turkey. When do you think he's going to leave you alone?"
"Soon, I hope. At least in a few days, school will be back so he won't be here bothering me anymore."
"That's true. How are you going to get to your mom's for dinner without him snagging you?"
"I still have a couple hours until I have to leave, so I'm hoping he'll have given up by then. If not, I'm going to go out the back door, cross through Grant's yard, and run around the corner before he notices."
I still haven't quite forgiven Mom for not telling me Grant bought a house a street over from her, but having an escape plan makes it better.
"So, how’s it going with Grant?" Judy asks slyly.
"It's fine," I say. "I'm getting used to him."
"It's fine?" she asks. "That's it?"
"Yeah, that's it. I told you. There's nothing going on between Grant and me. Despite your little eyeball-fueled confession at the homecoming party, he and I are just friends. I'm not even entirely sure we're that."
"Really?" she asks. "The two of you look pretty friendly to me."
My mind goes back to the kiss after the party, and the smoldering words he whispered into my ear. I hand Judy a glass of the sparkling pink drink and shake my head.
"Nope," I say. "We just work well together. We're learning to be civil with each other after all those years."
"I still say there's no reason you shouldn't have been civil before. The past is the past." She takes a sip of her drink. "Ooh. Festive."
"I know the past is the past," I say. "And that's why there's nothing going on between us. That has all worked its way through my system. It never would have worked out with Grant and me."
"Absolutely. You're right. How miserable it must be to have a gorgeous, insanely wealthy, protective, strong, intelligent, and funny man, who is so sexy, I would feature him on the dessert buffet tonight if it wouldn’t scandalize Gram, be in love with you."
"No love," I say again. "Just friends."
I hear a familiar scream, and Judy and I run to the front door just in time to see Wyatt's naked form hauling ass across the street. Grant is standing further in the yard this time. Dark, fitted jeans, a black sweater, and a long black jacket stand in stark contrast to the green hose dangling from his hand. He looks over at me.
"Slipped again," he says.
"The grass has been really dry recently," I say.
He nods and smiles.
"I'm heading to my parents' house. Are you going to be ok?"
"I'll be fine. Thank you."
"Happy Thanksgiving, Em. Happy Thanksgiving, Judy."
"Happy Thanksgiving!" we both call back.
The cool temperatures justify locals using their cars in the residential areas, but Grant sets out on foot. I know if it gets too cold, he'll have one of the family's drivers bring him home later. When he disappears around the corner, Judy turns to me with a knowing look.
"Just friends, huh?" She gives me another hug. "I should go. Have a good holiday. I'm staying at Jeremy’s tonight, but I’ll see you for shopping tomorrow?"
"See you then."
Thanksgiving evening…
The smile on my mother's face as she glances at me sitting beside her, then across the table at Carina and her daughter Grace, is the brightest I’ve seen on her face in as long as I can remember. The table in front of us is nearly overflowing with platters and bowls of food, and we've all filled our plates with several times more food than we could possibly ever be able to eat.
Grace chatters on about the great dramas and complexities in the life of an almost eleven-year-old, and Carina occasionally looks at me with a soft, calm expression in her eyes that tells me she is finally at peace with herself. I know she wishes her husband could be here, but his mother would kill him if he didn’t come home for Thanksgiving, and she really doesn't have it in her to go about finding another husband.
We are getting ready to eat when someone knocks on the door. My stomach immediately sinks. I can only imagine what Wyatt has come up with now and hope it doesn't involve coming into the house and pretending we are still married in hopes he can bamboozle all of us into thinking the implosion of our marriage never happened. Part of me doesn't want to answer the door, but I figure I should get it, and not my mother or sister. Folding my napkin and putting it on the table beside my plate, I give what I hope is a convincingly casual smile to my family, and walk over to the door. I peek out the window, and I'm pleasantly surprised at who I see waiting on the porch.
I open the door, and Grant smiles at me.
"Grant. Hi," I say. "This is a surprise."
"I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner," he says.
"No, it's fine. We were just getting started, do you want to come in?"
"No, I actually have to be getting back to the house. My father is feeling particularly nostalgic this Thanksgiving and got us all uniforms so we can have a touch football game in the backyard. I'm not sure how it's going to work out exactly. All of the uniforms match. But it was a nice thought."
"Tell them all I said hi," I say. "I'm going off the island tomorrow with Judy for some Christmas shopping, but if your brothers hang around for the weekend, maybe I'll get a chance to see them."
"I will. I stopped by your house on the way here to check on the Wyatt situation."
I groan.
"What's he doing now?"
"Sitting on the front yard again."
"Still naked?"
"No."
"Good."
"He put on a clear poncho."
I hang my head and shake it back and forth slowly.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that."
"It's fine. I've seen worse. I had a little talk with him."
"You did?"
"Yeah. I tried to get across to him how much you don't want him around, and that he should consider moving on with his life."
"What did he have to say about that?"
"He just repeated the same shit he's been saying the last few days. That he can't live without you, and that he needs to prove his undying love so you'll come home, and the two of you can get married and live happily ever after. You're right about him being full of shit, though."
"Really?"
"He called you Trixie three times during the conversation."
"Perfect." I sigh. "Thanks for trying."
"Of course. That's not why I came, though. There something I wanted to bring to you."
"What is it?" I ask.
"I don't know if you remember Frank from when you used to come to the house. He always brought us bottles of homemade apple cider."
My mind goes back to the memory of the quiet, caring man who built the fire, and the feeling of the glass of apple cider in my hand when Grant offered it to me. I smile.
"I remember," I say.
Grant smiles at me in return.
"I remember how much you liked the cider," he says. "So, I brought you this."
He holds out a glass bottle of cloudy, spice-speckled cider. My throat feels unexpectedly tight as I accept it from him.
"Thank you," I say.
Grant gathers me into a hug, then kisses my cheek before waving over my shoulder.
"Happy Thanksgiving, everybody."
He meets my eyes for a brief second before heading down the steps and toward his waiting car. I wait until he is inside and has waved goodbye before closing the door. I turn around and find my family staring at me from the dining room table. Carina's mouth is slightly open, and my mother's eyes are wide with shock. The only one who seems curious is Grace, who may have never even heard of the Laurence family, and doesn't understand the significance of what she just saw. Carrying my bottle of apple cider back to the table, I set it next to my glass and start eating without acknowledging what just happened to any of the three sitting with me.
"Emma?" Carina squeaks.
I look up at her.
"Hmm?"
"Aren't you going to say anything about what just happened?" she asks.
"What about it?" I ask.
"Did I, or did I not, just see Grant Laurence come to our door to bring you apple cider, and then kiss you goodbye?"
"You did," I tell her, before I start to eat
"That's it?" she asks. "That's all you're going to tell us?"
"That's all there is to tell right now," I say. "We've been working together on a project. I happened to move into the house next door to the one he bought, thank you very much Mother for not letting me know before I did that, and so we've been spending time together again. He remembered I liked apple cider, and so he brought me some. That's it. There's nothing more to it."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
She doesn't look convinced, and I wonder if she can see the flush on my chest or hear the pounding of my heart.
Friday morning…
The pre-dawn air around me is chilly, and my room is still in a dark cocoon when the sound of my bedroom door creaking open wakes me up. I lay still for a few seconds, wondering if I’m dreaming. A few seconds later, though, a bright light bursts on, blinding me.
"This Black Friday, I'm shopping for a wife!"
I scream, fighting with my blankets to get out of bed, and run toward my bedroom door.
"Stop!"
I keep screaming and wrench my arm out of the hand that grabbed my wrist. I run through my house toward the front door, screaming louder when it's kicked in with a loud crash. My eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness enough that I can see Grant's face in the moonlight coming from outside.
"Emma!"
"Emma!"
Grant's voice blends with the one behind me, and I'm finally out of the fog of sleep enough to recognize it as Wyatt. I turn around sharply and see him coming at me wearing the headlamp I had worn during a scavenger hunt with Judy. His arms are open wide to his sides as if he expects me to jump into them.
Grant storms past me, grabbing Wyatt by the shirt. Without a word, he drags him through the living room, and tosses him out into the yard.
"Stay the fuck away from her," he growls. "She doesn't want you near her."
"I wasn't going to hurt her," Wyatt whines as he scrambles backward across the grass away from Grant. It seems he's gotten particularly comfortable on the ground. "She likes Black Friday shopping. I thought she would think it was funny."
"You thought I would think it was funny that you broke into my house?" I ask incredulously.
The neighbors must be loving this.
"You had your extra key under the welcome mat!" Wyatt exclaims as if that is obvious justification.
"That doesn't mean you are welcome to break in!"
A car door closes, and I look up to see Judy coming toward me. She looks down at Wyatt on the grass, then to Grant in his sweatpants and bare chest, then to me, then back to Grant. She lingers on him for a few seconds, before looking at me again.
"So… are we still going shopping?"
Chapter Eleven
Grant
Four days later…
"Hey," I say as Emma walks up the sidewalk toward her house.
She smiles and waits as I come toward her.
"Hi," she says.
"I didn't see you here all weekend," I say.
"I know. I made the mistake of telling Mom about Wyatt and his exploits, and she insisted on holding me hostage at her house. She only released me so I could go to work this morning. Fortunately, some of my cold weather clothes didn't make it over during the move, and were still packed up in her attic, so I didn't have to go to work naked."
"If that's ever going to happen, make sure I know ahead of time."
"I will," she says with a laugh. "It was actually really good to get back to work this morning. I told the security guard not to let Wyatt in, so at least I know he can’t bother me during the workday.”
"Any more sightings of him over the weekend?" I ask.
Emma shakes her head.
"No," she answers. "I think the combination of me being over at Mom's house, his run-in with you on Friday, and Sheriff Jesse paying him a visit, made him cool down a bit."
"Is Jesse going to do anything?"
"No," she says. "Apparently, Wyatt explained the whole thing to him, and the sheriff didn’t think it wasn't a big deal. He gave him a warning, told him he wasn't allowed to come into the house if I didn't explicitly invite him... and then wished him luck rebuilding our marriage."
"He said that?"
"Word for word," Emma says. "He quoted it to me himself."
"Well, that's encouraging," I say. "Nothing says romance like breaking and entering."
Emma takes her keys out of her bag and un
locks the door.
"I honestly don't think he was trying to scare me. And he didn't. He startled me, but once I realized what was happening, I didn't think I was in any danger. That's the thing, he's not doing anything menacing or threatening, really. He's just annoying as hell. I tell him every opportunity I get that I don't want anything to do with him, and he's never going to be able to win me back. His brain just interprets that as me playing hard to get. Somehow, he's convinced he’ll eventually be able to wear me down."
We walk into the house, and I do a cursory sweep of it just to make sure Wyatt isn't hunkered in a corner somewhere, waiting to burst out and decorate a Christmas tree with her or something. When I come back in the living room, I can't find Emma.
"Emma?"
"I'm upstairs," she calls. "I'll be right down."
I move the curtains out of the way to watch the house across the street and make sure Wyatt hasn't noticed Emma come home. The fact that she hasn't seen or heard from him in a few days makes me optimistic that he's finally gotten over Emma and has gone back home. He has to give up eventually. From what Emma has told me about his business ventures, Wyatt definitely doesn't have the kind of funds to not work for months at a time.
A few minutes later, I hear Emma coming down the stairs and I look up to see she's changed clothes. She traded the knee-length skirt and button-up blouse she wore to work for a pair of black leggings, a tank top, and a long sweater. She's tied her hair up into a ponytail, showing off the graceful curve of her neck. I look at her questioningly as she comes into the room.
"I have to head back up to the school," she explains.
"Why?" I ask.
"Auditions for the musical," she says. "I learned my lesson a long time ago that auditions aren't a time to wear heels. They can be long and tense, and I'd rather be comfortable while the ones who think they can sing make me uncomfortable."
She grins at me and grabs her bag again.
"I'm actually going up to the library for some more research. Do you want a ride? I can come by and pick you up after?"