by Finn, Emilia
The door opens at my back, no knock, no hesitation. “I can hear you.” Arlo’s eyes go to my hands. “And yes. Go with the black. He’ll lose his mind.”
“Get out of my room!”
“Just tryin’ to help.” She inches the door closed. “Plus, I’m mad about the Thai food. I was holding out for it all night long.”
“Arlo?” My tone changes from exasperation to something a hell of a lot more introspective, but I don’t move from my spot in front of my drawers. I dig my toes into the plush carpet, face the door, and wait for her to poke her head back in.
She’s sharper now that she’s had coffee, wittier now that caffeine rules her system.
“Yes?” She fixes her silky robe as it slides off her shoulder and exposes ink she should not yet have. The perks of living a socialite life, I suppose.
Or is it the opposite?
Arlo has always been a little too rough around the edges for the life her dad and sister have chosen.
“My mom fell in love with every single guy who looked her way,” I tell her quietly. “She felt like she needed a man to take care of her, like her self-worth was tied up in her relationship status.”
“Yeah.” Pushing my door wider and leaning against the frame, Arlo brings her coffee up and inhales the scent. “And my mother loved only one man. The wrong man. And in the end, she chose to be alone rather than be with him.”
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. “So… we’re doomed?”
Her lips quirk into a playful grin. “Or the world is our oyster. We know two wildly different outcomes, and luckily for us, we get to learn from the mistakes of the women in our past. We benefit from the choices they made. And now, we go into the big, bad world with this knowledge that they didn’t have.”
“How’d you get so smart, huh?” I set my bra on my bed and rest my knee beside it, so I’m half on, half off. “You’re just a baby. You’re not supposed to be smarter than me yet.”
She merely lifts a shoulder, then turns away from my door and heads into the hall. “Being the quiet one in a house of drama isn’t a weakness. I learned a lot by observing. Perhaps I picked up bad habits along the way, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of learning from them, and then doing better.”
* * *
My underwear feels risqué and naughty as it rests against my sensitized skin, but I force myself to work in the shop alongside flowers, a downcast Abby, and Roy, the intern who is barely younger than Arlo herself.
I’m unsure why I wore the lace today, when I knew I would only come to work. Still, I found them impossible to walk away from, unable to be ignored as my heart raced faster and my brain swirled with what-ifs.
What if I just go to Mitchell and promise we can try again?
What if I run to his workplace, drop to my knees, and plead for forgiveness?
What if I continue on the way I am, shutting out love and refusing that weakness, for fear of becoming my mother?
And worst of all, possibly the scariest of all, what if I go to Mitchell, who may be on the cusp of his own healing journey, and I undo it all by becoming his next project to control?
He won’t mean to do it. But intentions count for nil when actions and bad habits take over.
Soft music plays over the speakers in the shop while the three of us work in companionable silence. I sit by the front window, arranging our new display so people walking the street may be tempted inside by the beautiful—but discounted—flower arrangements, the baubles, the cards, and jewelry I’ve procured. I talked Abby into stocking stone pieces; quartz for healing, amethyst for protection, carnelian for passion, and moonstone for intuition. The pieces come in bracelets, rings, necklaces, and more. And for every one I hang on the beautiful display, I’m tempted to pocket another, and keep it for myself.
The sunlight pouring through the window is enough to get me started on a summer tan, but because of the air-conditioning inside the shop, I remain a perfectly pleasant ‘not too hot.’
Outside, Arlo walks on the opposite side of the street. She doesn’t look like an outsider anymore, a socialite who doesn’t fit in—which is ironic, considering I’m pretty sure that was me just a few months ago. Instead, she looks the part of small-town country girl, with her frayed denim cutoffs and boots.
The cowboy boots will be the end of us all. She refuses to give them up—they’re designer, apparently—and despite all of her good choices since she decided to stay with me, instead of going home to David, she just can’t let the cowhide go. Even if said cowhide is dyed pink and comes with glitters on the side.
Arlo makes her way from store to store, tacking flyers onto windows when she’s allowed, and introducing herself to business owners even when she’s not. She’s here to do good things, to help someone other than herself, and I believe her when she says it has nothing to do with a monetary reward from her mother’s estate, and everything to do with gaining the approval of the next best woman—me—since it’s too late to get her mother’s.
“What is she doing?” Roy makes his way across the store with a bouquet of daffodils tickling his chin. “She dropping off junk mail?”
“No, jerk. She’s offering free tutoring to anyone who needs it.” I peek over at him, and let my pride show. “Arlo graduated high school among the top of her year, and she has a lot of skill with a paintbrush, so she’s offering her time with anyone who needs it; a senior struggling with their grades, or a junior wanting to try their hand at something artsy.” I glance back as Arlo moves to the next store. “It’s unpaid work, so it’s not like she needs a mission statement and structured class plans. She only wants to help.”
“I think it’s sweet.” Roy brings the flowers to his nose and inhales. “And I’m kinda sad right now that kissing girls doesn’t feel good to me.
I burst out laughing and smack his arm. “You are crazy!” I pick up the next item I want to display in the window: a suncatcher made of crystal balls and hummingbird ornaments that shimmer in the light. “Stop getting confused about your sexuality and blaming it on my baby cousin,” I snicker.
“I didn’t say I was confused,” he chuckles. “I know what I like. I’m just saying, if I was into chicks, Arlo might be that chick.”
“Yeah, well…” I have no comeback. No witty line. So I huff, and detangle a part of my suncatcher. “Go back to work.”
“Just sayin’…” he singsongs. But at least he moves away.
Somewhere toward the back of the store, Abigail’s cell trills, but that’s a common occurrence around here now. If it’s not Spencer calling, it’s one of her five brothers. If it’s not one of them, it’s Marcie, her sick friend. If it’s not Marcie, it’s her own medical team facilitating and booking her annual check-ups.
Marcie’s health is declining, Spencer’s absence is wreaking havoc on Abby’s new-relationship happiness, and Mitchell hardly even pretends to smile when he drops in anymore.
Basically, Roy crushing on Arlo is the most exciting thing happening around here lately.
Abby’s phone shrills for a full minute before she answers, but then the sound cuts off, and Abby’s voice takes over.
“Marcie?” She takes on a softer tone, a sweet, motherly kindness that serves as a flashing neon sign that she won’t ever have her own children. “Hey, how are you doing?”
The bells above the front door clang and clatter together, but because my attention is on Abby and her call, I don’t see who’s coming… until he’s already inside and standing just ten feet away.
Mitchell watches me with steely eyes and a jaw that grinds in a way that shows restraint. He’s not angry. He’s holding himself back. Probably to give me the very space I asked for when we broke up.
He wears his uniform best today. The boots, black leather that stretch a little higher than his ankles; they shouldn’t be so sexy, but it is what it is, and my eyes always start there. He wears navy pants, with the billion pockets on the side, bulging with whatever random things he uses in his
work—he would suggest scissors, pens, and notepads, but my mind always runs to Band-Aids, purely to annoy him. He wears a thick, black belt that has little hooks and pockets for things he needs close at hand, and a well-ironed shirt with ROSA printed across one pec. A small, silver penlight sits in the pocket nearest his nametag, and the handset portion of a radio hooked beside that. The rest of the radio is clipped onto his belt.
He looks delicious, if not a little dangerous, and his close proximity reminds me of the underwear I chose today, the want I hold in my heart, and the ache that I’ve never known before him.
That has to mean something, right? The fact I can’t let go must mean something important.
“Mooch.” He looks down at me, since I’m half perched on a shelf. His eyes sparkle with a million secrets.
But we’ve done this before. We’ve had this discussion a hundred times since he was last in my home: we’re pleasantly perfect, for Abby’s sake. We’re friendly, if not a little taunting. And at the end of the day, we move along and pretend he didn’t send that drunk text and declare his love for me, over and over again.
“Need help reaching something?” He looks to the suncatcher in my hand, then to one of the hooks I pushed into the ceiling this morning to prepare for my display. “I could reach…” he rumbles. “Ya know, if you need the help.”
“Um…”
I look toward the ceiling, to the half a dozen hooks awaiting their wares. Then I glance across to Abby, as she remains blissfully busy on the phone to her friend. Oblivious, Roy makes his way into the back of the shop—to fetch flowers, or to put them in the fridge, I don’t know—but he’s gone, Abby isn’t watching, and Mitchell is seeking permission to come closer.
“Sure…” I clear my throat and nod. “Um, yeah, sure. A little help would be great. Thank you.”
I place my feet on the ground and straighten my shirt as Mitchell moves closer. His footsteps are heavy, the thick soles of his boots thump against the concrete flooring. He steps into my space, so close, so overpowering, that his aftershave touches my lungs, and I have to actively remain standing with my eyes facing forward, rather than rolled up into the back of my head.
“You smell horrible.” My words are barely more than a whisper as I try to ignore the way my heart jumps when he places a hand on my hip… to move me. Yep. Sure. To move me. “Like you’ve been rolling in the trash.”
“Thanks.” His lips quirk into a tight grin as he carefully takes the trinket from my hand. “I spritzed a little on before coming in. I know how much you like a man who smells good.”
“Damn you.” I spin away from his general vicinity—if he can touch without even stretching his arms, then I’m too close—then, grabbing the next suncatcher, I pass it over, and grin when he makes sure our fingertips touch. “You’re not even gonna pretend today?” I sneak a fast glance over my shoulder to make sure Abby is still busy on the phone. “Just going all-out there with the seducing of the innocent assistant?”
“Innocent?” He glances around, and looks devilishly handsome while he does it. “Where?”
“Hush.” I pass the next hanging display, and roll my eyes when he purposely touches my hand. “How was work today?”
“Shit,” he says quickly. “Best is still a prick, James Evans is spiraling like a fuckin’ lunatic, and Luc is deep into wedding plans and doesn’t know how not to sound pussy-whipped all day long.”
“Fun day,” I tease.
“I saw your cousin as I was walking up. Nice boots.”
I snort so hard that Abby’s gaze comes up.
She’s concerned about her friend, sad in her own right, but despite that, her eyes seem to approve that her brother and her assistant are getting along.
“She’s not giving up the boots,” I tell him. “I’ve tried a million times to tell her they look stupid.”
“She doesn’t seem inclined to care about your opinion.”
“Nope.” I pop the P and smile as I search for my next display to hang. Instead of a suncatcher or windchime, I pass Mitchell a potted fern, and grin as the leaves elegantly dangle to the side. “She’s cooler than I expected,” I admit. “She’s sticking, and though I’ve yet to offer her a room in my home, she’s not making a move to leave. She’s already claimed the spare bedroom and stolen the Wi-Fi password.”
“Never gettin’ rid of her now,” he chuckles. “She treats you right?”
I know he’s concerned about how the trio hassled me when I first arrived in town. I know he worries, full stop. “Yeah, she treats me right. If you don’t count her snark, potty mouth, and bad attitude.”
“So, basically, she’s just like you?” he asks with an innocent smile. “But she makes it look cute, so everyone tolerates it?”
I want to be mad. I want to smack him in the gut while he’s reaching high. But that would draw too much attention from Abby, so I restrain myself, and admit, “Yeah. She’s a lot like me. But… braver.”
Mitchell thinks on that for a moment. His brows pinch together, and his forehead wrinkles. “You moved to a new town on your own,” he finally says. “You came even before securing your job, and you’ve run to no one when you needed a hand.” He shakes his head and bumps my shoulder with his. “Doesn’t get much braver than that.”
“Well… maybe that’s how she and I are similar,” I offer. “But where we differ, she excels. She loves, Mitchell.” I lift one shoulder, then let it drop when I can think of nothing profound to add. “She loves.”
“You love too.” He looks across to his sister, then nods for me to follow his gaze. “You love Abby, and you’re not sorry for it.” Then he lifts his chin once more when Roy comes back into the front of the shop. “You love Roy, and if anyone tries to mess with him at school—for being gay, or nerdy, or whatever—everyone knows you’re going to bat for him.” Mitchell clears his throat. “Ya know, so to speak. He has a big sister in you, and everybody knows it.” His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “And you love my brothers, because they’re crazy and silly and weird.”
“I love them purely to annoy you.”
He snorts. “You love Troy because he’s away working, and Abby has romanticized the fuck out of that.”
“I especially love him,” I tease, “because he’s reportedly sexier than a Portuguese god, and me saying so annoys you the most.”
“You love me,” he murmurs and ruins the fun I was going for. He took my teasing, and tossed it on its head. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t hurt the way you are. If you didn’t, you’d have already moved on and forgotten I even exist.”
Sadly, what he says is truth.
“Loving someone is easy,” I whisper in reply. “It’s in my blood, and as easy as stumbling on a pebble. That’s not the problem here.”
“You’re afraid of losing yourself in love.” He gets me, over and over again. “You’re afraid of becoming dependent on someone else.”
“Yup. Because I actually like my own company, Mitchell. I have fun, I don’t freak out about bumps in the night, I rarely feel the need to reach out to someone if I’m sitting alone and watching a movie.”
I study my pile of hanging baubles when Abby gets up from the desk she sits at and heads into the back of the shop. I select a blue and orange suncatcher. Both colors shine in the sunlight and bring a scowl to Mitchell’s face when I pass it.
“If I become dependent on you—or on any man,” I add quietly, “then I lose myself. And then later, if we don’t work out, I’ll no longer be content with my own company. To replicate those feelings, I’ll go looking for another man, then another, then another… all to fill the void you left behind.”
“But what if we do work out?”
His jaw flexes as Abby comes back into the front of the shop, and puts a stop to whatever more he wanted to say. “Ab?”
“Marcie isn’t doing so well.” She stops in front of us, and nods her approval at my expanding display. “This looks great, Nadia.” She smiles for me, then looks to Mitchell. “
Did you need something in particular?”
“Nope. Just dropping in to say hey.”
“Alright.” Leaning in on an exhausted sigh, Abby gives her brother a side hug, only to pull back and swipe a finger beneath her eye. She’s not crying. But she almost looks like she might. “I’m heading up to the hospital for the rest of the day. Marcie needs a friend. She had chemo yesterday, and it’s kicking her butt today.”
“Go.” Mitchell wraps his arm around her shoulders and steps forward to walk her to the door. “If I get a minute later, I’ll drop in and see you both. It might cheer her up.”
Abby forces a fake smile and clutches to the doorhandle as a guy young enough to be in college and broad enough to play football passes by the door and glances through the window.
Our eyes meet for just a moment, but he’s wearing a dark hat, New York Yankees, pulled low over his eyes, and after just a second, he tilts his head away and pulls the brim lower.
My brows pull together in thought while Mitchell and Abby talk amongst themselves. He says something about driving safe, and she says something about working safe. Mitchell says ‘Spencer’ without anger or snark, and my attention is dragged away from the mysterious stranger in the street, and over to Mitchell’s surprisingly calm expression.
“Maybe you should… uh… call him.” He tries sooo hard not to grit his teeth as he speaks. “Ya know, so he can make you smile or whatever.”
“Aww, Mitchell.” Finally, a tear spills over Abby’s lashes, but she smiles and steps in for a squishy hug with her big brother. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Ab. I’ll catch you later.”
As a pair, we watch Abby leave through the front door, and then as Arlo catches sight of her and waves from across the street. Abby climbs into her little car and slips a pair of shades over her unique eyes, then she backs away and is gone, leaving me and Mitchell all alone… plus Roy.
Grinning, impressed with himself, Mitchell turns back and digs his hands into his pockets. “I made her happy. I didn’t smother her.”
I brush my hands on my pants and study his smug grin. “You did great. You even pretended to like her boyfriend.”