Rowan Revived

by Colbert, Taylor Danae

  The one thing I notice is that everyone looks happy to be here. It’s refreshing.

  As we squeeze inside, heads start to turn.

  A man almost as tall as Jesse with short, dark hair slaps his shoulder.

  “Jess! You’re here. Who’s your friend?” he asks. Jesse shakes his hand, but doesn’t seem quite as excited to see the man as he was to see Jesse.

  “This is, uh, Lena,” he says. The man tips an imaginary hat to me and smiles.

  “Hello, ‘uh, Lena,’” he says. “Welcome to Baycrest. I’m Rob.” I smile and nod. I guess it’s easy to pick out the out-of-towners.

  Another man, much older than Jesse with a long, white beard, shakes his hand as we walk by. When we finally arrive at the bar, I hear a loud, high-pitched squealing. And a half dozen girls—probably around Jesse’s age—abandon their table and scamper over to the bar.

  “Hey, Jess!” one busty blonde blurts out, her chest spilling out of the low-cut neckline of her white shirt.

  “We missed you!” says her brunette friend, who’s chest also appears to be too much for the fabric of her shirt to handle.

  “Yeah, we did,” adds a tall, leggy blonde, as she steps directly in front of him, giving him her best fuck-me eyes. I feel her eyes trail over to me, realizing that I came in with him. There’s nothing that kills a lady boner quite like another chick who you think is a threat. “Who’s this?” she asks, her eyes moving back to Jesse.

  “Hey, Amber,” he says. “This is, uh, Lena. She’s a guest at the inn.” I feel the air grow cold despite my best attempt at a warm smile in Amber’s direction.

  “I thought the inn was closed,” Amber says, her eyes like daggers. Jesse swallows.

  “She’s, uh, helping fix it up some,” he says. He reaches a hand behind his head and scratches the back of his neck. I can practically see the beads of sweat forming on his brow, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. I wonder how many times he’s done it with this girl, probably throwing her thin body all over the inn property, bouncing from bed to bed, room to room until she was completely spent.

  And I hate how jealous I feel.

  “I’m Lena,” I say, sticking my hand out from behind him. It’s time to make myself known. She looks at him, daggers still in her eyes, and takes it reluctantly.

  “Welcome to Baycrest!” her brunette buddy offers, before Amber’s dagger eyes fixate themselves on her.

  I can still feel the nervous heat radiating off Jesse, and it’s sort of satisfying. I like that I’m causing the kind of issue I’m causing. Just then, we hear the roar of a woman’s raspy voice coming from behind the bar.

  “There you are. I need you back here—we have a few requests for the Rowan special!” the woman says. She’s tall with broad shoulders, and a long, gray braid down her back. She looks to be in her mid-sixties or so, and she’s wearing a red t-shirt that says “Broken Shell” on it.

  She bends over to grab a few glasses from beneath the bar, but stops when she sees me.

  “Who’s your friend?” she asks him. “Oh, is this the girl?”

  I freeze, my eyes moving slowly to Jesse’s. I’m “the girl?” Meaning, he’s told someone about me?

  He side-eyes me, swallowing nervously. He nods to the woman behind the bar.

  “This is Berta. She owns the place,” he says. Berta wipes her hand on her jeans and sticks it out to me over the bar.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Lena,” she says. I swallow. She even knows my name.

  “You, too!” I say, trying to sound as friendly as everyone around me. If not, I’ll stick out like a sore Yankee.

  “Anything you want is on the house tonight,” she says, lifting another crate of glasses from beneath the bar. Jesse looks down at me.

  “I’m gonna help her make a few drinks,” he says. “Feel free to have a seat.”

  I nod, taking a seat at the bar. I look around, everyone around me laughing, talking, drinking, getting back to their evenings. Amber and her friends make their way back to their table, but I catch her glancing over at me, and at Jesse, at least five times. Poor girl. She’s clearly infatuated with Jesse; she watches his every move, staring him up and down with longing, mascara-clad brown eyes. And when she’s not looking at him, she’s looking me up and down, her eyes soaking in every inch of me, too, sizing me up. She definitely thinks I’m a threat, yet, little does she know, I have to basically squeeze the words out of Jesse every time we “talk.”

  Unless...I look from her, to Jesse, who is currently looking right at me, until I catch him.

  Maybe I am a threat?

  No. No way. I’ve only known Jesse Rowan for a few weeks now, but one thing I can tell you is that he’s got no soul. No emotion. Probably never loved another human in his life.

  Okay, that’s not entirely true. I watch the way he is with Caleb—he’s definitely got some feels. But toward women? Particularly toward the single woman who’s holed up in his inn, casually dropping by his barn with food, wearing shorter-than-necessary jean shorts...nothing. I’ve caught him staring a few times, looking at me through the window and whatnot, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he wondering what I look like without a shirt on, like I’ve wondered about him? Or is he just wondering when I’m going to pack up my shit and get out of his hair?

  The world may never know.

  Just as I’m about to order another drink, I feel the warmth of another body standing closer than I was ready for.

  “Hey, Jess, how about another round of tequila for me and the newbie here?” I hear the body say. It’s Rob, the handsome greeter from earlier. He’s tall and staggering, wearing an extra-tight t-shirt that shows off the curves of his muscles, and two sleeves of tattoos down his arms. He’s got thick brown hair that’s combed and styled in a messy manner, with dark brown eyes.

  He pulls out the barstool next to me and takes a seat, flashing a toothpaste commercial-worthy grin. I smile back as Jesse hesitantly pours us two shots.

  “Thanks,” I say, holding my glass up to him before throwing it back.

  “So, what brings you to Baycrest?” he asks. “Ever since the inn closed, there’s not much bringing people in these days.”

  I look up at Jesse, who is looking down at the drinks he’s making, but is definitely listening.

  “Oh, ah, just needed a little getaway,” I say. “I came across the inn and it just seemed like the perfect place to catch my breath.” With that, Jesse looks up at me, our eyes catching for the briefest moment. I’m secretly praying that Rob doesn’t ask more. I don’t have an elaborate enough story made up yet. To my relief, he just nods.

  “Nice,” he says, looking over to Jesse. “Wish you could have seen the inn in its prime. Mr. and Mrs. Rowan really made this whole town what it was. But Jess here did the best he could.”

  Jesse doesn’t even look up at us now, just scratches his stubble and walks toward the other end of the bar.

  I can’t quite get a grasp on their relationship; they seem to be somewhat chummy at the door, but there’s something about the way Rob talks about the inn—about Jesse—that has a condescending undertone to it.

  “So, you grew up here, too?” I ask, quick to change the subject.

  “Oh, yeah, been in Baycrest my whole life. Jesse and I grew up together. I graduated with his sister a few years ahead of him. I work at my dad’s auto shop in town by day. By night, I’m in a band.”

  I raise my eyebrows as I suck on the lime that was perched on the edge of my glass.

  “A band, huh?” I ask. He smiles shyly and shakes his head.

  “That’s the typical response I get from people when I tell them that,” he says with a chuckle. “They can’t believe I’m thirty-something, still playing around in a garage band with my buds. But hey, it makes me happy. Plus I’ve got groupies around town.” He shrugs, and I giggle.

  “I actually think it’s really cool,” I say. He smiles at me again, and this time, I feel a little squirmy in my seat. There’s no d
enying he’s got the classic, backwoodsy, hometown boy thing going on. Pair that with a guitar and what I’m picturing is a decent singing voice, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that he can probably get into any pair of panties he wants to—at least in Baycrest. But as he’s talking, going on about some talent contest they won years ago, my eyes keep finding Jesse, perched at the other end of the bar. Amber’s found him, and she’s got her knees on a barstool, leaning across the bar, whispering something in his ear. He’s got this weird, tight, uncomfortable smile on his lips, and as she’s whispering, I watch as her breasts heave up and down, mere inches from his face.

  Suddenly, my eyes meet his, and I don’t feel like hanging around with Baycrest’s finest anymore. I turn to Rob.

  “Any chance you’re heading out soon?” I ask him, totally cutting him off. He gives me a confused look, then nods.

  “I can go anytime you need me to go,” he says, standing up from the bar a little too quickly. I realize he thinks there might be a chance he’s getting into my panties tonight. Sorry, Robbie. These Boston babies are locked down.

  I smile and follow his lead, walking toward the other end of the bar. I clear my throat, and Amber slides a few inches away from Jesse to give me a death glare.

  “I’m getting a little tired. Rob’s gonna take me home,” I say. Amber looks from me, back to Jesse.

  “Home?” she asks. Then slowly backs down off her stool and spins around, flicking her long locks behind her. Jesse’s eyes don’t follow her, instead, he flicks them up to me. He reaches a hand back and scratches the back of his head.

  “Yeah, alright,” he says. “I’ll probably be a while.” I nod as I walk by.

  “See ya,” I say, making my way toward the door, and I’m a little bit angry at how big of a part of me wants him to say he’s changed his mind, that he’ll take me home.

  But he doesn’t.

  9

  Jesse

  I pull into the driveway, a little later than usual, and hop out of my truck. My head’s swirling, from all the dirty things Amber was whispering to me, and from watching Rob drive away with the girl I wish had been whispering to me. As I turn to go toward the barn, I freeze when I hear the creak of the screen door.

  “Well, thanks for the nightcap,” I hear Rob say from the porch, and it literally makes my balls jump inside of my stomach. He’s still here? I turn slowly, just as he leans in to kiss her cheek. Her lips are smiling, but her eyes are not.

  What kind of nightcap? The kind that ends in them getting naked in one of my guest rooms? Fucking Rob.

  “Maybe if you’re not busy next week, we can plan another night...” he says, fiddling with her fingers in his own. She looks up, her eyes catching mine in the dark. I can see her swallow, and she slowly pulls her hand from his.

  “I’m sure I’ll pop back into the Shell soon,” she says. “But I’m going to be pretty busy around here for the next few months.”

  She’s talking to him, but she hasn’t taken her eyes off of mine since she saw me. I see Rob nod his head, his eyes slowly trailing across the yard to me. Then he takes a step back, like he sees what’s really going on here.

  Although, I’m still not sure if I know what’s really going on here.

  “Right. Well, if the groundskeeper here lets ya out, lemme know if you want to get together.” He says it with a smile, but it pisses me the fuck off. And I can tell it pisses her off, too.

  “‘Lets me out?’” she asks. She scoffs, turning back to the door. “Goodnight, Rob.”

  “Have fun?” I ask sarcastically, as he hops down from the porch. He looks up at me, flashing me that stupid grin.

  “Well, if you’re not going to, someone should,” he says with a wink. It takes all my strength not to storm up to him and knock him out.

  He’s gonna bring home my guest, and screw her at my inn?

  Fucking Rob.

  But then again, I’m the asshole that let her leave with him.

  A few minutes later, I’m lying in my bed in nothing but my boxers, but I’m hot as hell. I didn’t even have anything to drink tonight, but I’m feeling all clammy and uncomfortable, sort of like I do when I’m wasted.

  Fucking Rob. As long as I’ve known the asshole, he will stop at nothing to be the hometown hero, the center of attention in this shitty little town. He’s been pushing his band on any out-of-towner that might happen to stroll through, and hopping from one local girl to the next since we were fresh out of high school. He’s always annoying as hell, but for some reason, tonight, I had an extra urge to sock him right in the fucking face.

  And for no good reason. Except that he brought Lena home. To my home.

  I should have been the one bringing her home.

  I don’t know why I feel that way. We’re not together by any means. I guess technically we’re living together, although we have yet to sleep under the same roof. We’re more like neighbors, I guess.

  And if we’re being honest, she’s a total pain in my ass. A pain in my ass who is sticking around for another three months. Ninety days with the pushiest woman I’ve ever met. She’s so in my face, asking so many goddamn questions.

  I roll to my side, shoving my arm under my pillow as I try to quiet my brain.

  But seriously, this girl. She’s everywhere. I just want to be here in Baycrest, alone, pouting. I want to sit here until the inn sells, missing my parents in peace. But no. In she comes like a damn hurricane off the water, making me be all productive and shit.

  She wants a place to stay...to take care of her sister and nephew. Why should that become my problem? Although, to be fair, I like the kid. He’s a funny little guy. He’s got a lot of spunk, and he’s quick to make a friend. He has a lot of questions too, but I don’t mind his so much. I can answer questions like, “how far can you throw this ball?” and “where does Coby poop?” a lot easier than anything Lena’s ever asked me.

  She wants to work on the inn...to help me sell it. She wants us to work on this damn list together, day after day, HGTV-ing the shit out of this place.

  Okay, so most of what she’s pushing isn’t so bad, but she’s so damn bossy. Pushy, pushy, pushy.

  Still, I’m the one who brought her to the bar. I’m the one who introduced her to everyone. Me. I should have been the one to bring her home.

  But I couldn’t man up and let Amber know she was crossing that line again. I couldn’t man up and just tell Lena I wanted to take her home. To smell her shampoo when the wind blows through the truck windows, or to feel how soft her skin is when our hands brush against each other on the center console.

  Fuck.

  I should have brought her home.

  And as one more painful vision of her clouds my brain—her tank riding up as she leaned over the bar, smiling at every single person she spoke to— clouds my brain, I hop up from my bed. I strip off my boxers and jump in the coldest shower known to man. I feel my family jewels shriveling up, but I don’t care. I don’t know what this girl is doing to me, but I know this flame needs to be doused before it becomes a full-blown wildfire.

  10

  Lena

  I wake up in a shitty mood. When I got home, Millie was basically begging me for details.

  “How did it go? Did he, ya know, make any moves or anything?”

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  “No.”

  “Well, did you guys talk more, at least?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well...what happened?”

  “Not a damn thing,” I snapped, just before I locked myself in the bathroom to change. I got in my pajamas, squeezed into the sliver of bed Caleb had left me, turned away from her and went to sleep.

  This morning, though, I wake up in the middle of the bed, with the uneasy feeling that I have way too much room. I feel around next to me, but it’s empty. The sun is bright and shining through the big window, and I realize I slept much later than usual.

  Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe it was the obnoxious sexual ten
sion between me and the jughead in the barn that will never be squashed. That might be it.

  I slink out of bed and start toward the window when I hear a shriek coming from the back.

  The sight I see out the window leaves me with a scrunched face of disgust. I quickly pull up a pair of shorts and throw a t-shirt over my head before running down the stairs. I freeze at the parlor window. Outside, my sister is lounging on a chaise on the patio. A few yards ahead of her, Jesse is showing Caleb how to bait his hook. The shrieks continue every few seconds, as Jesse playfully dangles the worm above Caleb’s head. They’re shrieks of laughter, both from my nephew and my sister. And Jesse even has a smile on his face. I angrily pour myself a cup of coffee and walk outside through the big French doors.

  “Morning,” my sister says, peering up at me over the rims of her sunglasses.

  “Humph,” I reply, seething and staring ahead at the jackass who can’t take a hint, being all cute and adorable with my four-year-old nephew. It’s like he’s a different person. But whichever version he is, I still want to punch him in the face, and shove him up against the stupid barn he’s always brooding in. Tug at his shirt, feel his muscles underneath my hands...damn him.

  I gulp down my cup, then turn on my heel.

  “Where ya goin’?” Millie asks.

  “To start working. Some of us have shit to do around here. We can’t all bait hooks and catch fish all day,” I say, blasting off to the side of the house.

  I take a deep breath and reach into my back pocket, pulling out the list.

  One of the first things I know needs fixing is the shutters. Some of them need to be completely replaced, and they all need to be taken down before we can repaint the house. I look up at the high second-story ones. No place better to start than the top. I know I saw a ladder in the barn earlier, so I walk up to the massive doors and pull them open. I grab the tall, wooden ladder and drag it to the side of the house. I lean it up against the siding, take a breath, and start the climb.