by Frankie Love
Grandma tsk-tsks me.
“What?”
“Honey, your father told me this boy flew you home in a private jet and you’re trying to tell me he’s just a regular sort of man who’d make a life in a town that’s not even big enough for a Wal-Mart?”
“Maybe? I don’t know. We aren’t even serious.” I pick at the fabric of Grandma’s quilt. “But I really like him. And that’s a first for me. And truthfully, I could see myself here with him. One of the reasons I like him so much is that he’s so authentic. There’s no pretending to be something he isn’t. Everyone in LA is obsessed with themselves and don’t consider the costs involved—”
“Like your roommates?”
My eyes narrow. “You heard about them?”
“We may live in Resting, but this is not Timbuktu. I watch E! News like everyone else in this county. And everyone knows about your supermodel roommates and the poor boy who took his life.”
“I feel so bad that Gretchen and Collette got mixed up in that a scandal. But what happened to Sawyer is just...” I shake my head.
“I know, dear.” Grandma takes my hand. “Death is never easy. That’s why we have to make the most of the time we have on God’s green earth, understand?”
“I’m not sure I do.” I hang my head, wondering how anyone is supposed to pick up the pieces after losing someone they love. It’s taken years for me to heal after losing Mom, and still, one whiff off honeysuckle and I’m near tears all over again. I want to help Cal through his hard time, but I’m not sure I know how.
“When did my Jules, with the megawatt smile, become so damn gloomy?”
“Cal’s best friend died. I don’t know how to cheer him up—or if even trying is a bad idea.”
“It’s never a bad idea to try to cheer someone up.” Grandma narrows her eyes. “You have been cheering him up, haven’t you? Because that might be the best you can do for a while. Talking things out is hard for men, but being physical? They can always manage that.”
“Grandma!” I cover my mouth in shock, laughing. “Are you telling me to sleep with him?”
“Well, aren’t you? I got a good look at him when he came in my room earlier to introduce himself. I think you’d be a fool not to try to make him as happy as possible.”
I bite my bottom lip. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Mom would die if she heard you right now.”
My word choice hangs in the air.
Grandma pats my hand. “Jules, your mama was many things, but she was not a prude. And neither am I. Life is a hard apple no matter how you cut it, might as well add those diced apples to a butter crust and make yourself a pie.” She rests a palm to my cheek. “And sweetie, have a slice for both of us, why doncha?”
21
I’m in the kitchen having a beer with Jules’ father, Johnny, when she walks into the room looking like sunshine. It’s early June and the sun shines through the window, casting a warm glow over her, and I can see on her face that this place is home.
We got here very late last night and went straight to bed—separate beds—and this morning we woke up late, had a simple breakfast, and spent the afternoon doing nothing but shooting the shit.
It’s strange, being here in this kitchen, with wide-planked floorboards and an apron sink, a refrigerator that I’m guessing has been running since the day Jules was born. It feels so far from the only place I’ve ever called home. My homes growing up were big, glossy, and waterfront.
This place? It has a rustic charm, sure, but it also needs a fuck ton of work. Underneath the turn of the century woodwork, there are leaky faucets, a rotting porch, and a whole lot of farmland that hasn’t been tended to.
I tried to ask Johnny about it as he showed me around, but he just shook me off. But even a guy like me can see that his life as a corn farmer has seen better days.
A guy like me can also see this place is a fucking paradise. Poplar trees line the property, cornfields as far as the eye can see. And not just Jules’ family’s farm— her neighbors have sprawling acres of their own. It’s exactly the kind of place I needed to run away to for a few days.
“So, did my dad show you all his toys?” she asks, reaching for my bottle and taking a swig.
I grin. “Sure did. You didn’t tell me he had a bike.”
Jules cocks an eyebrow at her father. “I’ve haven’t seen you on that thing in a decade.”
Her dad just shrugs. “Haven’t had the time. But damn, Cal here was thinking the list of parts I need might not be too long.”
She gives him a half smile. “I know, bike parts were never big on your list of priorities. Making sure the house was warm and the pantry was stocked has always taken precedence over your own things.”
She and her father exchange a look—a look that says Jules understands what sacrifice means.
“I’m hoping this job will change all that, Daddy,” she says. “But gosh, that first paycheck was sorry, and the second one I got isn’t looking much better. Danny said I would need to pay my dues like everyone else, and the fact I was getting gigs at all was something to smile about—most women work years in the industry before their first big break.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised at this. I really thought she’d me making a killing with each photo shoot.
“Dumb right?”
Johnny cuts in. “Being out West is not all about the money, Jules. It’s also about the experience.”
Ignoring his comment, she changes the subject. “I spent some time with Grandma,” she tells her dad. “You didn’t tell me how bad things had gotten.”
“What am I supposed to say, sweetie?” Johnny runs his hand over his jaw, shaking his head. “We just want you to be happy, not feel obligated to us, or this town.”
“I love Resting Hollow,” Jules bites back. “Grandma was just saying the same thing to me, but don’t keep pushing me away. This is my home, you are my family. There is nowhere on else on earth I’d rather be.”
Her words are fucking pure and cut to the goddamn heart, but I can’t imagine being in her father’s shoes. Needing her help to get out of a bind, and yet wanting his daughter to spread her wings.
Her dad though doesn’t say anything. Instead, he opens the fridge and grabs himself another Budweiser. When he turns back around to his little girl, he looks her square in the eye.
“Your mama would have been so proud of you, Jules. Just like I am, and just like Grams is. But sweetie, what are you planning on doing in Resting all your life? Watch your old man drive a tractor? Live in a rundown house with me? Why don’t you want more than that, Jules? Right now, the entire world is at your disposal.”
Jules gets quiet, she isn’t fiery, the kind of woman to throw punches or cruel words when she’s upset. She merely crosses her arms and shakes her head. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and she tries to blink them away, unsuccessfully.
“Baby, I don’t want to make you cry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but you’re only twenty-three. I don’t want you to wake up in ten years and regret giving your life to a place you don’t belong.”
The air in the kitchen is still, and I feel like I walked into something I barely understand. But I want to.
And it’s good to think about something—someone—besides Sawyer. Looking at Jules and Johnny, I want to know everything about them, their family, the generations before them. I don’t know if I could run a farm, but after the mess at the club, losing Sawyer, I can see how a simple life, with the one you love, could be more beautiful than the glamor of a city that eats you up and spits you out.
I always told myself my parents would be proud of the club I have -- the fact I am giving people such as they were -- a taste of freedom. Thinking that if my parents had had a place like the A-List, maybe they wouldn’t have died the way they did.
But standing here watching as Johnny walks over to his daughter and pulls her into a hug, I know that when my parents stated in their will that they wanted me to have a life that
was nothing like theirs—they wouldn’t have imagined me running a Fuck Club.
Dammit. I want to be a better fucking man, the kind of man Jules deserves.
I just need to tell her the truth about who I am and give up everything I have built.
It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, the walls I built in LA already seem to be crumbling.
“You want to show me the property, Jules?” I ask thinking she and I could both use some fresh air.
She nods. “I’d love to.” Her eyes twinkle and she grabs shears from a kitchen drawer. “We can cut flowers for Grandma.”
Watching Jules reach up and cut the sunflower stems, I can’t help enjoy the view. Her shirt rises and the sliver of skin that is revealed reminds me of our plane ride. It killed me that when we got here late last night and slept in separate rooms. But I understand where she’s coming from. The house is old and the walls are thin and the last thing I want to do is fuck her until she screams and causes her dad to wake up to his daughter orgasming in her childhood bed.
Not exactly bringing class to Resting Hollow.
“Do you have a favorite flower?” I ask, taking the cut flower and adding it to our bucket of stems. She reaches for another one to cut as she answers.
“Well, I love these sunflowers. I plant them every year. But I love wildflowers too.” She points to the side of the house where flowers in all colors and sizes grow. “I just throw packets of seeds out the window and watch to see how they come up.”
“I’m surprised.” My eyebrows raise, impressed.
“Why?”
“You’re just not exactly the wild and free type.”
She scowls. “And what type am I then?”
“Hmm,” I laugh, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “I feel like there’s no right way to answer this question.”
“Haha.” She socks me in the arm. “I’m plenty wild and free, just so you know. See that tire swing?” She points to a tree in the distance with a rope and tire hanging from it. “It’s my favorite place on this property. And you can’t love a swing if you don’t like the feeling of being free. The wind in your hair, the sun on your cheeks. That’s wild, isn’t it?”
I smirk. “Uh, not really. And besides, I have decided to rescind all previous comments of your lack of wildness.”
“What changed your mind?” She crosses her arms, assessing me playfully.
I reach for her and draw her to me. My arms wrap around her waist, cup her ass. Damn, she feels so good in my hands. “I remembered how wild you’ve been with me. At the club. On the plane. And just because you were a twenty-three-year-old virgin doesn’t mean you weren’t free.” I grin. “Repressed, maybe. But wild at heart.” I kiss her then, our tongues finding one another, and the moment feels so good, so safe and pure. Being here on this farm reminds me of what really matters.
Jules leads me to the old tire swing and after dropping the shears in the bucket of flowers, she slips inside it. “Push me.”
As I push the tire, I tell her how I’ve never left LA beyond short vacations. How it’s always been my home.
“Do you ever think of moving somewhere else?” she asks.
“Not really. I know my way around there. I couldn’t really imagine starting all over somewhere new.”
“Maybe we’re both homebodies,” she sighs. “Neither wanting to leave the nest.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to go.”
“Well,” she asks, pumping her legs. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere on vacation?”
“China. Maybe Japan. I want to go somewhere that is totally outside my comfort zone. Where I have to learn the language and culture.” I shrug, having never told anyone this. “I’ve traveled a lot but it was always about partying, never about opening my eyes, you know?”
Jules turns and looks up at me, nodding. “I haven’t partied like you, but I know what you mean. I want to see Mayan Ruins in Central America. Or go to Tuscany.” She laughs. “It’s crazy because I don’t even know anything about wine. But I want to go on a wine tour. Just learn something.”
“I get it. I never went to college; classrooms were never really my thing—but the idea of learning, really soaking up information?” I shrug again.
“It appeals to me.”
Jules sighs, setting her feet on the ground. “Me too. But in an alternate-life-sort-of-way. Because the truth is, for me, they’re silly daydreams. I’ll never go to those places. I’ll be here.”
I smile at her, not because I agree -- I think there’s plenty of time yet to see the world—but I don’t want to push those thoughts on Jules right now—not after her fight with her dad. Maybe she just needs time to figure out her place in this world.
God knows I need to figure out mine.
A while later, Jules grabs my hand, tells her grandma and dad goodbye, and tells me we’re going out to the bar tonight.
“You’ve got a bar here?” I ask as she opens the driver’s side of a pick-up truck and climbs in. Seeing her behind the wheel makes me smile, I swear she’s the only supermodel on the planet who looks so good behind a rusted out Chevy.
“Oh, we’ve got all kinds of things, here, Cal. Main Street where they have the Fourth of July parade, there’s an old bowling alley. The price cut Movie Theater.” She looks over at me and grins. “Impressive, right?”
I shake my head. “You’re all kinds of impressive, Jules.”
She rolls her eyes and steps on the gas, cruising down the empty farm roads, with the windows down, the setting sun behind us. “You’re pretty impressive yourself. I mean, the private jet thing really won you some points.”
“You keeping score?”
She snorts. “God, I hope we aren’t. You saw the farm, how it’s falling apart? I don’t want you to compare that to your fancy loft. And that’s not even accounting for my meltdown in the kitchen this afternoon.”
“That was not a meltdown.” I laugh, thinking about the women I’ve known over the years and the kind of meltdowns they could come up with. “I think what I witnessed was more of a heart to heart.”
Jules twists her lips, looking over at me briefly. “I don’t know. My dad is hell-bent on me not saving the farm and living here. It hurts, to be honest. Like, why doesn’t he understand this is where I’m most happy?”
“Maybe he just gets scared, you know, of fucking things up? I bet he already feels bad that you’re sending him paychecks.”
“But that’s what family does. Stick by one another, through thick and thin.”
“I agree, but...”
“But what?” Jules asks, as we careen into a gravel parking lot and she puts the truck in park. The bar is called Dusty’s and there are dozens of cars here.
I reach over, pulling Jules’ face to mine. “But men like to take care of their own, and it’s got to be killing him that he can’t take care of you.”
She exhales, leaning into my palm that cups her cheek. “You’re probably right.”
I shake my head. “I know I’m right. And I’m glad you brought me here because I gotta tell you, Jules. I’m falling for you—hard. Like, really fucking hard.”
She licks her lips, her eyes on mine. “I’m falling for you too, Cal.”
“Can we make it official then? I mean, I know it hasn’t been long, but Jules, I don’t want you to see other men. And I don’t want to see any other women. I want you. Just you.”
“The night we met you asked me if I believed in fate. Destiny. Do you remember that? Out in the alley?”
I nod. “I remember.”
“I think you were right, Cal. Us meeting like we did... what are the odds?”
I know I need to tell her more about myself, that I’m not only a bartender, but I want her to know my intentions first. “Your dad doesn’t need to be the only man looking out for you, Jules. I want to look out for you too.”
She leans over, kisses me, long and hard and true. A kiss that means more than pleasure. A kiss that is a promise. A promise
to me.
When she pulls away, she smiles softly and says, “You may be this rich boy from the city, but I think all that time behind the bar has kept you from becoming an ass.”
I laugh, stealing a kiss from her. “Oh, I’m still an ass.”
“No.” She looks straight at me. “You’re not an ass, Cal. You’re the most genuine man I’ve ever met.”
In the bar the music is loud, people are grinding against one another, women with pool cues lean over tables in booty shorts, and men buy rounds of shots for the girls they see. We may not be at the A-List Fuck Club, but it’s obvious there’s a whole lot of fucking that’s going to take place tonight.
“Let’s get a drink,” Jules says, fanning herself with her hand. It’s hot as hell in here. This place has the quintessential small town bar vibe. Peanut shells on the floor, darts in the corner, men in Wranglers and cowboy boots.
She grabs my hand and drags me to the bar, people stopping her along the way, saying hello and asking why she’s back in town.
“Oh, I just had a few days off is all,” she says, brushing past them, not giving them a second glance. “Came home to see my grandma.”
I watch the men she’s talking to check her out, head to goddamn toe, and I don’t blame them, but I also don’t like it. Jules is my woman now, and so I sidle up beside her at the bar, snaking an arm around her waist, and kissing her neck. She laughs, shaking her head at me.
“You think people talk in LA? They talk a lot in a small town. Next thing you know everyone is gonna be asking about the man I brought home.”
“And what will you tell them?”
“I’ll tell them that that man is my boyfriend.” She bites her bottom lip. “Does that sound cheesy?”
“It sounds like the truth,” I say, asking the woman behind the counter for two Buds. Sawyer would crack up if he saw me drinking this shitty beer, but it’s all they have on tap at this place. “Also, I made it clear I like things cheesy.”
“True,” Jules says. “You did.”
The bartender hands us our beers and as I pay for them Jules starts up a conversation with her. “I’ve never seen you before,” she says. “And I know everyone in this town.”