Twist Into Me

by Devon Ashley

  Copyright © 2015 Devon Ashley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author. The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners for all wordmarks mentioned within this work of fiction.

  If you did not purchase this book from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iTunes or Kobo, then you have obtained an illegal copy. Please respect this author’s work and purchase a copy from a legitimate site.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities within are purely coincidental. Special fonts used within this publication include Frosting For Breakfast and My Own Topher (courtesy of kevinandamanda.com).

  First Published November 2015

  ISBN: 1519119062

  ISBN 13: 9781519119063

  Tessa Wilkerson would’ve loved growing up with her Nana Louise in a charming Kentuckian town, living above her flower shop on decorated Main Street, but unexpected circumstances took that away from her. Now at a standstill in her life, this twenty-one year old finds her way back to reconnect with what she’s lost. But her summer of love, family and serenity soon leads to tragic loss. And even though good friends and taking up ownership of a popular business has her planting unintended roots, when a romance blossoms with the one guy she didn’t see coming, will fear of love and circumstance lead her astray, or will she find the courage to bloom like never before?

  Fans of Hope Floats and Where the Heart Is will enjoy this emotional story of love, heartbreaking loss and finding the reason you’re meant to move on.

  Rich magenta-shaded mums rocked back and forth in the baskets that hung off the lampposts down Main Street, but their petals were faring far better against the wind than I was. After ten hours in the car, I’d finally rolled down the windows to fight the haze of sleepiness, but the hot breeze was tiring me out in its own way. My eyes felt dry and irritated, and when I peeked at myself in the rear view mirror, I noticed they were beginning to redden. Several of my blonde wavy locks were wind-blown, now tangled and frizzy from the humid air.

  Eight whole years. That was how long it had been since I last visited Campbellsville, Kentucky. Since I last filled my lungs with air so hot and thick it slowed me down like I was smothered in molasses. Eight years since Mom and Nana had their falling out.

  I swore it was just yesterday I was skipping along this street, alternating hands as I zigzagged between red, white and blue decorated lampposts, spinning wildly until dizzy. Splattering sweet melted Popsicle syrup onto my white Keds, I had watched the colors bleed across the fabric, creating cool tye dye-like designs. I remembered women used to sit in my Nana’s shop gossiping and sipping long island iced teas in the afternoon, the air bathed with such a heavy fragrance that I could still taste the memory on the back of my tongue.

  It all brought a smile to my face. It had been forever since anything felt like home.

  All down the street, people with their hands full of shopping bags weaved their way between potted plants and iron benches, some on a mission, others meandering slowly enough to window gaze. The long line of shops were various heights, distinguishable only by the break in color and design of their architectural facades. Bright, popping shades of yellows, whites, greens and blues. Like always, Nana’s flower shop was the same blue shade of a robin’s egg, with white trim and black shutters on the windows above the ground floor. At shop level, a white-washed wooden door with nine square glass panels on the upper half was flanked by two large windows that showcased a tropical oasis inside.

  I parked in the nearest opening and grabbed the bag from the front seat of my old white Jetta, not even bothering to roll my windows back up. Excitement swelled my insides as I slammed the car door and took the first few strides in haste. My hand paused on the door grip as I read the burgundy painted script, my smile spreading far enough to flash dimples.

  I softly chuckled and shook my head. That was so Nana…and new since I’d last been here, as was the script written a little farther down.

  The door jingled its simple cylindrical wind chime when I pushed it open. As I stepped inside, an abundance of fragrances overwhelmed me in a soothing way, and I was suddenly a little girl all over again, laughing and skipping my way between the displays in the shop, nothing but elbows and knees and pigtails.

  Various tables and hutch-like furniture were spread out across the large open space. Orchids, tropical flowering plants, succulents and seasonal potted plants were scattered in the nooks, and various knick-knacks for sale filled the spaces between. A few coolers on the far right wall held refrigerated flower arrangements that were pre-made for easy pick-up-and-go purchases. A checkout counter sat near the middle with an empty loveseat nearby.

  And suddenly there she was, standing on the far left side beside two women of similar age chatting it up at the bistro set, steaming mugs and a pot of tea between them.

  Nana was only fifty-seven, but she had embraced the silvery gray that overtook her once blonde hair, and still kept it wavy and long and loose. She also had the brightest set of blues that rivaled the most precious of sapphires; and though she dressed her age with a floral button-up shirt and loose fitted capris, she still rocked the cutest of daisy-embellished flip-flops I’d ever seen.

  Nana gave out an excited scream of joy and threw her hands up in the air. “Oh! There she is!” she cried, excitement pitching her voice to a high note.

  I matched her goofy grin as she made her way towards me. “Tessie,” she sang sweetly. “Nana,” I murmured back, shoving my overfilled cotton duffel behind me so it didn’t knock her over. She was still as strong as an ox, gripping me tight enough to leave red marks on my lightly tanned skin. “Mmm-mwha!” she said, playfully sounding out the kiss to my cheek. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my darling.” She finally stepped back, taking hostage of both my hands while doing so, and held my arms out to visually take me in. “And look at you! Such a beauty!”

  Sure my cheeks were reddening by the second, I moved to give her one more squeeze, returning the kiss to her cheek to shift the attention back to her. “I think you might be biased. And what do you mean me? Look at you! I need to rummage through your cabinets to see what the heck you’ve been taking all these years to look this good.”

  Nana took me by the hand and led me to her friends. “’Tis nothing more than a little fresh sun and a splash of gin.”

  “On your face?”

  “Heavens no,” one of her friends replied for her, waving her hand at me. “In her morning juice.” She had her hair twisted and pinned tightly in back, the softest wisp of curls brushing the sides of her tawny face.

  “And by splash,” the other friend said with a chuckle, “she means half the cup.”

  Nana huffed with overdramatic fashion, pretending to detest their admissions, but secretly loving it all the same. Then she mumbled to me, “Awful women these two, complete lushes. Don’t believe a word they say. All drunken lies.”

  One of the women giggled so hard she spit the tea she was sipping, making me wonder if Nana wasn’t the only one guilty of adding a little kick to her daily drinks.

  All three of them burst out laughing. Nana let go and grabbed a napkin off the table, blotting the skin of the friend who just got splattered. Once the laughter and garbles died down, Nana said, “Rose, Helen. You remember my Tessie, though it’s been so long since she’s been here.”

  “Tessa,” I corrected, gently shaking the cold, frail hands of both her friends. Only Nana still got away with calling me by my childhood nickname.

  “Tessa, so good to see you again,” Rose, the spitter, said. “Louise has been so excited
since you asked to come.” Playfully, Helen added, “She’s been quite insufferable really.”

  I smiled as Nana playfully slapped her friend’s arm. “Don’t you mind these old biddies. They’re just one lemon squeeze shy of bitter.

  “You two,” Nana said, pointing at them with her faux serious face, “man the store while I show Tessie her room.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. We know how to take care of any man who walks through that door,” Rose replied suggestively, giving me a little wink.

  “Not too well, if you please. I have a business to run and the men who never learn keep me afloat.”

  I waved goodbye and smiled sweetly at the two, whose whispers began soon after I walked away. I followed Nana up the staircase that lined the far left side of the shop and pushed past the door that separated her shop level from the two apartment levels.

  It was like stepping through a time portal. Not the kind that transported you back to the seventies or anything, which would’ve been Nana’s glory days, but one that took me back to my childhood. The kitchen had been updated but kept the same layout. The floors were still hardwood, but had been stained a chalky light gray. All the cabinets had been traded out and now had a three-inch beadboard design, their color almost like the robin’s egg she kept on the exterior, but with more purple mixed in. Her countertops were a mixture of sparkling gray and white, and small squares of matte-embellished tin zigzagged along the wall as a backsplash. And I loved that she chose to use a matching retro stove, dishwasher and refrigerator, all in classic white.

  It was all so homey. I would’ve loved growing up in a kitchen like this. Instead I grew up in one cheap pay-by-the-week motel after another, following along as my mother tried to find herself. And unfortunately, all she ever found was the bottom of another vodka bottle.

  Dinner was simmering in the crock pot – a roast by the smell of it. Another aspect our kitchen never experienced growing up – the smell of actual food that wasn’t heated from a nasty pre-made TV dinner.

  Nana palmed me two silver keys, one with blue rubber around the head, one without. “Keys to the shop doors and this one here. We’re required to park in the back at all times, especially at night to keep Main Street clear. The garage is full so just park beside me on the drive in front of it.”

  I kept nodding as she continued on, following her up another set of stairs to the third floor. If memory served correct, her bedroom was off to the right and the two guest rooms were opposite. Sure enough, Nana headed left, giving me the farthest room, though the two shared a bathroom that filled the space between.

  My mom’s old bedroom was different than I remembered. All signs that she had once lived there were long gone, even the furniture she’d beaten up through the years. What was once a pale yellow now had soft teal walls, gray driftwood planks nailed horizontally above the bed as a headboard, white bed linens that were covered in a matching tufted duvet, and a light gray upholstered chair with a tufted back. It was serene, the way she used all these spa colors.

  Nana opened the walk-in closet and turned on the light. “There you go. Now you get settled and we’ll meet in the kitchen for dinner when I close up.”

  My stomach, having already indulged in the scent the past few minutes, gave her a better answer than my mouth ever could and growled on command. She laughed and wrapped her arms around me one last time. Even now I could smell the sweet floral scents of her shop, their perfumes permanently affixed to the fibers of her shirt.

  “It’s good to have you back, Tessie.”

  “It’s good to be back.”

  And I wished I had never been taken away in the first place.

  “One thing I love about you, Nana? You are not afraid of color,” I praised, admiring the strong jewel tones of her kitchen while I gently stirred the gravy, waiting for it to thicken.

  “Is that the only reason?” She spooned freshly whipped potatoes into a serving bowl and took it to the small round table she’d already set for two. Guffawing, she added, “I’m insulted.”

  I pointed my wooden spoon at her, jabbing the air with it. “I could almost believe that, if I didn’t already know how difficult it is to actually insult you.” I accidentally splattered some gravy on the counter, and grabbed the nearest paper towel to clean it up.

  “No sense in letting people upset you, honey. How’s it fair to let people get snippy just so you end up wounded over it? Best not to listen. And quite frankly, anyone with so little tact isn’t worth an opinion to begin with.”

  “Amen,” I mumbled. I paused for a moment. I probably hadn’t used that word since the last time I stayed with Nana, which was also the last time I’d ever gone to Sunday morning church. Funny how easily it came to me after all this time, like I’d never really left.

  Giving up on getting the gravy to thicken any more, I poured it into the boat shaped like a rooster and carried it over. Nana grabbed the oven-roasted brussels sprouts and joined me.

  “So I was thinking,” I said, loading my plate with more food than I could possibly eat – though I was determined to devour it as if it were my last meal. “Since I’m going to be spending the whole summer with you, why don’t I help you out in the shop while I’m here?”

  “I think that’s a lovely idea. I’d love to get some help. It’s been so long since I’ve had a part-time worker.”

  “Really? You used to always have one.” I took a bite of the roast and actually closed my eyes to enjoy the onion and herb flavor as it saturated my taste buds, sending them to their own rendition of heaven. Nothing beat Nana’s cooking.

  “Yes, but nowadays it’s just Hazel and she only comes in for the major holidays to take orders for me. The rest of the year I pretty much run it myself.”

  “Every day?” I asked with a little bit of shock. That had to be hard enough on someone my age, let alone hers.

  “Sure,” she replied, shrugging it off like it was nothing.

  “I’m guessing that’s about the time your new hours got posted.”

  “Guilty,” she said with a smile. “Certain hours of the day are slower, so I sometimes step out when I need to run errands or go to appointments. And Sundays I stay closed and let them ring the buzzer for service. Most of my walk-ins are repeat customers anyways, so they have a pretty good understanding of when to find me here.”

  After tasting the rest of her food, I sighed in a heavenly way. “Seriously Nana. You have no idea how much I’ve missed your cooking.” Her mouth was full, so she simply smiled.

  Mine quickly faded, because my thoughts went right to the source of our separation. Suddenly, even Nana’s great cooking couldn’t serve as a positive distraction.

  “I’m sorry I was gone so long,” I said quietly. I could feel the sting in my eyes, tears begging to make themselves known. Even after all this time it hurt.

  Nana’s expression turned downward, the same memories surely filling her with sadness too. Her hand reached over to cover mine, then she solemnly said, “The important thing is that you’re here now.”

  “I really did have no idea,” I blurted in defense. But before I could continue with my train of thought, Nana cut in with, “Don’t you worry about that. I’m just sorry your Momma didn’t do better by you. I didn’t raise her that way and Lord only knows what led her astray. But let’s not talk about this on your first night here. Tonight I want to hear all about school.”

  I had the feeling she changed our conversation because my eyes had swelled with tears. Truth was, we’d already discussed past happenings the last time we were together, but so much was left unsaid. Particularly the guilt I still felt. Unfortunately, every time I truly thought about it, my emotions took over and I teared up. We weren’t ready to get into it before, and it looked like we still weren’t ready to enter that world of hurt, so I was happy to delay it again. Who knew? Maybe we could bypass it all-together and move forward as if time was never stolen from us.

  My life did a complete one-eighty once I swapped the chaotic noma
dic lifestyle I had with my mom with the more stable one in Sacramento, where I stayed put the past two years. For once I had complete control. I chose where I went to school. I chose where I lived. I had time to actually befriend people – and I knew them long enough to become friends or study buddies. I even stayed put long enough to date a few guys…something I never had the chance to do since I was forced to change schools four times a year. Military brats had nothing on me. My new sudden freedom and sense of independence had been the best two years of my life.

  I told Nana about everything. From my classes at the community college, to the friends I’d made, to the short trips I got to take living in and around Sacramento. About my plans to return to northern California and attend Humboldt University to finish a bachelor’s degree, and even though I had applied to earn a business degree, I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to major in.

  We sat around the table for an hour, long after we’d both finished dinner, sipping a glass of wine. When we were done, I insisted she call it a night and let me clean the kitchen by myself. Epic fail – seemed stubbornness was a Wilkerson trait, because we were at least three generations strong.

  Once we were done, I squeezed her goodnight and made my way upstairs to a messy room. Before dinner, I had gone so far as to park my car around back and carry in my belongings, but I was so hot and sweaty afterwards I jumped straight into a cool shower. Then the exhaustion of the thirty-six hour drive I made the past three days kicked in, so I rested until I heard Nana jostling around pots and pans in the kitchen. Here it was eight o’clock at night and I was clean and fed, but barely rested enough to tackle my things.

  Sadly, there wasn’t a whole lot here since I’d never bothered too much with possessions. Growing up, Mom had us on the move so much, and so often on a whim, that she’d pick me up from school and that was that. Sometimes we wouldn’t even go home again to get my things, no matter how much I protested. I learned real fast to fill my backpack with the things I didn’t want to live without instead of school books. Suffice it to say, my lack of personal possessions hadn’t changed much through the years, but coming from college, I was up to four bags now. Three of the duffels consisted of clothing and bathroom essentials, which I tucked away into drawers or hung in the closet. The last one was everything else I had splurged to buy – basically just an eReader, a laptop and a few accessories to go along with them.