by Magan Vernon
Teagan’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. You and Joey broke up? For real?”
I shrugged. “I guess it’s considered a breakup, but is it really a break up if you’re just friends with benefits?”
“Did he say why?”
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “He said he was screwing other girls, and one might be pregnant. Like seriously! As if my life isn’t weird enough. He just said it so casually and then told me I didn’t need to make a scene about it. I don’t even know if I’m sad or what I should feel about it.”
Teagan cleared her throat, taking a sip of her drink before responding. “Well, it sounds like you’re better off if he’s going to have some baby mama drama. So let’s not waste our energy on him. Tell me about the flea market or estate sale or whatever your mom dragged your hungover ass to. Take any good pictures or find something pretty?”
“Well, I did find something …” I played with my straw, pulling it in and out of my drink.
“And what was that?”
I bit my lower lip and looked down at the table. “It turned out the house we went to actually belonged to Jordan Webber’s grandparents.”
I looked up after hearing Teagan gargle and almost choke on her water. She held her hand to her chest, her eyes watering as she locked on me. “Jordan Webber? As in your weirdo ex-boyfriend with the tattoos who always carried a sketchbook?”
“The exact one.”
That wasn’t how I liked to think of him, but the description was pretty accurate. He transferred to our school in the middle of our sophomore year. Teagan thought he was sexy in a dark and mysterious way with his shaggy hair and a tattoo at sixteen. She asked me to talk to him for her in gym class. He said he preferred brunettes over redheads, and shortly after, we started dating. I think Teagan always held a grudge against me for that, but he definitely wasn’t her type. He was the kind of guy who liked to spend his weekends playing acoustic guitar or at an art museum, and Teagan preferred to spend hers dancing and getting trashed.
I thought he was my penguin—as stupid as it sounded. I always felt so alone in the tiny town full of jocks and cowboys. We would go for long walks, and he would draw flowers while I took photos. Then we’d lay in the grass, and he’d discuss his dream to move to New York. I always went along with it because I thought it was just a dream. I didn’t think he’d actually apply to art school there or graduate early. I didn’t have the grades to get into a good art school or graduate early, but that didn’t stop him from leaving. All those dreams turned into a reality for him, and I was left in small town, Texas.
“So he’s the perfect revenge sex!” Tegan squealed, and I swore the old couple at the table behind us glared.
I rolled my eyes even though the thought of maybe loving and leaving Jordan did cross my mind. “I’m not saying that I’m just going to drop everything for Jordan. It’s not like he did that for me,” I muttered the last part.
Teagan leaned in, blinking her big brown eyes slowly. “So what are you going to do then?”
“There is nothing to do,” I snapped more harshly than I intended. “He was the one who left me. I couldn’t care less if I ever see him again.”
A lie. I couldn’t admit it to Teagan when I couldn’t admit it to myself that a part of me did want to see him again. No matter how badly he hurt me, the hole he left in my heart was filled when I saw him again.
“But will you end up seeing him again? You said you were at his grandma’s house?”
“I don’t know … I guess it’s possible. He said he was staying here for a while. But I live far enough out of town that I might never see him while he’s around.” I shook my head, thinking of ways I could possibly avoid him. Maybe he’d stay away from the main places I went. Maybe.
***
Somewhere between catching up on Teagan’s life at school and her sneaking in questions about my sex life, which was weird as hell, Mom texted to ask me to stop at the hardware store and pick up a new set of chains for the porch swing.
Benny’s Hardware store was right on the way from the cafe to our house. It was a little bit more expensive than the big box stores, but they didn’t provide customer service like Benny’s did.
I pulled in front of the small green building with the hand-painted sign. Benny’s bloodhound slept by the screen door entrance. That dog went everywhere Benny did and was as much of a fixture in town as the old town hall.
A bell dinged over the door, and the old man at the counter slowly spun in my direction.
“Afternoon, Miss Abbey,” Benny said with his deep Southern drawl. As far as I knew, the old man with his floppy white hair and thick glasses lived in northern Texas his entire life, so I had no idea where the deep drawl came into play.
“Hey, Benny.”
The store wasn’t very big at all; in fact, the selection was pretty minimal. If someone wanted nails, screws, bolts, or a hammer, they could get that. But not much else. Benny once told Mom and me that it used to be his grandfather’s general store, and before that, it was a candy shop. Mom always appreciated a guy who had a penchant for history, and I felt like I grew up in the cedar smelling shop.
“Your ma working on another project?” He leaned on the counter.
I nodded, making my way over to the counter as the floorboards creaked underfoot with each step. “Yeah, she’s working on a porch sw—”
Before I could finish my sentence, the bell dinged over the door. Benny lifted his head to greet the new customer. “Afternoon, young man.”
Not many people under the age of forty who weren’t lifelong residents usually came into the store, so I glanced back to see who it was that Benny didn’t know by their first name. I caught the outline of someone close to my age with bulging biceps and a lopsided smile, and that was when I had to do a double-take.
“Jordan? What are you doing here?” I tried to keep my mouth from hanging open, but it had to be down to the floor. While I still looked and smelled like hell, Jordan looked even better than he did earlier—all freshly showered with his t-shirt clinging to what was definitely an eight pack.
Jordan took slow, tentative steps, sauntering like an old cowboy. “Dad and I were fixing a door that came off the hinge and didn’t have everything we needed, so he sent me here to pick up some supplies.”
A likely excuse. I put one hand on my hip. “Uh-huh, and you couldn’t have gone to Rockwall like everyone else?”
His lopsided smile had turned into an all-out grin. “So now you own Benny’s? I guess a lot has changed the past few years.”
I wanted to say something back—something snarky and witty—but I couldn’t do anything when he looked at me with those gorgeous blue eyes like I was the only person in the room.
“Forget it,” I muttered once I got my voice back. I pivoted around him and threw the screen door open, making the bell clang so loudly it practically flew off the doorframe. The bloodhound stirred from his slumber and stood in attention, moaning as I ran past him.
“What’s your problem, Abbey?”
“My problem?” I whipped my head around so fast I practically had whiplash.
He was standing only a foot away from me, his chin tilted down and his eyes big and glossy like a puppy. I gulped. It was hard to yell at him when he was looking so incredibly sexy with his white shirt clinging to him like a second skin and the hint of a smile still on his lips.
“You left me, Jordan. You left, and you have a life in New York. I have a life here too.” I stood as tall as I could, trying not to let my knees buckle underneath me. I flitted my eyes to the ground before looking back up at him. His stare never left my own; crisp and blue, he had the most gorgeous eyes I’d ever seen.
“Are you still taking those beautiful scenery photos?”
I faltered, adjusting my foot from one heel to the other. “More like school photos and some sessions on the side. But you know, I’m getting my name out there. Someday, maybe I’ll have a studio in town. Being the only photographer ar
ound helps.”
“Didn’t think you were the family portrait type. I always saw you more like one of those girls who climbed a mountain for the perfect shot,” Jordan said, his eyes shining.
“Well, I guess you don’t really know me,” I muttered.
He frowned. “Maybe it would be nice to catch up then. Can I buy you a coffee or something? Mom says the Forever Sweet Bakery is pretty good.”
“I know; I work there,” I blurted without thinking what I was saying. Shit, if I really didn’t want to see him, I shouldn’t have told him.
He was so close; all it would have taken was for me to lean forward and forget everything. Just kiss him and pretend that nothing ever happened. “No wonder it’s so good if you’re the one working the counter.”
“I can’t do this, Jordan. I’m with Joey now,” I said without thinking. We broke up. Sort of. Whatever we did, we weren’t together, but it sounded better to say I was with someone.
Jordan’s eyes bugged out from their puppy dog form. “Joey Bianchi? From high school?”
I nodded, taking one step backward. The lie getting deeper now. “The very one. I’m sorry, but you left; I couldn’t wait around for you to come back from New York.”
He kept his eyes locked on me, not saying a word, just staring.
“It was good seeing you, Jordan, but I have to go.”
I turned as quickly as I could and hopped in my car. Mom would just have to go out and get the chains herself; there was no way I was going to try to get past Jordan and go back into Benny’s. If I had to stare at his beautiful smile any longer, then I would probably forget all about Joey or the fact that a part of my heart was still broken.
But as I looked in my rearview mirror and found him standing there with his eyes locked on my car, I knew that I could never forget him.
Chapter 4
After going to Benny’s, I didn’t bother doing anything else. I took some Tylenol PM and headed straight to bed to get over the damn hangover and whatever else was going on with all the emotions running through me.
My alarm woke me up way too early to start my morning, which was opening up the Forever Sweet Bakery for the early crowd that liked their donuts and coffee before work.
Opening on Mondays was the worst because everyone was particularly grumpy and liked to take it out on the keeper of their coffee and donuts by being rude. At least I didn’t have my hangover headache, and I’d showered, so I didn’t smell like ass anymore. There was some sort of silver lining.
With most of the morning crowd gone by nine a.m., I had time to put some cupcakes in the oven, frost them, and bring them out just as the resident author, Brooke Carrington, came in for her usual all-day writing session.
“What are you working on today?” I asked, putting the cupcakes in the case as the brunette bombshell set her laptop up on the corner table by the window.
Brooke flashed a smile, adjusting her glasses and messy bun. It wasn’t fair that the petite girl could look good in her sweatpants and messy bun while I looked like a hot mess who just rolled off the garbage truck.
“Rockstar romance, as usual,” she said, grabbing her sparkly black wallet out of her messenger bag and approaching the counter.
“Do you need me to play some Metallica? Do they have anything romantic? I can’t even think of a romantic rock star.”
Brooke laughed, shaking her head as she stopped in front of the white counter. Carla, the owner, bought the former downtown post office and gave everything a fresh coat of distressed white paint. A shabby chic array of tables made of pallets and painted white with mismatched chairs surrounding each one and painted the same shade of dark red decorated the place. Two large glass cases filled with cupcakes, cakes, and trays of cookies sat diagonal to the long, white counter I worked behind with the Forever Sweet logo hand painted on the front of it.
“No need for mood music. Eddie sent me a playlist that I’ll be listening to from my computer.” I swore I saw her cheeks tinge red at the mention of her boyfriend, who happened to be a former Friendship, Texas, resident. He was now a country music superstar currently on tour while the couple built a house just outside Friendship city limits.
I knew this not just because Brooke was a regular in the bakery but because her parents and Eddie’s lived behind our property. Eddie grew up on the TL Ranch, and Brooke was the girl next door. They were seven years older than I was, so I didn’t think much of them growing up, but damn, did they both grow up to be a good-looking couple. Hell, I could hashtag the shit out of their relationship with one single word: goals.
“Just holler if you need it,” I offered with a smile.
Brooke handed me her card. “I may need the help. And caffeine. A caramel macchiato and a strawberry croissant. For now. I may need more as the day goes on.”
I typed in her order and swiped the card. “You know I’ve got your back. I’m your sweets and caffeine dealer. It sounds way better than bakery worker.”
She laughed as I handed back her card. “Hey, you’re more than a bakery worker. Your mom told my mom you were doing photography now? Why didn’t you tell me that? I could use some new headshots, you know?”
I blinked and opened my mouth then closed it again before shaking my head. “Oh. No. Definitely not a headshot girl. I do school portraits with a company, and I do some newborn and senior sessions when people really need me.”
Brooke laughed. “Author headshots shouldn’t be that much different from a school photo. Come on! We could do a fun little photo shoot here in the bakery even! Books and cupcakes.”
“I, uh, I can ask Carla,” I offered, turning away from her so she couldn’t see my shaking hands, which I had to control before I tried steaming the milk for her drink.
The truth was school portraits were easy. They didn’t require me to step out of the box, and if a parent didn’t like them, they just scheduled a retake. I rarely did the newborn or senior photo sessions because those required creativity. Though I wanted to go crazy, I was also afraid of people hating the pictures I took. So I just took direction from the Pinterest poses they wanted and did the edits needed. I knew it wasn’t the best way to go about things, but it was the safe way.
Safe like staying in Friendship, Texas, instead of saying screw it and going to school in New York. I probably could have gone for a degree in business and art, but I didn’t. I convinced myself it was art school or nothing at all. But really, I didn’t even download, print, or fill out any applications for any schools in Texas or New York or otherwise.
I was afraid of change, and the more things started to change in my life, the more I started to realize why I hated it so much.
The bell rang over the front door, knocking my nerves out. “Be right with you,” I yelled over the sound of the espresso machine.
“No rush,” a deep male voice said.
I didn’t turn around until I had Brooke’s drink in her mug and set it on the counter. I barely got the hot cup to her before my hand started shaking again as I stared at Jordan freaking Webber.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, breathlessly.
“I’ll come back for my croissant,” Brooke muttered, skittering to her table.
“Oh. Don’t let me interrupt, ma’am,” Jordan said, putting his hands up, which caused his black t-shirt to ride up slightly and give a view of his tanned stomach and the black outline of some sort of a tattoo.
I fumbled with the handle of the pastry case, keeping my eyes on the flaky crusts instead of his abs. “Coming right up, Brooke,” I squeaked as I put the croissant on a red plate. I made my way around the counter, keeping my eyes on the wooden floor until I got to her table.
“Who is that?” she mouthed, wiggling her eyebrows.
“An ex,” I mouthed back before she widened her eyes and I turned, heading back behind the counter.
“Can I still order something, or are you going to run away?” Jordan asked, putting his hands on the counter and leaning in.
I too
k a deep breath. He smelled heavenly—like soap and sawdust. I didn’t know that was a sexy scent, but on him, it made me want to just bury my face in his body. All over his body. Dammit, I really needed to get laid and stop thinking about the guy who left me for New York.
“Uh. Yeah. You can order. Weird that you’d come here, though. Most of the people who visit and aren’t regulars drive into Rockwall or Wylie for mainstream, drive-thru coffee. Of course, you are a New Yorker now, so you’re probably looking for something hipster.” I found myself rambling and couldn’t stop.
I looked up to see Jordan smiling, his blue eyes shining as he looked directly at me. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me a hipster. But I’ll take it.” He ran his hands through his hair, and I tried not to gulp as I thought about what it would be like to run my fingers through those silky strands. Or pull them. Or you know, whatever else I could do to his head.
“The only coffee maker at my grandma’s house is a percolator, and no one knows how to use it, so my aunts sent me here to get some coffee and donuts while we finish cleaning today,” Jordan said, the corner of his lips turning into a slight frown.
“Oh. Sorry. About the coffee. And your grandma. Wow, that was dickish of me not to say anything yesterday. Though, to be fair, it was kind of a shock to see you,” I said, turning toward the counter that housed the espresso machine and our coffeepot that was completely empty.
“It’s no problem. I was shocked to see you too. But a good shocked. You still look just as good as you did in high school. Maybe even better.” His smile returned.
“Uhhhhh, yeah, you totally look good too.” I tried not to stutter or stare at the tattoos peeking out of his shirt. In high school, he had a four-leaf clover on his shoulder blade and another small anchor on his hipbone that some guy did out of his barn in Caddo Mills. They were both pretty crude, but these new brightly colored swirls looked professional from what I could see.
“I need to make a fresh pot, so it’ll be a little bit,” I said, grabbing the canister of coffee grounds and trying not stare.