The One That Got Away: Friendship, Texas #4

by Magan Vernon

  The rental gave a perfect view of the Brooklyn outdoor flea market where I knew he had a booth. I just didn’t go there.

  I’d texted Jordan a few times just small talk when he’d message me.

  He didn’t know I wasn’t still in Friendship, and I didn’t know where exactly he lived in Brooklyn.

  I wanted to see first if this was where I was supposed to be. If I could survive in New York without him if I had to.

  What I found was, I was fine on my own, but part of me was missing. Whether I liked it or not, Jordan would always be a part of me, and for better or for worse, I had to see if we could get our happily ever after.

  The studio apartment my mom rented for me from Jean’s friend looked nothing like the pictures he posted online. The place was literally the size of the pantry back at the farmhouse in Friendship. And the pantry was probably decorated better than the moldy smelling apartment with tapestries covering the brick walls.

  Jean had told me about some apartments available for rent in Williamsburg, and I could have kept looking. Hell, I could have done something while I laid in bed at night, looking at the water stained ceiling. But I didn’t.

  I was flying by the seat of my pants and ultimately procrastinating from what I came to New York to do. I had to finally stop doing that and take a giant leap.

  I’d burned my neck at least twice trying to straighten my hair in the tiny bathroom that I had to hunch over just to get inside, but I was ready. Ready to finally see Jordan again and hope we could mend the time.

  August in New York was actually a comfortable temperature instead of the sweltering heat of North Texas, so I was able to put on a pair of faded denim jeans and a plain black t-shirt with a marble necklace I picked up from a street vendor in SoHo. I wasn’t sure if it was stolen or not, but it was pretty.

  Slipping on my flats, I took one last look in the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair. This was it. This was either going to be my last day in New York before I bought a plane ticket home or the first day of the rest of my life.

  Stepping onto the sidewalk in front of the apartment that was directly above a deli, I took in the smell that was uniquely Brooklyn: eclectic food and body odor.

  Pushing my way through the crowd, I followed like a lemming on the crosswalk until I was across the street, staring at the different tents that made up the Brooklyn Flea.

  Mom would have loved the place; except she would have told people they could shove it at the prices they wanted for their grandma’s junk.

  I wasn’t sure where Jordan’s booth was—hell, I didn’t even know if he actually did have a booth or if he was lying about that too—but I had to take a chance.

  Weaving through the rows of vendors, I finally found an artist row where different people were spray painting art on the sidewalk or trying to haggle people to come to their booth with promises of writing their names on their wooden trinkets.

  But one piece of art practically smacked me right in the head.

  Literally.

  I stopped and backed up a few steps, looking at the beautiful charcoal piece in front of me. The same piece was designed on Jordan’s arm with the addition of brown eyes and a heart. The same additions that were on the piece of paper that had been in my pocket and folded and unfolded a million times since I opened the letter from Jordan.

  Not only that picture, but dozens of others were displayed around the small tent along with re-imagined housewares like an old radio turned into a fish tank and some random things put together to make chairs and end tables. I think something covered every square inch of the space. He must have emptied out his entire apartment and Grandma’s house.

  Beyond all the art, there he stood, talking to some woman in a headscarf who was holding two metal pieces with a stern look on her face. Finally, his shoulders fell, and he nodded before she handed him a few bills from her purse.

  When the lady walked away with her items, Jordan leaned against a chest of drawers that was repurposed into a bar, complete with wine rack. Letting out a deep breath, he looked at the sky then covered his eyes with his hand. “What the fuck am I doing?” he mumbled.

  “It looks to me like you turned your grandma’s dresser into a booze cart is what you’re doing,” I said, shoving my hands in my back pockets as I stepped over some small old copper pipes that were refashioned as shoe racks, complete with old red shoes to show the new purpose.

  Jordan turned his head then moved his hand, slowly pushing off the chest as his eyes widened. “Am I dreaming or are you really here? Somehow saddled between all my junk.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “I’m here, but I don’t think this is all junk. This stuff is actually really cool.”

  “Yeah. Other people around here think it’s okay if they’re really hipster or I agree to sell it to them for less than it cost me to make it.” He shook his head. “But I have a feeling you didn’t come all the way here to buy my grandma’s old stuff or the random shit from my old apartment for that matter.”

  “No … I’ve been here for a little while …”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t message me to pick you up at the airport.”

  I shook my head, taking another step closer. “No. For the first time in my life, I had to figure things out. I knew if I spent the time here with you, I’d probably fall in love with the Big Apple if people even really call it that.”

  He let out a single laugh. “I haven’t ever actually heard anyone around here use that name.”

  “Well, the point is, I guess. I spent my time here, and as stupid as you’ll probably think it sounds, it just made me miss Texas.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, and I put my hand out. “But I don’t want to go back there without knowing I gave us a chance again. It’s why I’m here, to see you being successful and doing what you love. Maybe go back to your apartment and have one last fun hoorah before I go back and the rental on my Airbnb runs out. I don’t know. I’m just rambling now, and I’m not great with words, but like your picture conveyed, my roots are deep in Texas. I may have some shitty friends there, and I may have more opportunities in New York, but it’s my home. It’s my…”

  Before I could say another word, my breath was taken away as Jordan put his hands on my cheeks and crushed his lips to mine.

  It had been less than a month since I’d last kissed him, but I didn’t realize how much I missed his taste. His sweetness. Until I gasped into his mouth and he finally pulled back, meeting my gaze with his beautiful blue eyes.

  “Are you going to let me talk now? Maybe grovel?”

  I nodded as much as I could with my face still in his hands. I was still in too much of a state of euphoria to speak.

  Jordan licked his lips. “I didn’t tell you about Joey and Teagan, and that was wrong of me. I guess I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of you coming here with me and why I made such a big deal of it because the truth of the matter is … I’ve been lying this whole time.”

  His eyes darted to the ground, and every hair on my body stood on end. More lies? My poor little, broken heart couldn’t take anymore.

  “Oh.” I sighed because that was all I could muster to say.

  “I lied about loving it in New York.”

  I raised an eyebrow, staring dead on at him. “What?”

  He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “New York hasn’t been everything I said it was …”

  “But …” I put my arms out, looking around his booth at all the items. “You have all this.”

  He let out a single laugh, but there was no humor to it. “I have this because when I got back to my apartment, there was an eviction notice on my door. I’ve been living out of my truck, parking in random spots to sleep at night, and we know there’s not much sleeping, so I’ve been working on this stuff whenever and wherever I can, selling all of it to make some money to either get another shitty apartment for three grand a month … or …”

  He let out a breath, and his eyes met min
e again. “Aunt Lynn offered to let me stay at Grandma’s. There isn’t a payment on it anymore, but she said Aunt Bev and Dad would want me to buy them out at least. I don’t have shit for a down payment, so basically I’d have to live there and pay rent forever or hope that people don’t nickel and dime me for every piece at my stand.”

  “How much is that piece,” I asked, turning toward the charcoal drawing of Texas with the roots of a mountain laurel around it.

  “For you, I’d be willing to negotiate …”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How about enough for a down payment on your grandma’s? If you drive back to Friendship with me?”

  “Are you serious right now?” he asked, his eyes widening.

  I took a step closer and wrapped my arms around his neck. “This time, I’m not letting you get away. No more secrets. No more running. Just you, me, and Texas. What do you say?”

  Jordan grinned wrapping his arms around my waist. “It’s a hell yeah.”

  Epilogue

  Four Months Later

  Jordan

  I never thought I’d be back in Friendship, Texas. Or living in my grandparents’ house with my girlfriend. I tried not to think about the fact I was sleeping in their bedroom, especially not when I had Abbey bent over the old four-post bed.

  “Oh, my God!” Her body clenched around my dick, and it didn’t take long before I was finishing inside her, moaning as we both stilled.

  Of course, she couldn’t let me just enjoy the sight of her. Abbey just had to pull away and slide her panties up before straightening her little pink dress.

  “You sure you don’t wanna try for round two?” I whispered in her ear, wrapping my arms around her waist.

  She squealed and squirmed until I unraveled her. “You know it’s Sofie’s wedding, and I need some chubby cheek pinching time with my nephew!”

  “Technically he’s your step-nephew,” I said, pulling my dress pants up.

  “You’re just jealous because he likes me better.”

  “The kid’s four months old, and he hasn’t experienced doing real artwork with Uncle Jordan yet. Wait until he’s at least one; then the real fun begins.” I wiggled my eyebrows.

  “Please. Aunt Abbey will always be his favorite. She takes the pictures and will be the one sneaking chocolate,” Abbey said, grabbing her K1500 from the bedside table that I might or might not have used a time or two to get a really good shot of her coming out of the shower.

  She always said she hated it, but her smile said something different.

  The smile that I hope never faded.

  I might have fucked up royally when I left her after high school and in New York. Things weren’t as easy as I thought they would be, and starving artists were a dime a dozen, so no one was buying my shit. But being back in Friendship was like a breath of fresh air.

  I might not have been doing street art or walking around the busy city streets, but Texas women loved their online yard sales and Canton first Mondays. That was helping to pay the utilities and some other fixings on the old house.

  “Anyone I need to worry about coming?” I asked as Abbey slipped on her flats.

  The girl got more gorgeous every time I saw her. I still couldn’t believe I let the long-legged brunette go when I was a stupid kid. Even just a few months ago, I almost lost her just so I could try to make some money. So I could try to show her I wasn’t a complete failure at art and she could make her dreams as a photographer.

  But the girl was even greater than I gave her credit for, jumping at the opportunity to assist a Dallas photographer and start a small studio out of the sunroom that I may or may not have upgraded for her liking with paneled walls from the old barn and furniture for all the senior and newborn photos.

  We still went out for walks on the property, and I sketched the trees while she took pictures of the landscape. In the quietness, as I looked over at her, smiling and bending over to get the perfect shot, was when I would think about how damn lucky I was to get the girl who I thought got away forever.

  Abbey shook her head. “Just close family and the Conti’s. No Joey or Teagan. Or Christy, for that matter. She and Sofie are still just being cordial.”

  Friendship was a small enough town that we still saw the aforementioned pain in the asses who had almost ruined our relationship. But they made sure to stay far away from us, and from the grapevine, we heard Teagan was looking to stay in Austin after she graduated, which was just fine by me. The less drama, the better.

  “You ready?” Abbey asked, walking up and straightening my tie.

  “Ready.”

  ***

  The wedding was a small affair that took place at a lake, which should have been freezing balls in December, but in Texas, it was seventy and beautiful.

  Only a handful of people attended, and that was all they needed. These people were like family. Abbey’s family. She might have had a rough go around before, but the Conti’s, Dave, and Sofie were good people. I knew she’d be in good hands, and now, I knew I was in theirs too.

  After the wedding, everyone headed to Conti’s Italian restaurant in downtown Friendship for a lot of booze, food, and a little bit of dancing.

  Abbey somehow got roped into a big girls circle with her mom and Sofie, so I stood on the side, sipping my drink and watching my girl.

  “Cake’s pretty good, isn’t it?” a woman’s twang said next to me.

  I looked down at my untouched cake that was still in my hand. “Yeah. Real good.”

  The woman smiled. “Not as good as Abbey used to make at my bakery, but you know I think she’ll be my one that got away.”

  I laughed. “You must be Carla who owns Forever Sweet.”

  She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “And you’re Jordan, the one who stole my best baker.”

  I put my hands up. “Hey, all is fair in love and cupcakes.”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “I get it. I definitely get it. I just wish I could still have her, even part time. You know people have asked about her cakes and her to take smash cake photos for their kid’s first birthdays. If only there were a studio close by for her …”

  Carla tapped her fork on her chin.

  “You know, we have a studio in our house now. If you wanted, I’m sure she could leave some cards for you.”

  She waved her hand. “That’s almost twenty minutes out of town. I’m not sure people would go there.”

  “Oh, I bet they would for an Abbey Dillinger photograph.”

  Carla smirked. “Maybe. Or maybe they’d rather go to a place downtown. Maybe even a shop where someone could display their artwork …”

  I turned to fully face the petite redhead. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  She huffed. “Okay, well, I guess I can’t stop beating around the bush anymore.” She set her plate down and put a hand on her hip. “The boutique next door is going out of business. It’s a great location for a studio and gallery, and maybe I can even borrow Abbey to do a little bit of decorating at the bakery on occasion. There’s also a small loft space above the building that would be a great art studio or even an apartment to rent out if you needed it.”

  I blinked slowly, taking in everything she said. Instead of thinking or overthinking like Abbey would have, I did what I always did and put my hand out. “You got the keys or who am I calling?”

  Carla smiled, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  ***

  When I finally got Abbey to leave, instead of walking toward my truck, I walked her in the other direction of the boutique with a ‘going out of business sale’ sign in the window. Since it was Christmas Eve, the place was dark, save for some glimmering Christmas lights in the window.

  “Jordan? What are you doing? Are you that drunk? Your truck’s the other way!” Abbey proclaimed, her arm looped around mine as she gently squeezed my bicep.

  “We’re not going to my truck.” I smirked, pulling out a set of keys and putting it
inside the old lock, pushing open the door to inhale a big scent of something florally.

  “Jordan, what are you doing?” Abbey hiss-whispered and released me as I walked into the space, my dress shoes clicking on the old hardwood.

  There was exposed brick on each side with high beam ceilings that would be perfect for displaying taller work.

  “Yeah. I think those windows will be good for natural light shots and in the back where these dressing rooms are would be great maybe even for some boudoir sessions. Or we could even make this my art studio,” I said, walking toward a small curtained off area.

  Abbey shook her head, almost running behind me. “Jordan, what the hell are you talking about?”

  I turned toward her, putting my arms out. “This. This is us. Our future. Your photography studio. My art studio and gallery.”

  Her eyes widened. “Jordan! We can’t afford that! I put all my savings down on the house we’re still paying off, and though your stuff helps with the utilities and I’m doing okay with personal photography, it’s nothing that could afford this place.”

  I grinned, stepping forward, so we were toe to toe. “That’s where you’re wrong. The owner said she’d give me a good deal if you helped out with some cake decorating on the side.”

  She blinked. “Carla?”

  I nodded. “So what do you say, Abbey? Are we gonna let this place get away?”

  She leaned closer and wrapped her arms around my neck, whispering against my lips. “We’re never letting anything get away again.”

  About The Author

  Magan Vernon has been living off of reader tears since she wrote her first short story in 2004. She now spends her time killing off fictional characters, pretending to plot while she really just watches Netflix, and she tries to do this all while her two young children run amok around her Texas ranch.

  Website: www.maganvernon.com

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/maganvernon

  Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/authormaganvernon