by Remy Blake
Walking naked to my room, I flip on my bedroom light as I step inside. The far wall is mostly glass, but I’m not worried about anyone seeing in. There are no nearby neighbors to spy on me. Aside from some wild animals in the woods behind my house, there’s nothing around. It’s just me and the natural beauty of nature on all sides.
When I designed this house, I added large windows and lots of thick wooden beams to complement the outside. The inside feels like a ski lodge, and the ten foot stone fireplace in the living room just adds to the effect when a fire is blazing inside. But right now it’s late spring and the temperature is warming up daily. The season for lighting fires is over and pretty soon it will be time to open the windows and let the cool night breeze in.
I slip on some boxer briefs and climb under the covers on my bed. Sybil, my white cat jumps up, padding over to knead her paws on my chest. Purring deeply, she lays down on top of me, closing her eyes. I scratch behind her ears how she wants and it almost looks as though she’s smiling at me. “You’re my pretty little kitty. What would I do without you?” I use my fingernails to comb through the soft fur under her chin. She arches her neck and her purr becomes deeper like the rumble of a motorcycle. My mind wanders to the picture of LadyLuc and how staring at her sparkling eyes made me feel connected to her in some strange way. I have to get to know this girl.
Sybil nudges my hand, being the demanding little diva she is. “I know. It’s just you and me. We don’t need anyone else, do we?”
5
Lucy
The bell above the door sounds throughout the shop announcing someone’s arrival. A quick glance at the clock on the wall lets me know that closing time is fast approaching. As a result of the positive change in mom’s condition, I’ve finally been able to return to my full time work schedule.
The biggest florist in town, combined with the most popular coffee shop; Tea and Leaves has been my second home for as long as I remember. A place I took for granted growing up, became my saving grace when adulthood descended on me abruptly. Mom had worked here my whole childhood, and when I needed a job, Mrs. Spinner, the owner gave it to me no questions asked. As she got closer to retirement, she offered mom and me to buy her out and be the new owners. She said it wouldn’t be Tea and Leaves without the Walker women. So we made it happen, and it was the best decision we ever made.
Even though I am the older sibling, I was never as focused on school as Avery. I took every day as it came and was all about living in the moment. I was a free spirit. Creative and chaotic, I was content with going with the flow, certain that wherever life took me was exactly where I was supposed to be.
My mother always said it was single handedly my best and worst trait. On one end, it meant I never made plans. And on the other, it made it easier to adapt and adjust to anything that came my way. Mom calls me The Chameleon.
“Hello Mr. Lowe, you’re in late today.” Slowly making his way to the front counter, his usual chirpy demeanour is replaced by that of a frail and tired old man. “Are you okay?”
“No need to worry about me,” he dismisses, and I take a mental note to check with Greta, my full time florist, how he’s been the last few weeks I’ve been away. “I assume you being here means your mother is doing well?”
“Yes,” I respond excitedly. “Things are really looking up.”
“That’s wonderful, dear.” Leaning on the counter he places a hand on top of mine, “you don’t deserve to have so much on your plate at such a young age.”
Working at a place like Tea and Leaves is more than putting flowers together and serving drinks. It’s the simplest form of comfort and safety I have to offer the town I call home. A witness to both the happy and the sad parts of one’s life, flowers give respect to the different forms of love and loss people endure. And a hot drink, is the easiest way to have people spilling their secrets. These four walls are a vault, and in exchange for all their stories, it means they know all of mine.
“Oh, Mr. Lowe, I’m doing really well. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” Walking over to the display of gerberas, I pretend to mull over which flower to choose.
“Just the same this week, Luce. You know which ones Mary loves.” Searching through the different colors before me, I select only the best of the bunch. Holding four of each, I soon have a beautiful multicolored arrangement that would make any woman swoon.
Mr. and Mrs. Lowe have been some of our most loyal customers. Through different owners, renovations and every life event there is, they are either stopping in for cake and a coffee, or showing each other how much love they have for one using the simplest gestures.
Adding the finishing touches to the bouquet, I wrap a thick white ribbon around the base of the stems. “Mrs. Lowe is one lucky woman,” I say, handing them over.
“Not at all,” he chuckles. “It’s me who’s lucky to have her. Men were falling at her feet any chance they got; I never take for granted that she chose to spend the rest of her life with me.” The reverence and adoration in his voice pulls at my heartstrings. I wouldn’t know what a successful relationship is, or what it means to be in love. It’s not something I crave, or seek, but if there was ever a chance; I want someone to love me like that.
“Don’t worry dear, one day a man will realize how lucky he is to have you and that young boy of yours in his life.”
I cringe at the thought of being misunderstood, but realize there’s no use in trying to explain it. Lately it seems every conversation ends up with someone trying to impart their friendly advice on my love life, and now with Wes and Avery slowly taking steps in that direction, it seems everyone wants a happy ever after for the Walker sisters.
“Thank you, Mr. Lowe,” I say with a fake smile on my face. “I’ll see you next week.”
Sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, I wait patiently for mom to come back from her routine, weekly check ups. Every alternate week, I’ve driven here with mom, straight after work, while Ave and Wes have Jeremiah time. When they’re done they meet us at home to see mom, and like a well practiced relay, we go on with our attempt at perfectly scheduled lives, till the next week.
Suspiciously checking my surroundings, I grab my cell from my bag and open the Timber app. After talking to Avery, and seeing how happy she and Wes are together I decided this might not be such a bad idea. Even if I don’t see being able to give myself to someone completely, the app gives me the privacy to not have to share the experience with anyone else. And I don’t have to leave my house to find out whether or not someone is worth the effort. Truthfully, for someone as busy as me, this is the only way I’m ever going to break my dry sex spell. And if it doesn’t work out, nobody will know but me - no harm, no foul.
I see a few messages that I choose to ignore, hoping that the online bio’s that read “want to know what fourteen inches feels like?” are automatically generated bots, and not that people of the opposite sex have completely lost their minds. Firstly, we all know your dick isn’t that big, and secondly I would be more likely to believe you if you could manage some simple pleasantries. I stop at one that’s ten days old, chuckling that someone would use Magnus Andersen as their username. He might be the name and face of Lumberjack Love, but there’s no way in hell a guy like him would be short on women.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I open up the message to see if it’s any more endearing than Fred with the fourteen inches. I’m surprised to see an abundance of succinct, awkward texts.
Magnus Andersen: Hi
Magnus Andersen: My name’s Magnus
Magnus Andersen: Shit, you already knew that.
Magnus Andersen: Sorry, I’ve never done this before. I just came across your profile and you caught my attention
Magnus Andersen: Fuck, I’m rambling and you’re not responding.
Magnus Andersen: I’m just going to let this go. Sorry for bothering you
A sneaky smile threatens to appear on my face, as I read his last message.
&nbs
p; Magnus Andersen: You should know you’re beautiful.
Letting myself indulge in the compliment, I type out a message to the awkward yet adorable fake Magnus.
LadyLuc: Thank you
6
Magnus
The blaring bull horn alarm I set repeatedly assaults my ears and stirs me from a deep slumber. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I swipe my finger to the right and end the ear splitting noise. Squinting my unfocused eyes, I key in my passcode and open up the Timber app. My eyes blink repeatedly as I try to see who sent me a message since the last time I logged on. I scroll through the numerous names until I stop on the one I’m looking for - the one I didn’t dare hope for. Lady Luc. There it is, plain as day. After almost two weeks of not hearing from her I figured I never would and I didn’t dare allow myself to hope because I imagined it would only be a waste of time.
Oh shit. She answered.
What now?
I drop my phone onto my bed like it’s a ball of fire melting the skin from my bones. I can’t believe she replied. Closing my eyes, I scrub my hand up and down my face and will myself to calm down. She’s just some woman I don’t even know. What will it matter if she doesn’t like my reply? We’ll never meet in person anyway. Stroking the hair on my chin, I think about what some of the pros of answering Lady Luc’s message might be.
Maybe I can use this experience to sharpen my small talk skills. I’m more than a little rusty and with typing I won’t have to worry about nerves bringing my stutter out. Nodding my head, I turn onto my side and smile. Reaching for my phone, I key in the pin while mentally composing a reply at the same time.
Magnus Andersen: You’re welcome.
Fuck. I grimace as I reread my message. How lame can I be? Immediately my thumbs tap on the screen and I send another one.
Magnus Andersen: Just thought you should know.
Double fuck. This one might be more lame than the last. Groaning with frustration, I roll to my back and stare up at the smooth white ceiling. Picturing Lady Luc’s naturally beautiful face helps the anxious rolling in my stomach to calm. She doesn’t look like someone who would shut me down for a few fumbling texts and if she is I might as well find out now. Energized with a renewed sense of purpose, I type out another message.
Magnus Andersen: What’s your sign baby?
As soon as the cheesy words appear on the screen I break out into laughter and my eyes squeeze shut. I have no intention of sending this to her. I’m just amusing myself while I work on figuring out what I want to say. Snapping my eyes open, I know it’s time to get down to business. Raising the phone in front of me, I get ready to delete the jesting message, but it’s not there. Where the fuck is it? No. No. No. I’m afraid to look because I already know exactly where it disappeared to. Scrolling down the chat, I see that the message didn’t get deleted like I wanted, instead it got posted to our chat. Fuck me.
Not likely with the way I’m going.
My fingers rake through my hair as I growl out my frustration.
Maybe it’s not so bad.
Maybe she didn’t see it yet.
Glancing at the screen, I grimace when I notice she has indeed seen my message. My thumb flies over the screen as I type out some sort of damage control before it’s too late.
Magnus Andersen: That was a joke meant for me, not you. I didn’t mean to send it.
Waiting for her to reply seems like hours instead of the minute it actually takes.
LadyLuc: Do you joke with yourself often?
Magnus Andersen: I do. Is that weird? Someone’s got to appreciate my sense of humor. Who better than me?
LadyLuc: What’s wrong with your sense of humor?
Magnus Andersen: Nothing according to me, lol. But I guess some might say I have a dry sense of humor.
LadyLuc:What does that mean exactly? Is that just another way to say it’s odd?
Magnus Andersen: You might be onto something. Maybe no one wanted to hurt my feelings and tell me I’m just weird.
LadyLuc: What other things do you do with yourself?
Magnus Andersen: That’s a personal question for so soon in our Timbering. For those answers you’re going to have to put in more time and at least let me buy you dinner first.
LadyLuc: Hmm. dinner huh? I’m not sure dinner is what I have in mind. But we can continue our “Timbering” and see what happens.
Smiling at my phone screen like a loon, I type out my reply.
Magnus Andersen: Sounds like a plan. Have a great day.
I flip the covers back on the bed and slide to my feet. It’s time to begin my day and put an end to all this lazing around. After all, time waits for no man.
A steaming hot shower is usually just what I need to get the blood flowing and wake me up, but this morning it’s not enough to do the trick. Ambling into my large kitchen I find Cam seated at the large island, a newspaper spread out before him and a cup of coffee in hand.
“Good morning Mags,” he says cheerily.
“Hmm,” I grunt in reply as I grab a coffee mug from the cabinet.
“Feeling a little rough this morning are we? Did you and that sexy friend of yours drink a little too much last night?”
“No. Chase and I worked out and then he left. No drinking at all.” I practically moan from the sound the dark stream of coffee makes trickling from the Keurig into my cup. I can already taste the richness and my taste buds are salivating in response.
“Now that I’d like to see. Chase all sweaty - how hot.” He fans his face with his now folded newspaper.
Glancing side eye at him, I grimace. “Cam, I thought we had an agreement. I don’t want to hear how you think my friends are hot, swoon worthy, drool worthy or any of the other adjectives you like to drop in front of me.”
Cam, chuckles. “I know, but it’s so fun to see the expression of distaste on your face.”
“I’ve seen Chase naked. Trust me it’s not that impressive.” I smile into my coffee mug knowing full well that Cam will bring this up to Chase at some point. While I’ve never seen Chase naked nor do I want to, I’ll take any opportunity to fuck with him for sure.
“You had to ruin it for me.” He shakes his head. I bite my bottom lip to hold in the laugh that wants out in the worst way. I can already picture the expression of outrage on Chase’s face when he finds out. I can’t wait to see it live.
“What’s going on in my schedule today? I have to finish up clearing that house lot on Bedford Street. Do I have anything tonight?”
“No, but I wanted to touch base with you about a few things which is why I’m here at seven o’clock.”
“I do have a phone, you know?”
“I know, but then I’d have to do without the privilege of seeing all this,” Cam says, gesturing up and down my frame.
“Cam,” I warn. But he knows he’s too valuable for me to fire. I can deal with his innuendo and outrageous comments if it means having someone as dependable as he is to keep me organized.
“I know. I know. I can look, but I shouldn’t mention it.” He waves a hand in the air. “Anyway, back to business now. Your Twitter is up to two point five million followers now and your Instagram is at six point eight million; this is a substantial growth in the past month and I’m sure it has to do with you being named the face of Timber.”
“Mm,” I murmur and take another sip of the steaming hot coffee. My eyes close as I swallow down the dark brew. It’s so strong, I can practically feel it putting hair on my chest.
“I know you don’t really grasp the importance of what I’m saying, but Mags it’s great news. More people are learning who you are on a daily basis and your popularity is growing. This will all lead to more offers and more money.”
“I don’t need more money.” I shrug. “I have my house, my truck, my bike and food to eat. What more do I need?”
“Oh I don’t know. A vacation house in Maui, maybe?” Cam replies.
“No, you want a vacation home in Maui. I don’t.” I
arch a brow at him.
“You’re right; I do. Can you make that happen for me?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“The next time you want to turn down a job, think about my vacation home instead of being selfish.”
“I’ll keep that in mind from now on.”
7
Lucy
Magnus Andersen: What do you mean why is my user name Magnus Andersen?
Magnus Andersen: That’s my name
Me: Really? You expect me to believe that Magnus Andersen is using Timber?
Magnus Andersen: Yes.
Me: Sorry, I don’t buy it. And if you’re lying about your name then….
Magnus Andersen: Then??
Me: What else are you lying about?
My sanctuary of silence is disrupted as Avery’s voice blares through the house.
“Okay, we’re never taking Jeremiah to football practice again.”
Slipping my cell into the back pocket of my jeans, I pretend to be more focused on slaving away over dinner than texting Mr. Mysterious.
The messages are inconsistent and have no rhyme or reason. We both seem to be insanely busy and finding the time to have a decent conversation is becoming impossible. But every time I see his name on my screen, I can’t help but be intrigued.