by Melissa West
“But freaky behavior aside, we’ve been open for fifteen minutes, and we’ve already hit our daily sales goal.”
Sophie’s grin returned. “I could get used to this.” Then she headed toward the store.
“Where are you going?”
She winked over her shoulder. “To set up my first date with Zac Littleton.”
* * *
Zac couldn’t stop smiling. Which was a problem, really, because he was poring over the farm’s financials, and there was nothing there worth smiling about.
But Annie had called him twenty minutes earlier to recount her trip to Fresh Foods at Zac’s insistence and to ask why Sophie both hugged her and tried to kiss her and whether that meant she swung a certain way. Which, according to Annie, was perfectly fine—she thought marriage should be open to whoever the hell was stupid enough to go down that road—but she was too old for Sophie. And far too straight.
It’d taken him a half hour on the phone to convince Annie that Sophie was as straight as she was; Sophie was just showing her appreciation for the business and being nice, and since when did anyone in Crestler’s Key have an issue with hugging?
When Annie asked exactly how he knew of her sexual preferences, he had to close his mouth and think on that. Because the truth of it was that no woman interested in women would gawk at him shirtless the way Sophie had last night. There had been a change in the air, some unspoken attraction passing between them that had maybe always been there but neither had been willing to set free until that moment.
And now he couldn’t for the life of him rein it back in.
Now, an affronted Sophie, all wide eyes and round mouth, kept circling through his mind. With the number of hugs given out in this town, Sophie must have been shocked when Annie pulled away. Hell, even Zac was surprised at Annie, but this was Annie-Jean Carlisle, and though she liked to pretend to be a radical, she was as partial to locals as the rest of them.
Zac peered back at his laptop, the email he’d received from the farm’s accountant still open and all the horridness of the winter season there for him to see. U-Pick would speed up their financial recovery, but each year they needed a little more than the year before to survive. With the late freeze, Zac feared U-Pick wouldn’t turn the profit they needed, and the farm would go negative for the first time ever.
The pressure of it hit him in the chest, radiating to his left shoulder, and he rubbed the spot until it eased. Not for the first time, he worried that heart attacks were genetic and he was bound to suffer one any second. From stress, if nothing else.
Shaking off the thought, he leaned back in his leather desk chair and closed his eyes, trying to think positive thoughts because hell if negative ones did anything but make him feel worse. He’d just decided to call his brothers to talk it over when his cell vibrated against the desk, an unknown number flashing across the screen.
Never one to trust a number he didn’t know on his cellphone, he sent the call to voicemail and went back to his accountant’s document to search for a trend that they could monitor and improve upon. A few seconds passed, and the phone began to vibrate again, the same number flashing. Once again, he sent it to voicemail, a tinge of aggravation creeping up. What the hell? Was the telemarketer required to hear a voice before he or she could back off and move on to the next poor sap?
When a minute passed without another call, Zac thought the caller had moved on, but the phone began to vibrate again, this time the sound so loud in the otherwise silent office that Zac contemplated tossing his phone across the room, but he couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that. Zac was a lot of things, but explosive wasn’t one of them. That had always been Lora’s job. She was the yeller, not Zac.
He thought back to when they first began dating, how she would smile at anything, how her laugh was infectious, causing him and anyone around them to laugh, too. They were married six months later, which, looking back, could have been part of the problem—they didn’t really know one another. Yet those first few years were happy. Or at least they weren’t unhappy. No, the unhappy days and months and years showed their ugly heads later.
Lora would find some fault in everything, every moment and action. He could do nothing right. His tics, which used to make her grin, soon led to snide comments, then arguments so intense that Zac would have no choice but to shake his head and walk away. By that point, Zac had dedicated himself to his coaching job at the school and his new baby girl. He couldn’t imagine leaving Lora, even if she would scream at him to leave so often he’d been tempted to toss up his hands and say, “Fine. I’m out.” But Zac wasn’t a quitter, not in life and certainly not with his family.
Maybe that was why he’d been blind to her affair, why he never thought she would actually leave. Because he never would have left. Months after he watched her walk away, he wondered if he’d picked up his socks, if he’d placed the cap back on the toothpaste, if he’d tried a little harder, would she have stayed? But then he realized he deserved someone who wanted to stay in spite of his faults. Someone who loved him and Carrie-Anne so much that nothing could drive her away, and that person wasn’t Lora.
Now, he drew a breath to bring himself back to the moment, but instead of tossing the phone across the room like he wanted to do, he answered the call and immediately let the telemarketer have it.
“Look, I get it. You’re on some hourly bonus structure, and you’ve got to land a few callers to even make this job seem worth it. But I’ll tell you a secret—it will never be worth it. This is junk work, and you have to decide—either that’s fine or it’s not. But I’m not your guy today I don’t need knives or a new vacuum. I can’t donate any more money to the children who need water in wherever. I’m tapped out. And despite how that sounds, I’m not a jerk. I’m just responsible, and even the most giving people know that it’s about balance. So just call someone else, or better yet, I’ll give you twenty to not call the next person. Give that poor person a break for the day. How’s that sound? Let me know when you’re ready for my card number.”
But instead of a monotone voice on the other end, his request was met with barely contained laughter. He closed his eyes as a strange relief washed over him.
“Whoa, that was something else,” Sophie said, her voice light.
“All right, then, have your fun. Laugh away.”
“I am. Loudly. Come to think of it, I might have just alarmed the neighbors. Oh wait, you’re the neighbor. Can you hear me laughing way over there at Littleton Farms?”
“You’re hysterical.”
“And you’re crazy, but I guess we all have problems. Man, that was like a look into one of your psych sessions or something. Do you always go off on telemarketers like that, or did I just strike you at the wrong time? And can I have that twenty you promised? I won’t call Glenda next if that helps secure it.”
“You know, I’m regretting helping you more and more each second.”
At that the laughter died down, but he could still hear the smile in her voice, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself. “Fine. I’m done.”
“Great.”
“So thank you for helping me today. Whatever you did—that lie, whatever—to get Annie-Jean over here. She bought every green apple I had, probably a few red ones, too. Kind of hated me a bit as she did it, but still, it was amazing. And so, okay.”
Zac sat forward and propped his elbows up on the desk that had once been his father’s and in his head always would be. “Okay what?”
“Okay, you proved you’ll keep your end of our little agreement. So will I. How’s tonight?”
“How’s tonight for what? I’m starting to think I’d rather you’d been the telemarketer after all. At least then I’d have given my money and been done with it.”
“How much money do these people guilt you into giving them? You know they do that on purpose.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. I used to make calls for my college when I was a sophomore and
couldn’t afford to eat anything but ramen and peanut butter. Took that job and discovered that those people keep a file from here to Alaska on everything they’ve ever picked up about you. Where you work, your interests, your family, the exact thing said during the last call that made you pony up. Though I guess in this case, the telemarketer would have written, said nothing, called a crazy person.”
“Ha ha.”
She giggled again, and Zac contemplated asking her not to say anything else for a minute so he could hold onto the sound for a bit longer. He wasn’t sure why he loved her laugh so much or when exactly he had started loving it, but there was a pureness to the sound, a freedom that made Zac wish his laughs felt the way hers sounded.
“So, as I was saying—how’s tonight?”
“Um, cloudy with a chance of rain? I have no idea what you’re asking me.”
“The dating thing. God. Do you need it spelled out for you? You said to help me around town I had to date you. So I am. Now, again, slower this time—hooow iiiiis toniiiiiiiigggght?”
“You want to go out tonight.”
“Might as well get this show started.”
“Do you realize you speak in expressions, or do they just pour out of you?”
“Guess you’ll have to find out tonight. Want me to pick you up? How’s seven?”
“Wait, no. I can pick you up. It’s—”
“Don’t tell me you’re into that male chauvinistic crap, where a man has to do all the male things and a woman has to do all the woman things?”
“I didn’t say that, but—”
“Then it’s settled.” A jingle hit his ears, and Sophie called out a hello. “Gotta run, have a customer. See you at seven, lover.” And then she hung up, Zac’s head still reeling from whatever the hell had just happened.
He closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair, excitement coursing through him as he glanced down at his watch. Three hours and counting until he went on his first date with Sophie.
Chapter Seven
Sophie stared at her reflection in her bedroom vanity and reached a hand out to glide over the aged mirror, her mind thinking back to watching Nana brush her long white hair before the very same mirror. She ached to go see Nana now and decided to pop over to the nursing home where she lived tomorrow.
Nana had developed Alzheimer’s three years ago, and for a year, Sophie tried to manage it on her own. Then she hired someone to stay at the house with them, but soon she realized Nana’s care demanded more attention and more trained professionals. It had broken Sophie into pieces to walk away from Nana at the nursing home, to listen as she screamed for Sophie to come back, to not abandon her. Sophie barely made it to her car before she burst into tears.
But soon Nana’s fragile memory forgot Sophie entirely. Forgot that her daughter even had a daughter. To Nana, Sophie’s mother was still a teenager, too beautiful for her own good and bringing Nana more heartache and headache than any parent should have to suffer.
For a while, Sophie could go see Nana without upsetting her, but the truth was, Sophie looked so much like her mother that Nana would often fall into some old memory and end up crying or yelling. And if Sophie tried to be herself, Nana would grow frightened and confused, which always led to intervention from one of the nursing home staff.
So it had taken Sophie a long time to come to terms with the fact that she was more harm than good when it came to Nana, and the best she could do was check in on her from a distance—visits without actually saying anything other than a hello, never hugging her or kissing her wrinkled cheek. It ripped the tear in her heart a little bit more every time she visited, but she couldn’t bring herself to not go at all. Not going felt like abandonment, and even if Nana didn’t know Sophie, she still needed someone who knew her and loved her.
But now, as she ran a hand down her long waves, the layers Donna had put in to keep her fine hair fuller, Sophie wondered what Nana would say about her dating Zac Littleton just to grow her business. Would she approve like Glenda? Or would she shake her head in shame. The crappy part about it was that Sophie’s motives weren’t simple, which made her feel both better and worse.
Sure, she wanted the town to like her, but what she really wanted was for them to like her for her, not because of her association with Zac. It hurt to think that they didn’t like her, because Sophie was a nice, caring person. So why didn’t they like her?
The whole thing brought back all those feelings of inadequacy from when she was a kid, her on the swings watching all the other girls chasing after the boys or playing princesses, but never allowing Sophie to play. She was a tiny thing back then, with crooked teeth that probably looked a little yellow because at seven she’d never been to the dentist, and clothes that were always a little too short or tight or had holes in them that she couldn’t hide. She wore sandals long past warm weather because her sneakers would be too small and hurt her feet. Her father was a police officer who’d been shot and killed during a drug raid, and it’d torn her mother apart.
Sophie was five years old when it happened, and although her mother wasn’t an evil person, she wasn’t exactly good either. She didn’t hit Sophie or drink or allow random men in the house. She just didn’t love her. Or at least not as much as she loved herself. Nana would send money all the time, but that money never trickled down to Sophie or her needs. Eventually, Nana started buying Sophie things instead of providing money, always asking what she needed—school supplies or new shoes. Nana never bought anything fancy, but when Sophie was used to wearing things that didn’t fit, clothes from Wal-Mart felt like luxury.
Sophie probably had her mother to blame for her love of fashion—shoes, clothes, accessories. But the difference between Sophie and her mother was that Sophie refused to go into debt over these things, and she certainly wouldn’t allow her child to go without so she could get a new handbag. People acted like there were only a handful of true addictions in the world—drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever. But Sophie knew better.
An addiction was anything a person couldn’t step away from, anything that hindered her ability to handle the responsibilities of her life. And Sophie’s mother’s addiction had been shopping.
Shaking off the thought before she became bitter, Sophie stood and peered at her simple, flowy tank dress; the teal tone of the dress paired with pink and ivory jewelry had a decidedly feminine vibe that made Sophie smile. The fact that she’d scored the jewelry at the market in Charleston, handmade and for only ten bucks, made her even happier.
Hopefully Zac will like it.
But even as the thought hit her, Sophie’s eyes went wide, and she pointed at her reflection. “Oh, no, missy. None of that business here. You keep this casual, understand? Ignore the force!”
And now she was talking to herself.
But she couldn’t help it. It’d been a long time since Sophie had gone on a date, and though this wasn’t real, it felt real. She had that swirly butterfly feeling in her stomach. Her hands kept going clammy, despite her washing those suckers two or three times to try to rinse away the panic. That nervous first date feeling was there, a reality, enough that Sophie contemplated calling Zac and backing out. Because this all felt so familiar, and familiarity wasn’t something Sophie wanted to ever experience. Especially not with men.
Drawing a long breath, Sophie lifted her chin and told herself silently she was strong. That no matter what, Zac’s opinion didn’t define her. That she would go on this date and smile and enjoy herself. For her, not him. And that she wouldn’t, under any circumstances, fall for him.
“It’s just a fake date, no big deal,” she said, aloud this time, because her hands were still clammy and her heart was picking up speed in her chest. “And he’s nice. Okay, maybe not nice. But not bad. He’s not bad.”
Unlike him.
Sophie shook the thought away before it could bring her down. It had been so long since she allowed herself to think about the life she had left behind that when she did it often resulted in
self-doubt and worry.
People talked about addicts and abusers as though they were easy to identify and their markings easy to see, but that wasn’t always the case. Addiction could hide behind a church-going smile, abuse behind a gentle touch and an even gentler voice. Because some of the most harmful things in life weren’t shouted or thrown, awakening your inner protector. Oh no, those types of people would never be so obvious. Instead, they crept in, step-by-step, inch after inch, until they rested comfortably in your subconscious, stealing your identity. Stealing your mind.
Let me see your progress.
Sophie tried to keep the image from seeping into her mind, but it snuck in without warning—her before a floor-length mirror, naked except for her underwear, black Sharpie lines drawn around the excess inches on her thighs and stomach. Permanent so she would be forced to see it for days and remember the work she needed to give those areas.
Closing her eyes, Sophie drew a breath, then snapped her eyes back open and stared at herself. “You are intelligent. You are kind. You are driven. You are beautiful. You are worthy.” Her bottom lip shook, and she blinked back tears before they made a mess of her makeup. “And it’s just a fake date.”
She just needed to get in her car and drive over to pick up Zac. Because there was no way she would go out without her car, without a way to leave. That trust ship sailed long ago, and if he wanted her to do this thing, then he’d have to accept a few of her tics, and transportation was one of them.
Grabbing for a tissue, Sophie blotted the corners of her eyes, then picked up her all-natural blush brush and swiped another bit of peachy coral pink across the tops of her cheekbones and down the bridge of her nose. Okay, done.
Then she turned away from her reflection and the pain it showed her, grabbed her keys from the key hook and set off for her Mini Cooper, every step away from the mirror like a jolt of oxygen to her lungs, revitalizing both her body and her mind. She’d have to remember not to linger there so long next time.