Ain’t He Precious?

by Juliette Poe

  Jason actually blushes, which stands out starkly on his pale, freckled skin. “There’s a new restaurant there she’s been wanting to try.”

  “Well, you two have a great time,” I tell him as I take the seat he just vacated.

  He nods his thanks, claps Pap on the back, and says, “See y’all later.”

  After he’s gone, I raise my hand to the bartender and hold up a finger. Within moments, I have a draft beer sitting in front of me. Pap takes a five-dollar bill from the pile in front of him and pushes it toward the bartender.

  “Thanks, Pap,” I say as I take a sip of the beer.

  “Gonna be one of those nights?” he asks as he observes me lengthening my sip into a long chug.

  I swallow and set the mug down, nodding at him. “I think it just might be.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “What’s to talk about?” I say morosely, but then I go ahead and talk about it because I have to get it off my chest. “One minute, Ry and I are proclaiming all these feelings we still have. The next, he’s running off to take care of an ex-girlfriend, which is fine… I can understand that situation. But he was going to come this weekend, and I sort of figured we’d have this amazing talk and figure out how to make this work, and now he’s not coming because he’s got things that are more important than ‘us’, and I just get the sense that this thing is fizzling out like flat beer. And you know I hate flat beer.”

  “Who doesn’t hate flat beer?” Pap says in agreement.

  “You know what really bothers me though?” I say angrily as I turn to face him on my stool.

  “Nope, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” he says dryly.

  “It bothers me that I don’t have a freaking clue on how to make it work,” I say as I throw my hands up. “I just sort of figured maybe Ry would have the answer, and it would be all cool, you know? But he’s not even coming, and he’s supposed to have the answers, and I don’t have the answers, and yeah… I need to get drunk.”

  I know I sound ridiculous, childish, and even petty, but I can’t help it. Pap asked me what was wrong, so I told him.

  “You know you can’t depend on Ry for the answers, Trix,” Pap says wisely. “It can’t be a one-sided thing.”

  “No one around here will like my answer for the problem,” I grumble, and then take another long swig of my beer.

  “And what would your answer be?”

  “That I give up my practice in Whynot,” I say quietly. “Take the Massachusetts’ bar exam. Go live in Boston with Ry.”

  “Is that what you really want to do?” Pap asks. “Do you really think that’s the solution?”

  “It’s a solution,” I tell him, but even as I say the words, I’m not sure it’s the best solution for me. Can I really give up everything here? Can I leave my family who I adore beyond measure? Can I leave this town that, as crazy as it sounds, is actually a part of me?

  “Seems to me you need to prioritize,” Pap offers sagely.

  Yeah… no shit.

  “What’s more important… you staying here or keeping Ry in your life?” he presses me.

  “Keeping Ry in my life,” I answer automatically, and I know that’s the right answer the minute the words are out of my mouth. I may be all kinds of sad to leave this place behind, but when I search deep into my heart, I know that my true font of happiness is going to come from me being with Ry, regardless of where we live.

  “Then it seems to me that’s the right solution for you.”

  And it is.

  I know it is.

  Nothing that’s worth anything comes without a measure of sacrifice. Years ago, I didn’t sacrifice for the relationship I’d built with Ry. But now… I’m ready to.

  Now is the time.

  I pick up my beer and take three long slugs to finish it. When I set it down, I suppress a burp and tell Pap, “You know what… I think I’m going to catch a flight to Boston tomorrow and tell Ry this in person.”

  “Whoa,” Pap says loudly, causing me to jump. “Hold your horses.”

  “What?” I ask incredulously. “You just told me I found the answer to my problems. Why would I hold on going to him?”

  “Well… um… well, because…”

  I just stare at him, waiting for this man who is never at a loss for words to find them.

  “Because you should just sleep on it for a few days,” he finally stammers out.

  “Sleep on it a few days?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Yeah… you know,” Pap says. “Stay here, drink with me tonight, and we’ll hash it out more. Then, you can sleep on it a few days. Make sure this is really want you want.”

  “I already said it’s what I really want,” I say with narrowed eyes. “Now you’re telling me to think on it? I don’t think so. What do you know, old man?”

  “I know nothing,” he asserts, but he won’t meet my gaze.

  “You know something,” I say, leaning closer to him as I drum my fingers on the bar. “Now spill it… What do you know?”

  “Honestly, Trixie—”

  “Spill it, Pap,” I threaten him with a growl. “Or I’m going to Mary-Margaret and telling her you’ve got a long-standing crush on her, but you’re too chicken shit to do anything about it.”

  Pap gasps and rears backward on his stool. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would,” I say firmly.

  I have to suppress a grin as Pap flushes red and starts to babble about me being crazy. I let him go on for a bit. Mary-Margaret Quinn owns Aunty Q’s, which is an antique shop on Wilmington Street, just across the northeast corner from the courthouse square. Mary-Margaret is a lovely widow who Pap has been totally crushing on for as long as I can remember, but he must have left his balls in Vietnam because he won’t ask her out.

  “Pap,” I warn him.

  He stops mid-babble and throws his hands up. “Fine. Ry’s flying in tomorrow to surprise you. He told me not to tell you, but you’re damn relentless. Are you happy now?”

  Am I happy?

  Ry’s flying in to surprise me tomorrow?

  Hell yeah, I’m happy.

  I grin at Pap. “He’s really coming in tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” he grumbles and grabs his beer, pulling it in toward him almost protectively like I might threaten him with something else.

  “Why?” I ask, leaning toward him excitedly.

  “I have no clue,” he says, and I think that’s the truth.

  But just to be sure, I ask with a threatening tone, “You’re sure you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know, goddamn it,” he growls, his bushy eyebrows furrowing together.

  “Well, okay then,” I say with a bright grin as I raise my hand to signal I need another beer. “Let’s get drunk and celebrate.”

  “You’re such a brat,” Pap grumbles, but he picks up his beer and takes a healthy sip. “And don’t you threaten me about Mary-Margaret again. You’re not too young to take over my knee, you know.”

  “You’d totally throw your back out if you tried that,” I say confidently. “Besides, I can outrun you.”

  “Such a brat,” Pap mutters and takes another sip of beer.

  I just grin back at him. “I love you too, Pap.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Ryland

  This is only my second time driving into Whynot, but it feels sort of comforting. Not that I really know this town or the people, but Trixie is there and I guess that’s the reason for that “homecoming” feeling. Highway 117 is a curving two-lane road bordered by lone country houses and farmland, but as the last bend straightens, I see Miller’s Gas Station and Wine Shop come into view and know I’m almost there. Trixie told me they hold wine tastings there, but I’m not sure that’s something I can get on board with… drinking wine and eating cheese in a gas station.

  My heart rate accelerates slightly as I drive into town. I’d texted Trixie this morning and casually asked what she was up to today. She told me she had some work to catch up on, which
is the reason I’m heading into town versus out to the Mainer Farm.

  I can’t wait to see the look on her face because I went on to text her some bullshit about how I also had a ton of work to catch up on in the office. I figured that would make her feel a bit better about working on a Sunday, and it would also help to catch her completely off guard when I show up at her firm.

  I pass Aunty Q’s on my right and Lady Marmalade’s on my left. Courthouse square is directly in front of me, and I slow my car for the stop sign that governs 117 and Wilmington Street. Putting on my left blinker, I check traffic both ways. Seeing it’s clear, I start to ease into my turn. But my gaze goes back to the courthouse square with its lush green lawn shaded by oaks and pines, and I slam my brakes back on.

  Because right in front of me, sitting in a lawn chair, is Trixie. She grins at me as she pushes out of her chair, and my mouth falls open. I mean drops hard as my tongue practically rolls out of my head.

  She’s dressed in the tiniest denim shorts I’ve ever seen in my life and wearing a sleeveless red-and-white checked blouse that’s unbuttoned to reveal cleavage, and then tied off just below her breastbone to show her tan, flat stomach. She made the outfit utterly perfect by wearing a pair of brown cowboy boots and tying her hair in a high ponytail.

  And she stands there, hip cocked out as she holds a huge sign over her head that says:

  Welcome Back to Whynot, Ry.

  “What the hell?” I mutter, realizing I’m most certainly not catching Trixie off guard with this impromptu visit.

  Pap… that old, weak bastard for spilling my secret.

  I just sit there at the intersection as Trixie drops the sign to the grass and proceeds to walk my way.

  No, sashay my way, her hips swinging in such a way that I start to feel a tightening in my groin. She checks the street before she crosses it, and then walks to the driver’s side. I roll the window down, and she leans her elbows on the edge, bending down so I get a perfect look right at her full breasts that are practically falling out of that little blouse.

  “Hey, baby,” she purrs. “Welcome back.”

  “Got that from the sign,” I say hoarsely, forcing my eyes to move upward. “I’m guessing Pap told you I was coming?”

  “He didn’t just blurt it out to me,” she says in a protective way. “I knew he was withholding something from me, and I actually had to use some hardcore threats to get him to cough it up.”

  “Not nice, Trix,” I admonish her.

  She grins back at me.

  “Get in the car,” I tell her, jerking my head toward the passenger seat.

  Leaning a bit further in through my window, she whispers, “Don’t I get a kiss first?”

  “I’m afraid if I kiss you, I won’t stop,” I tell her honestly, my eyes briefly flicking back down to her breasts.

  Trixie frowns at me, pulling her lower lip in between her teeth for a moment as she considers what I just said. When it pops free, she pulls back from the window and says, “I probably shouldn’t make a spectacle of myself. I am the town lawyer, after all.”

  Turning, she struts around the front of my car, hips swaying again and ass practically hanging out the back, and all I can think is that she is a fantastic spectacle right now.

  When she gets in my passenger seat and closes the door, I tell her, “Love the outfit.”

  “I’ll wear it for you anytime,” she says sweetly.

  “I’ll take that kiss now.” I reach over, put my hand behind her neck, and pull her halfway across the center of the car to me.

  ♦

  I keep the conversation vague as I drive all the way around the courthouse and head back out of town on Highway 117. I know Trixie is curious and intrigued, but she doesn’t ask me where we’re going. I suspect she knows I have a purposeful agenda and she’s apparently content for me to reveal it, which is one of the things I’ve always admired about her.

  Her patience.

  Not sure if that’s because things move slower in the south in general, but Trixie has always been one of those women who didn’t need instant gratification—unless it was in the bedroom, and then I was always happy to oblige.

  We talk about the Ogletree case a bit and how happy Dan was with the settlement. I tell her the details of Jimmy leaving the firm and how we finally ironed out a fair buyout yesterday. She tells me that she’s concerned about Lowe painting the former Mainer house pink, and I tell her I scored tickets to a Red Sox game next weekend.

  I sneak a quick glance when I lay that on her and she frowns, because she infers I won’t be here next weekend.

  When I turn on my blinker, it seems to snap her to attention and she asks, “Why are we turning in here?”

  “Here” being a subdivision called The Heritage. We’re about twenty minutes outside of Raleigh, and it caught my interest as I was driving toward Whynot a bit ago. I pulled in and spent a few minutes looking around.

  “It’s nice, don’t you think?” I ask her as we slowly head down the main street that showcases large brick homes with double-car garages and perfectly manicured lawns.

  “Pretty houses,” she says as she stares out her window. “Kind of on top of each other, though, don’t you think?”

  “It’s a subdivision, Trix,” I admonish her. “Not everyone can live on a thousand acres of land.”

  “We don’t have a thousand acres,” she rebukes.

  “You know what I mean.” I flip on my right blinker and turn onto Sharpstone Lane, eventually coming to stop before a house that’s for sale.

  Reaching underneath my seat, I pull out the sales flyer I had snagged from the plastic holder attached to the ‘for sale’ sign on my first visit here. I push it at her, nudging her shoulder. She turns and takes the paper from me, looking down at it briefly before back to me with questions in her eyes.

  “It’s the sales flyer,” I say as I nod back to the paper. “Thirty-two-hundred square feet. Way larger than what we need, but the price is ridiculously good and it’s about halfway between Raleigh and Whynot.”

  “I’m lost,” Trixie mumbles without looking at the paper she’s now clutching into a ball.

  “I know,” I say sympathetically as I put the car in drive. I pull into the next driveway, back out again, and head out of the neighborhood. I notice from the corner of my eye that Trixie smoothes out the crumpled sales flyer and reads it.

  When I reach the main road, I head toward Raleigh.

  “So, what’s the game plan?” Trixie asks me.

  I give her a brief look. “You think I have a game plan?”

  She rolls her eyes and shakes the paper at me. “Obviously.”

  I laugh and put my hand on her bare leg, giving it a squeeze. “Well, first order of business is a hotel in Raleigh, because I’m horny as hell after seeing you in that outfit.”

  “But before then, how about telling me about this house and what you’re thinking?” she urges me.

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yeah, oh that,” she says sarcastically.

  “I was thinking I’d move here,” I say simply.

  Trixie doesn’t say anything, so I turn my head from the road briefly to look at her. Her mouth is hanging open, hope welling in her eyes. I smile and squeeze her leg again.

  “I’m not kidding you,” I say with a laugh.

  “You’d really move here?” she asks in awe.

  “Well,” I hedge slightly. “Not exactly to Whynot. But maybe halfway in between it and Raleigh. I talked to my partners this weekend about opening up a Raleigh branch of Hayes Lockamy.”

  “Seriously?” she gasps.

  “Seriously,” I assure her. “And there are a few who aren’t keen on the idea, but a few loved it, and I expect we’ll have some more hashing out to do. But if they don’t go for it, then I’ll just have them buy me out and start my own firm.”

  “But in Raleigh?” she asks as if she’s not quite comprehending.

  I hadn’t really intended to have this serious discus
sion while driving, and as I am winging this right now, I pull over onto the shoulder of the road and put the car in park.

  Turning in my seat to face Trixie, I drape an arm over the back of her seat. “Trix… I love you and I want to be with you. And coming to Whynot last week really let me see why it was so important for you to come back home. Now… I’m not ever going to be a small-town lawyer. I like the city life too much, so I think a good compromise is I’ll move down south with you. I’ll be the big-city lawyer, you be the small-town lawyer, and we’ll live halfway in between.”

  Trixie’s head drops, and she stares at her lap for a moment. When she looks back up, there’s a light sheen of tears in her eyes, and it actually makes me go gooey. The only time Trixie cries is during really sappy movies or when she sees a hurt animal.

  “Hey, now,” I say softly as I bring a hand to her face. My palm to her cheek, I ask, “Why the waterworks?”

  She gives a hard shake to her head and blinks her eyes furiously to dry them, but her voice quavers when she says, “I just… I feel like you’re giving everything up for me, and I’m being selfish.”

  “Let me ask you a question,” I say as I bring my hand from her cheek to cup her jaw. “Would you move to Boston if I asked you to?”

  “Yes,” she says unequivocally. “I told Pap that last night.”

  “Well, there you have it,” I tell her with a smile. “We both finally grew up and are willing to put our relationship first.”

  Her return smile is somewhat lukewarm. “But still… you’re giving up your life for me.”

  “No, I’m not,” I admonish her. “I’m giving up living in Boston. But my life is with you, so I’m gaining more than I’m giving up.”

  And that’s when I see it click on her face. The acceptance of what I’m saying and the understanding that this is the absolute best solution for both of us.

  “Wow… this is really happening?” she asks.

  “It’s happening,” I tell her. “Of course, not sure of the time frame. I really do have tickets to the Red Sox next weekend and I’d like you to come up for that, but I’m sure things will—”