Undone

by Rebecca Shea

  “Hi, I’m Lindsay. Your boy Sam here is either trying to get me drunk or kill me.” Reagan laughs and pats Sam’s back.

  “Hey, hey… in my defense, I just told her about Mac.”

  “I’ll make sure the next one isn’t so bad.” She winks at Lindsay. Our eyes meet, but I just sip my beer and look away, casually. Play it cool. Matt stands up immediately, and reaches over the tall pub table to shake her hand.

  “I’m Matt; nice to meet you,” he offers.

  “Nice to meet you too,” she responds, glancing at me again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.”

  “We were here last night,” Matt corrects her.

  “You were?”

  “Yep.” Matt smiles and shrugs at her. “Thought we’d come back and check it out again.” Sam has since quietly disappeared now that Reagan is here, and I notice Lindsay scanning the bar, looking for him.

  “Landon.” I nod and offer my hand to her. Hesitantly, she reaches out and takes it in hers.

  “Reagan.” She smiles.

  “Nice to meet you, Reagan.” I hold her hand firmly in place. It’s soft, yet her grip is firm. She makes no effort to pull away and I make no effort to let her go.

  “Likewise,” she answers quietly with a tight swallow.

  The band that has been taking a break since we walked in finally starts playing a song. Lindsay jumps up from the table and grabs Matt’s hand, dragging him up.

  “Dance with me!”

  “I don’t dance,” he grumbles.

  “It’s easy. Just take my lead.” She drags him to the dance floor. I finally release Reagan’s hand and she raises it to her chest, then to her neck, holding it as if she was checking her pulse. I notice a flush spread across her neck and I can’t help but grin as I finish off my beer. When I set down my mug, Reagan refills it from the pitcher.

  “I should probably go check on the other tables before Sam scares everyone off.” She smiles. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, trying to appear unaffected by her. But I am. There’s something sweet and innocent about her. Physically, she reminds me a lot of Jess, the only girl I think I have ever cared for—but let go.

  Reagan is tall with long, dark hair, just like Jess. She carries herself with a softness in her demeanor and a little insecurity, just like Jess. Although she appears to be a little older, most likely in her mid-twenties, that seems to be the only noticeable difference between the two women.

  Sliding into their chairs Matt and Lindsay both stare at me, waiting for me to say something.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Is she why we’re here?” Lindsay asks coyly. I smirk and take a drink of beer.

  “Maybe.”

  “Jesus, Lan, I did a double take there for a second, she reminds me so much of…”

  “Linds,” Matt cuts her off. He’s tired of my sorry ass still moping around because of Jess. It’s been a year since she’s moved back to California and she’s now engaged. While I know I did the right thing in letting her go, I can’t help but wonder what if I could have been the man she needed? What if I could have changed for her? But I know I couldn’t, or wouldn’t. I would have hurt her. I would have drawn her in and pushed her away, because that’s what I do. But more importantly, I knew I never had her heart. It had always belonged to someone else.

  “It’s okay. I thought the same thing when I saw her last night. The similarities are uncanny.”

  “No shit,” Lindsay snorts, taking a long pull of her drink through the skinny straw.

  “Jesus, Lindsay, you’re so fucking blunt,” Matt says, finishing off the beer in his mug. I laugh because I’m used to it—it’s Lindsay.

  “So what, I’ve got a thing for tall, leggy brunettes.” I shrug.

  “You don’t have to say that twice,” Matt interjects. Lindsay smacks Matt’s shoulder and shakes her head. “And this is why we find ourselves at Mac’s bar on a Saturday night.” Matt motions with his head toward Reagan, who is squeezing through the groups of people standing around the tables.

  “She seems really nice,” Lindsay says, finishing her drink. She shakes the tall empty glass and the ice cubes rattle together. “Well, would you look at that,” she says sarcastically. “Looks like I need another drink.” She cranes her neck, looking for Reagan. As she gets her attention and waves her over to our table, Lindsay smirks at me.

  “Reagan, can I get another Grey Goose and cranberry? And as much as I love them, I’d like to be able to walk out of here in a few hours, so maybe ask Mac to take it easy on the vodka pour.” Reagan laughs.

  “Of course.” Examining our half-full pitcher of beer, Reagan looks between Matt and me. “Is there anything else you two need?”

  “I’ll take a glass of ice water. I’m driving tonight,” Matt explains. Reagan looks at me, waiting for me to answer.

  “No thanks, I’m good—for now. I’m sure I’ll want something later.” The remark is laced with undertones and Lindsay kicks me under the table while Matt lowers his head and laughs. Regan gives me a little smirk and shakes her head while clearing the glasses off the table. Leaning into me, she whispers, “Then maybe I’ll be back later.” I catch my breath as her long hair sweeps across my cheek and her arm brushes against mine. But as she turns to leave, she smirks and says over her shoulder, “Or maybe I won’t.”

  The rest of the evening, Reagan stays busy helping the tables and standing-room-only guests at Mac’s. Lindsay drags poor Matt to the dance floor numerous times, trying to teach him to two-step, and the poor guy looks miserable. But being the stand-up guy that he is, he won’t tell Lindsay no.

  Last call was announced fifteen minutes ago, and Matt, Lindsay, and I finish off our waters. The bar started emptying when the band stopped playing about half an hour ago.

  “So are you going to ask her for her number?” Lindsay asks, noticing Reagan clearing beer bottles off a nearby table.

  “I don’t normally ask for phone numbers; they usually find their way to me,” I remark, trying to remember the last time I actually asked a woman for her phone number.

  “Well, if you don’t go ask for this one, I have a feeling you’re leaving empty handed.” Lindsay giggles, then hiccups.

  Matt stands up and reaches for Lindsay’s arm to steady her as she slides off the barstool. “We’ll wait for you outside. Take your time,” he says, guiding Lindsay toward the door.

  “Bye, Reagan.” Lindsay waves as they pass her. Reagan smiles at Lindsay and turns back to look at our table, where I’m still seated. She smiles at me and cocks her head to the side in confusion as she walks toward me. She’s juggling a handful of empty beer bottles in each hand.

  “They gonna leave you here?” She laughs.

  “No, they’re just waiting for me outside.” She watches me intently as I sit, running my finger around the rim of the beer mug. Setting the beer bottles down on the table, she runs her long fingers across the pockets of her jeans, wiping her hands.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you, Landon. Maybe I’ll see you here again sometime.” She smiles at me and picks up the beer bottles, and turns to walk away.

  “Wait,” I blurt out. Fuck, why is this making me nervous? She stops and turns around, yet she’s still a good four paces away—too far away. I want her closer.

  “I was hoping I could get your number. Maybe I can call you sometime.” Her eyes flit nervously to the floor, then back to mine.

  “I don’t give my phone number out at work, but it was really nice to meet you.” She backs away slowly and offers me a small smile. I can’t remember the last time someone told me no. I shake my head and laugh quietly at the rejection. Taking the last swallow of my beer, I stand to leave.

  Walking toward the door, I stop and look at Reagan, standing behind the bar. Her long hair hangs down the middle of her back, and she stands with her hands on her hips. Talking to Sam and Mac, her head falls back slightly as she laughs at something one of them
has said. She stands barely a head shorter than Sam, and at eye to eye with Mac, putting her easily at close to five-foot-nine. Her cheeks are rosy pink, presumably from the warmth inside the bar. She’s stunning. Looking up, she catches me looking at her and smiles at me. I smile back and step outside to the nearly empty parking lot.

  Matt and Lindsay are sitting on the hood of Matt’s Tahoe, waiting for me. Lindsay is leaning on Matt and resting her head on his shoulder.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask. Matt shrugs and lifts his finger over his mouth to shush me.

  “She leaned on me and passed out.”

  “She wasn’t that drunk,” I mention, trying to recall how many drinks she had.

  “I didn’t think so either, but she made a couple of comments about how strong they were. Here, open the back door; I’ll get her in the car.” Matt lifts Lindsay’s head and slides down off the hood of the truck. In one motion, he’s carrying her to the back seat. Setting her in the truck, she mumbles something as Matt buckles her in.

  “So did you get her number?” he asks me with a grin.

  “Uh no, actually.”

  “What? You struck out?”

  “Hardly, brother. She’s just going to be a little more difficult than I thought.”

  “Difficult, huh?” He laughs at me as he shuts the door after securing Lindsay. “So what did she say?”

  Grunting and rubbing my hands over my face, I look at Matt and sigh loudly.

  “I asked her for her number, and she said she didn’t give her number out at work. I assume she doesn’t date customers.”

  “So what’s your plan? What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll ask her again.”

  “And if she says no again?”

  “Then I’ll ask her again, and again, and again until she finally says yes.”

  “What if she never says yes?”

  “She will.”

  I’m confident that she will. I saw the way she looked at me. I felt the connection when we shook hands, when we talked, when her arms brushed mine. Something was holding her back, but I know that she will come around eventually. Matt and I both turn to see where the sounds of voices and laughing that fill the quiet parking lot are coming from.

  Sam, Reagan, Mac, and a couple of other people stand in a small circle, laughing and talking. Mac locks up the front door to the bar while Sam and Reagan stand waiting for him, saying their goodbyes to the others. Reagan glances in the direction of Matt and me, turning back to look at us when we’ve caught her attention.

  Even though it’s dark, and we’re standing across the parking lot, I notice the smile cross her face. She leans into Sam and whispers something in his ear. Nodding his head, he turns to look at Matt and me and, with the nod of his head, acknowledges our presence. Reagan leans in and places a quick kiss to his cheek and a rush of something that resembles jealousy washes over me.

  Carrying a small purse in one hand, and her car keys in the other, Reagan moves toward Matt and me. With her long legs, it takes her just a few seconds before she’s standing in front of us.

  “What are you still doing here?” she asks, tilting her head as she looks between Matt and me.

  “We were… just… uh, I’ll be in the car,” Matt says, making a hasty retreat to the comfort of his Tahoe.

  For seconds, Reagan and I stand staring at each other. The dim light in the parking lot casts a glow behind her. Her long hair falls over her shoulders and brushes the top of her breasts. Perfect breasts. Her eyes shift between mine as we stand in silence. I take two steps toward her, placing myself directly in front of her, inches from her.

  “I’m going to ask you again, can I have your number, Reagan?” She swallows hard and I notice her eyes shift from my eyes to my lips several times. She shakes her head slowly, and retreats back by a small step.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “I don’t give my number out at work,” she stutters.

  “You’re not working right now,” I point out, taking a step forward and closing the distance between us once again.

  “I’m still at work.” She smiles.

  “Technicalities.”

  She laughs lightly at my response. Her eyes drop and she kicks at the loose gravel on the blacktop. “Look, I’m just really private. I don’t just hand my number out to people I don’t know, okay?”

  “Then go out with me. Get to know me. You can give me your number after you’re comfortable with me,” I compromise.

  Letting out a deep sigh, she looks back at me. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t have a lot of free time—I work really odd hours, and help out here,” she motions towards Mac’s with her arm, “when I can.”

  “Tomorrow morning, then. Meet me for breakfast at the Beachside Café on Franklin at eleven.”

  She thinks about it while working her bottom lip between her teeth. I see her trying to fight the small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when she finally agrees.

  “Fine. I’ll meet you for breakfast at eleven at the Beachside Café.”

  “It’s a date,” I say, backing away from her slowly.

  “It’s breakfast,” she corrects me.

  “It’s a date over breakfast.”

  “Technicalities,” she says, smirking and shaking her head as she walks backward towards her car.

  I retreat to the passenger side of Matt’s truck, but before I get there, I glance back to Reagan, who is still watching me as she continues to walk backward slowly.

  “Goodnight, Reagan.”

  “Goodnight, Landon,” she whispers as the smile she’s been fighting finally spreads across her face.

  I choose a small bistro table outside on the patio that overlooks Wrightsville Beach, and make myself comfortable as I wait for Reagan to arrive. I got here early to make sure there would be a table ready and we wouldn’t have to wait to be seated.

  It’s a perfect morning—overcast, yet warm and mildly humid. There is a slight breeze off the Atlantic that makes sitting outside pleasant. I purposely chose an outside table, as most everyone else wants to be seated inside this time of year and I knew this would give us more privacy.

  The waitress delivers tall glasses of ice water that she sets on the table next to the small vase with two large, multi-colored, fragrant flowers. Plucking one of the flowers from its small vase, I lift it and smell its light fragrance.

  “Peonies,” a voice says from behind me. “They’re my favorite.”

  Turning around, I find that Reagan is standing just behind me. She’s wearing a black strapless dress that stops well above her knees, bringing attention to her long, slender legs. When I stand up to greet her, she smiles nervously.

  I pull the chair that sits across from me out, and motion for her to sit. As she slides into the chair, I find myself leaning in close to her, slowly taking in the scent of her floral perfume.

  “Peonies, huh? I took you more for the rose kind of girl,” I say as I find my way back to my seat.

  “My mom has peony bushes all over our yard. I used to cut them and place them in vases or jars all over my bedroom when I was young.”

  “Where are you from?” I ask curiously, taking a sip of ice water. “You’re not from around here—your accent is different.”

  “Accent?” She laughs.

  “Yeah, you have a little accent, and I can’t place it.”

  “Very observant.” She raises her eyebrows, acting impressed. “Minnesota. I’m from Minnesota. A little town near the North Dakota border.” She folds the corners of the small paper napkin that the water glass is sitting on. She’s fidgeting, which means she’s nervous.

  “How the hell did you end up here?”

  “A job.” She smiles.

  “You moved here to work at Mac’s? There has to be a country dive bar in Minnesota. You surely could have found a job.” She laughs, and her smile is genuine. Her eyes crinkle a little at the corner when sh
e smiles, but I can’t help but notice how blue they are against her light skin and nearly black hair.

  “No, I didn’t move here to work at Mac’s. I’m actually a doctor.” I am truly stunned silent. “What? You look surprised,” she says with a small laugh. She pulls out the lemon that is floating in her water and gives it a squeeze, releasing the juice into her water.

  “A doctor, but then why are you working at Mac’s?”

  “Mac is my uncle. I help out once in a while— which is rarely ever, considering how busy I am, but if he needs help and I can do it, I will. This weekend, he just happened to be short staffed, so I helped him out.”

  “So you’re a doctor… huh?” I say, still genuinely in shock. “So you’re not only beautiful, but smart too.” She blushes at the compliment, but it’s the truth.

  “You seem surprised.”

  “I don’t know what I expected, but I think it’s great. What do you practice?”

  “I’m an OB/GYN. Women’s health—and delivering babies,” she says with a little laugh.

  “Babies.” I say the word and a chill runs through me. I want nothing to do with babies or kids. I will do everything in my power to help and protect them, but I don’t want any of my own—ever. Shaking that thought from my head, I almost feel intimidated by her career.

  “So this is a private practice, right? You don’t work for the hospital?”

  “Correct. It’s just me and three other doctors; we’re a relatively small practice.” She shrugs. “What do you do? For a career” she asks just as our server approaches us, saving me from having to tell her. I hate telling people what I do. Not because I’m not proud, but because people have preconceived notions of this job. They either love us or hate us. There is always some remark or joke about being a cop.

  “Could we have a couple of minutes to look at the menu?” I ask our server, sending her away again.

  “What’s good here?” Reagan asks as she flips through the pages of the menu.

  “Everything. Seriously.” I can’t seem to pry my eyes away from her. She plays with the large turquoise stones on her bracelet and chews on her bottom lip as she intently scans the menu, eventually closing it. Something in the pit of my stomach is telling me this girl is dangerous—she’s beautiful, confident, and smart—a dangerous combination.