Feels Like Home

by Jennifer Van Wyk

  Damn I'm pathetic.

  “Bri home?”

  “Nope,” she ends the P with a pop. “She spent the night at a friend’s house. Why? You wanna come in?” she asks, voice slurring and trying, but failing, to wiggle her eyebrows.

  I chuckle again. “Alright, Don Julio, let’s get you inside.” I climb out of the pickup and walk over to her side, helping her down.

  “I would make a snarky comment about your nickname, but you know what? I think the tequila sucked up all my brain cells.”

  “It does seem as though you all had plenty of it.”

  We’re about two steps from the bottom stair of the porch in front of her house when she stops dead in her tracks. “Oh no,” she mumbles and rushes over to the snow-covered bushes before getting rid of what sounds like everything she ate this entire year.

  I slowly walk over, knowing my own gag reflex is going to be tested by getting closer. I don’t do well with vomit. I can’t imagine anyone does, but still… it’s really gross.

  I pat her lower back, standing back as far away as I possibly can. I wish I had a broom, or stick, or something to touch her with, but that would probably come off as rude.

  “There, there,” I say awkwardly, gagging and turning my head while covering my nose with my sleeve when I not only hear her get rid of some of the alcohol, but smell it too.

  She laughs at me. “You don’t do puke well, do you?”

  “What was your first guess?” My voice is muffled being that my mouth is covered by my coat sleeve.

  Gag.

  “The fact that you’re not coming very close is a good indicator.” She laughs, standing from her spot and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Gag.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  She waves me off. “No worries. I don’t blame you.”

  “Let’s get you inside and” —I gulp, trying not to, but failing miserably, gag again— “cleaned up.”

  She bursts out laughing then groans, doubling over again and holding her head. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

  I swallow and nod my head resolutely. “I can.”

  “Ha! You sound really” —hiccup— “convincing.”

  “I can! I promise. Or… I’ll try.”

  We make our way inside, and she fumbles for the light switch against the wall. As soon as she flips it on, she leans against the wall.

  She moans then slides down the wall and lands with a thump.

  “Bri is going to be sooooo disappointed in me,” she mumbles.

  I chuckle, looking around her living room. I spot the kitchen and move to it, opening a couple of cupboards until I find the glasses. I fill one with water from the tap and walk back into the living room to find Christine slumped over completely on the floor.

  I bend down close to her, her head lifting as she looks up at me. I press the glass to her lips, and she tips her head back, allowing some of the liquid to wash down her throat. After she’s taken a few drinks and seems satisfied, I place the glass on the floor next to her and help her to stand.

  “I’m kind of embarrassed.”

  “You should be. I’ve never gotten drunk before.”

  I hear her scoff. “No one likes a smart ass, Andy,” she teases.

  Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Of course, they do. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the opposite. Everyone loves a smart ass. We keep conversations entertaining.”

  She gazes up at me, looking pathetically beautiful. I swipe a chunk of her hair off her sticky forehead, trying not to imagine why it’s sticky in the first place, and tuck it behind her ear.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I remind her, wondering if she’ll remember in the morning.

  “Right. With puke on my face and in my hair and uggghh…”

  “I’ve always thought you were gorgeous, Christine.”

  “You have?” she asks, her voice quiet and unsure.

  “I have.”

  We stand, staring at one another for a few beats before her cheeks puff out and she bolts from my grasp, running down the hall to what I hope is her bathroom.

  I take a moment to text the boys and let them know that I’ll be a little longer than I expected before I get home. Their reply is instant, telling me that they are fine and heading to bed.

  I stare at my phone, wondering how I got such good kids, willingly going to bed on their own.

  I don’t have long to sit and ponder it before I hear some awful noises coming from the direction that Christine just bolted. I pop a piece of cinnamon gum in my mouth, sigh heavily, and head into the battlefield.

  7

  Christine

  It’s been a week since Andy saved me from Margarita Madness. A week of random pop ins at Dreamin’ Beans, shared texts, and phone calls. After the night at the docks, him opening up to me about how he was allowing his anger over everything that was happening to take over, how it was affecting his relationship with the boys and he was growing increasingly bitter, we both started checking in. I’m not sure either of us even realized we were doing it.

  Then, it was just a common courtesy call of thanking him for helping me get home safely after I had stupidly gotten wasted at El Charro. I don’t know what any of us were thinking. We hadn’t made a plan for how we would get home, and considering every single one of us were three sheets to the wind, it was not only stupid but incredibly irresponsible.

  Andy being Andy had just shrugged it off, laughed about it the next day, and told me that he and Josh had gotten all our vehicles home. I didn’t even remember giving him the keys to my car, but apparently I had when I was bent over, heaving out mountains of chips and salsa and tequila, all while Andy stood back, gagging but being the supportive friend that I’ve come to… I don’t know. Like?

  But then I realized it wasn’t just me doing the checking in. It was Andy popping in often at Dreamin’ Beans. So often, in fact, that if I didn’t see him by noon I wondered what was wrong.

  When my phone pings with a text, I look down and mutter, “What in the world?”

  Andy: Mayday! Mayday!

  Before I can even type out a response, my phone starts ringing.

  “Yes?” I answer, trying not to laugh.

  “Do you have any idea what the date is?”

  “Uhh.”

  “December twentieth, Christine. December. Twenty,” he says, drawing out the word twenty.

  I giggle. “And?”

  “And? Are you kidding me right now? Do you realize that Christmas is in just a few days?” His voice is coming out higher than I’ve ever heard it before, which almost makes me laugh, but I hold it back.

  “I’m aware.”

  “Are you also aware that I have nothing ready?”

  I gasp. “Andy!”

  “Christine!” he mocks.

  “Hey, don’t mock me, procrastinator.”

  “Are you ready?”

  I hear a car door shut in the background, followed by an engine starting up.

  “Ready?”

  “For Christmas! Come on, keep up!”

  “Keep up with what?”

  “Shopping! We need to shop!” he shouts, panic clear as day in his voice.

  I lean back against the counter, still facing the front of the shop so I can see if someone needs refills, or be aware of new customers coming in.

  “Shopping, huh?”

  I hear him blow out a breath. “I’m so glad you get it. We need to shop. We need to Christmas!”

  “I don’t think saying we need to Christmas is at all correct.”

  Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time with Carly now.

  I can almost hear him rolling his eyes at me, if that were even possible.

  “I need your help.”

  I bite my lip to keep from doing a girly giggle because, hello, I’m a grown woman and I’m getting butterflies and fighting back twirling in the middle of the business that I own.

  Ugh.

  I’m almost annoying myself.r />
  But I challenge anyone to not totally crush over someone like Andy. He makes me feel young again.

  “You there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “So, you’ll help?”

  “Honestly I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I only have a daughter, you know?”

  “No. I know what I’m getting the boys. But I need help getting something for my mom, and Tess and Barrett helped so much after we left Heather so I want to get them something and… shit. I’m screwed. Do you have any idea what the crowds are going to be like? I can’t ask you to do this. I’m sorry. Ignore me.”

  “No!” I shout, all too eagerly before he can just hang up. “I’ll help! I have to get a few things anyway.”

  I don’t. Unlike most men, I’ve been done shopping for a while.

  But, he needs me, and I literally have zero ability to say no to him.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod eagerly, my hair brushing against my cheeks in the process.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Thank you. When can you leave the shop today? I feel bad. I’m always pulling you away from there.”

  “Today? It’s Monday. Don’t you have to work?”

  “Nah. It’s slow.”

  “It’s slow here, too.”

  The bell above the door jingles, alerting me to a new customer.

  “I see that,” Andy says, a smile in his voice.

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper when my eyes connect with his.

  He’s wearing that damn black beanie again that does funny things to my insides, a denim shirt, and slim black jeans. He has a thick layer of stubble on his face, and when he smiles, the white of his perfectly straight teeth gleaming, I almost stumble forward.

  Good heavens above, he’s gorgeous.

  I slowly slide my phone down from my ear, hitting the red button before slipping it into my back pocket.

  “Hey.”

  “You’re anxious to get this shopping over with, huh?”

  “Or maybe I was just anxious to see you.”

  A million butterflies flutter around in my stomach.

  I smile, not trusting my voice.

  We’re staffed well… a few of the college kids who worked for me this past summer are home for holiday break, wanting hours. And, I know Emma is here to handle things in my absence. She’s more than capable. And now that I’ve seen him, I don’t want to wait to get our shopping excursion going.

  “Give me five minutes?”

  “Of course,” he murmurs.

  I reach down and grab him a slice of pumpkin bread out of the front case and fill a to-go cup of coffee for him, then slide them both across the counter.

  “The way to a man’s heart.” He winks. And the butterfly farm might as well have exploded.

  “Staying out here or coming back?” I ask him, nodding toward the office.

  He looks that direction and back to me.

  Rather than answer, he picks up his bread and coffee and moves in the direction of the backroom.

  When I meet him at the end of the counter, he moves closer to me, reaches out and places a hand at my lower back.

  I look at him from under my lashes and he grins, a small side grin that’s adorable and endearing and all things Andy.

  We’re moving forward into a territory neither of us are sure of. Well, I know I’m not. Shaky ground to say the least.

  I don’t know if he’s feeling the things I am.

  But having feelings and acting on them are two entirely different things.

  I remove my apron, hanging it on the hook on the back of my office door and sit at my desk, bringing my laptop to life.

  Andy takes a seat, bites into the pumpkin bread and groans, deep and throaty, his head falling back.

  My fingers stay suspended above my keyboard while I sit transfixed, not being able to pull my eyes away from him.

  “Good God, woman.”

  “You like?”

  “Love,” he corrects me.

  I flush at his words, happiness and pride filling my chest.

  I bite my lip and finish what I’m working on, closing out the programs on my computer before shutting it down for the night.

  I stand up and make my way to the door, Andy’s hand catches mine on the way, sending tingles through me when he rubs his thumb on the palm of my hand.

  It only takes a single touch for my body to react.

  “Where’re you goin’?” His dark brown eyes boring into mine.

  “Need to tell Emma I’m leaving,” I explain.

  “Oh. Hurry?”

  I nod, and when he bites his lip I feel a quiver roll through my entire body.

  He releases my hand, and I move into the kitchen where I know I’ll find her.

  “Hey, girl. I’m out of here.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  She smiles knowingly. “I saw who came in. It’s all good, Christine.”

  “I… are you sure?”

  “How long have I worked for you?”

  I scrunch my eyebrows. “Since I opened?”

  “That’s right. And want to know something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve never seen you happier than I do when he walks into this building. Go.”

  I stand stunned for a few beats before I give her a hug. She laughs and shoves me out the door.

  I make a pit stop in the employee bathroom, where I keep a few makeup essentials stashed in the small closet Barrett built for me when we opened the shop.

  I freshen up, adding a little blush, some lip gloss, and brush through my hair.

  I smooth down my dark green and blue plaid button down shirt, one that I actually stole from Andy the night of Margarita Madness when he took it off after he panicked, thinking I got vomit on it. I offered to wash it and never returned it. No shame. I fix my dark gray camisole, also not ashamed to realize that I have a tiny bit of cleavage and check out my ass in my jeggings.

  Don’t judge me.

  Everyone does it.

  And it’s Andy.

  My feelings for him are growing to scary levels.

  Satisfied, I walk back into the office.

  Andy’s fiddling with his phone, one leg crossed over the other, ankle to knee. He has his bottom lip pinched between the thumb and forefinger of the hand not holding his phone and his knee is bobbing up and down.

  The moment he hears me walk in, he lifts his eyes to me, does a slow perusal of my body, and slowly stands, sliding his phone into the pocket of his jeans.

  “How is it that you’re always so beautiful?” he says, reverence in his voice, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, his palm resting on my cheek.

  The breath catches in my throat.

  Then.

  “This divorce can’t happen soon enough.” His voice is low, husky and, ohmylanta, I want to crawl inside it and burrow down deep and never come up for air.

  I think I know what he means but yet…

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” he murmurs.

  I did.

  But I almost want to hear it again.

  “You got a coat?”

  I nod my head, his hand still to my cheek.

  He smiles.

  “Ready, then?”

  “Oh yeah,” I reply, my body swaying toward his.

  “To shop,” he says, his mouth a mere breath away from mine. I can smell the spices from the pumpkin bread and coffee.

  Delicious.

  “Yup.”

  “I think we need to get out of here before I do something I promised myself I wouldn’t. Especially with you in my shirt.”

  I nod, though I feel like making a few bad decisions wouldn’t be such a terrible idea.

  “You want it back?”

  “I’m thinking you make it look way better than I ever did.”

  He obviously hasn’t looked in a mirror lately.

  Thirty minutes later
we’re parking at the mall, the parking lot crowded from all the other last minute shoppers.

  As we walk through the parking lot, our arms brush against each other. Having left my coat in his pickup so I wouldn’t sweat inside the mall, I wrap my arms around myself to keep myself warm.

  Andy notices and wraps an arm around me, pulling me in close.

  “Cold?”

  “Well, it’s twenty degrees out and flurrying.”

  “I take that as a yes?” he asks, smiling down at me.

  I don’t know how to respond, the look in his eyes alone warming me.

  I bite my lip and look away, focused on getting into the mall without slipping and falling on a patch of ice.

  He rubs a strong hand up and down my arm once then squeezes me closer. I wrap an arm around his waist to make it less awkward walking and almost whimper when we reach the entrance, knowing there’s no reason to be doing the walk/cuddle anymore.

  It only takes us a couple hours to finish his shopping. As we were shopping for his mom, he mentioned that she raised him by herself. It made me fall for him just a little harder watching him shop for her. He knew the things she liked and wanted so much to get her things that would make her happy.

  I also picked up a few more items to stick in Bri’s stocking and give to my friends and Emma, especially for all the extra work she’s been putting in.

  When we were finished shopping, we stood on the upper level of the mall, watching the poor Santa fighting kids who don’t want to sit on his lap, while their parents, desperate for a picture, stood by trying to encourage their child to sit still.

  “Poor schmuck. I wonder how many times he’s had a little boy or girl pee on him?”

  I snort. “Probably more than he would care to admit. When Bri was three, she was determined to sit on Santa’s lap. We waited in line for over an hour, and when her turn came, she crawled up there happily. Other kids kicked and screamed, but she was so excited. She sat on his lap for about ten seconds before I watched her eyes narrow at him. Her tiny little hand reached up, and she poked at Santa’s beard before she tugged and pulled. The beard came off, and when she released her hold, it slapped the poor guy in the face, all cock-eyed. Then she pointed right at him and yelled, “You a fakewer!” in her cute little three-year-old voice.”