Where We Belong

by Shann McPherson

  “Such a shame,” she muses, offering a sad smile. “I always thought it would be the two of you walking down the aisle of the church.”

  I shake my head, placing the pastry into a paper bag and handing it over the counter. “Nope. Not me,” I say with a nonchalant shrug, and, although I know I shouldn’t, I just can’t help myself. “And, in fact, they’re not getting married in the church, Mrs. Wilcox. They’re getting married in the chapel at Harrington Country Club.”

  Poor Mrs. Wilcox. Her jaw drops and she actually turns sheet-white as she clutches a hand to her robust chest. “Harrington Country Club?” She gasps. I nod, trying so hard not to smile. “Well, I never.” She mutters something else under her breath, shaking her head to herself. “You just wait until I see that boy’s grandmother at our weekly book club, tomorrow morning.” And, with that, she turns and waddles out of the store with her apple turnover nursed carefully in her arms, murmuring something under her breath I can’t hear.

  “Have a good day, Mrs. Wilcox,” I sing cheerfully as she exits, chuckling to myself.

  I glance at the clock just as Sarah, my weekend helper, comes bounding in through the door, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the midday sun. I breathe a sigh of relief, untying my apron, and she follows me through to the kitchen, jabbering on about her excuse for being late. Something about a fight with her boyfriend, Tyler, this morning. I don’t allow her to see my eye-roll, but I really don’t care.

  “I have to go,” I say, handing Sarah the keys to the bakery, which she proudly tucks into the pocket of her pinafore. “I have a barbecue.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard the news,” Sarah says, leaning on the island counter and watching as I pack my things into my purse.

  “What news?” I flash her a look.

  “You and Harley Shaw. Official.” She waggles her eyebrows up and down. “I saw it on Facebook last night.”

  “Facebook!” I shriek, gawping at her, but she just nods, as if news of my relationship status circulating social media isn’t a big deal. “Wow. News sure does travel fast in this town …” I sigh, rolling my eyes once more.

  “It does when you nab the town’s hottest, most eligible bachelor.” She smiles a lustful smile, and I can only imagine she’s momentarily daydreaming about Harley, and I can’t help but wonder if her older brother, Seth, knows the way she idolizes one of his best friends.

  “Don’t forget to lock up.” I place my apron onto the stainless steel counter, pulling Sarah from her reverie. “And turn off the gas this time.” I offer a warning look, which she meets with a sheepish smile as I hurry out to make it to Harley’s stupid barbecue.

  ***

  With a Tupperware container of cupcakes I took from the bakery, I pull up outside Harley’s house. Huffing out a sigh, I sit in the car for a moment, glaring at his isolated home in the boondocks, almost completely hidden by the tall pine trees overcrowding the sprawling front yard. I’m not in the mood for this today. Closing my eyes a moment, I take a few fortifying breaths in through my nose, cleansing myself before hopping out of the car. I smooth down the front of my shirt, tuck the container of cakes under my arm, and proceed up the driveway, hearing the sound of people having far too good a time coming from around the back of the house.

  The moment I step through the side gate, I really wish I’d just stayed at home. My eyes roam the expansive yard, zeroing in on Anna’s bevy of beautiful bridesmaids huddled together on lawn chairs, cackling in sync to something that cannot possibly be that funny. They remind me of those mean girls at every single high school in America. All beautiful. All blonde. All bitches. Of course, I have no grounds on which to base my assumption. I don’t know if they’re mean or not. I just dislike them because they’re with Anna, and I don’t like her because she’s with Nash. Petty? Absolutely.

  Turning, I cross the yard, walking up the steps of the deck to where Seth and Kevin, Nash and Harley’s friends from high school, are sitting, drinking beers with a few guys I’ve never seen before.

  “What’d you bring, Murph?” Kevin asks, eyeing my Tupperware container.

  “Salted caramel cupcakes,” I say, placing the container on the patio table while I scan the backyard for a glimpse of Nash.

  “You made ’em?” Seth asks, overly excited.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Your sister made them yesterday. Something about a new recipe she found on Pinterest, or whatever. I just let her go for it so she wouldn’t annoy me while I was doing the books.”

  Seth laughs at the mention of his little sister, Sarah, the apple of his eye.

  “Where’s Nash?”

  “Inside.”

  Taking a deep breath, I continue inside, stepping into the kitchen, but I stop suddenly, finding Nash and Anna together—really together—kissing as if they’ve not seen each other in forever, and it takes everything I have not to outwardly gag. I clear my throat, looking down to the floor.

  “Oh, hey, Murph.” Nash chuckles. “You finally made it!”

  I look up to see him sheepishly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and I feel my cheeks blush. “Yeah.”

  “You look cute, Murph,” Anna coos, looking me up and down, and inwardly I cringe. Cute? I’m literally wearing jean shorts, a Falcons’ T-shirt, an old flannel shirt over the top, no makeup whatsoever, and a pair of scuffed Converse. Far from cute. I don’t know what she’s playing at. The moment I look at her, finding her just as beautiful as the night before—maybe even more so—I hate her. But then, my eyes trail downward, taking in the plain white T-shirt she’s wearing, the one emblazoned with Future Mrs. Harris across the front in big bold letters. I suddenly have this overwhelming feeling that she secretly has it in for me. It’s as if she’s taunting me. I don’t just hate her, I actually despise her.

  “Murph, are you coming to Myrtle Beach?” Nash suddenly asks.

  “Myrtle Beach?” I quirk a brow in confusion.

  He nods. “Yeah. The bachelor party. We’ve got this really cool rental house right on the beach. Just me, Kev, Seth, a couple of guys from New York. And, Harley, of course.”

  Of course. I try to act unbothered. “No. I have some things to do around here.”

  He shrugs, and Anna starts, looking at me with bulging blue eyes. “Oh my God!”

  “What?” I stare at her, waiting for whatever it is she’s suddenly so excited about as Nash picks at chips from a bowl on the countertop. She clutches at her chest dramatically, and I just blink at her until she gets to whatever it is she feels so inclined to tell me. “You can come to the bachelorette party,” she says as if it’s the greatest idea since sliced, gluten-free bread. “We’re having it at a retreat in the mountains. Facials. Massages. Manicures and pedicures. The works! Please say you’ll come?”

  I almost choke on thin air from her unexpected invitation. She can’t possibly expect me to come. I couldn’t honestly be expected to go. Not with her, the woman marrying the man I was supposed to end up with. And a retreat in the mountains? It’s hardly my kind of thing. To be honest, I’d rather jump headfirst into an open shark tank than spend a night with Anna and her girlfriends. “Actually, on second thought, I’ll go to Myrtle Beach,” I say, trying not to make myself too obvious. And both Anna and Nash look at me, so I add with a smile, “It’ll be nice to spend the time with Harley.” I’m almost certain I can taste throw-up in my mouth.

  Nash makes a cooing sound, Anna openly gushes, and I try so hard not to roll my eyes.

  “Is he around?” I ask, forcing myself to look away from where Nash’s hand rests casually on Anna’s slender hip, his thumb tenderly stroking the smooth skin showing where the hem of that damn T-shirt has ridden up slightly higher, exposing her perfect skin. Not a single stretch mark in sight.

  “Garage.” Nash nods in the direction of the door, picking a chip from the big bowl on the countertop. “He’s getting some ice from the back of his truck.”

  “Babe, stop!” Anna slaps his hand playfully. “No more chips. Think of th
e wedding photos. You’re going to break out and bloat up!”

  Nash rolls his eyes, doing as he’s told and pushing the chip bowl as far away as he can, and for some reason that makes me real sad. He’s like her little dog, doing as he’s ordered. Turning quickly, I hurry through the internal door that leads to the garage, desperate to get the hell away from the two of them.

  The garage smells of gasoline and freshly mowed lawn, and immediately I can feel my allergies threatening what little composure I have. I sniffle, wiping my nose with the sleeve of my shirt as I step down into the cluttered darkness, illuminated only by the tiny window at the top of the garage door. When I spot Harley, I pause, resting against the side of his truck. I take a moment to watch as he effortlessly lifts two bags of ice and a case of beer from the back. He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves ripped off, exposing his strong arms, most of which are covered in tattoos. The top few buttons are undone, showing off his inked chest. For a few seconds, it’s as if I’m in some kind of a trance I can’t snap myself of out of, and I hate every second of it, but I still can’t tear my eyes away from the way his muscles move beneath his skin. It’s almost hypnotizing.

  Harley looks up in time to see me standing there, gaping at him like a creeper, and a knowing smirk pulls at his lips as I shake my head free of the crazy thoughts running through it. “Oh, hey, babe,” he says, smoothing his hair back from his face, his eyes raking up and down my form. “Like what you see?”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head at him. “What the hell are you playing at, Harley?”

  “What?” He shrugs, offering a look of innocence, despite that same smug smirk playing on his lips.

  “What’s this all about?” I wave a hand in the air to indicate the party currently going on outside.

  He shrugs again. “Nothing. I just thought I’d throw my best friend a barbecue to celebrate his impending nuptials,” he says with a knowing grin. A real shit-eating grin—dimples and all—one I desperately want to slap straight off his stupid face.

  “You knew Nash and I were planning to hang out together today.” I point an accusatory finger at him. “And then suddenly you throw an impromptu barbecue?” I scoff, folding my arms across my chest while glowering at him.

  Harley just stares at me, that same infuriating smile ghosting over his lips as he looks me up and down.

  “And, besides, I thought you were gonna tell him everything? You sure did threaten me last night,” I add, tapping my foot impatiently. “Well?”

  “I thought about it.” He stops, and glances up at the exposed beams overhead as if considering the idea. “But then I realized this might be more fun.”

  I shake my head, confused by his words.

  “You know,” he begins, going back to stacking the cases of beer from the bed of his truck. “Anna has some pretty hot bridesmaids.” I blink at him, a crease pulling between my eyebrows. “A single guy like me, a couple cute bridesmaids …” He trails off, quirking one of his eyebrows. “You don’t think maybe I would have liked to take advantage of my single status this week?”

  “Ugh!” I cringe, scrunching up my nose at him. “You’re a pig and a half, Harley Shaw!”

  “No,” he interjects. “I’m a single guy who would’ve liked to have a little fun. But now, I’m stuck pretending to be with a woman I, quite frankly, can’t even stand right now.”

  If I cared about a thing he said, his words would have hurt. But I don’t, so they didn’t.

  “Oh my God, Harley!” I clutch my hands at my chest in mock shock. “I’m so sorry I got in the way of you man-whoring your ass through a group of conceited Park Avenue princesses all week long! How inconsiderate of me.” I offer a smug smile of my own. “You can thank me now for not contracting some disgusting STD.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Why must you sabotage everything?” I murmur with a huff.

  “You’re the one planning on breaking up a damn wedding!” He balks, a look of exasperation in his wide eyes. I narrow my eyes at him, considering my own words. But when I open my mouth to speak, he beats me to it. “He’s my best friend, and he’s finally happy!”

  I snap my mouth shut, looking at him in stark shock. I hadn’t been expecting that and, while it’s true, I just can’t bring myself to agree. “But he was happy with me,” I say, my voice obviously less confident than it had been only moments ago.

  “Yeah, he was happy with you.” Harley nods, stepping past me with a big bag of ice in each of his hands. “But that’s the past, Murph.” He looks down at me a moment, something earnest within his green eyes. “Don’t you think maybe it’s time you move on? Nash sure as hell has.”

  He walks back inside the house and I’m left alone in the musty garage with nothing but the floating dust particles to keep me company, and my shoulders slump in resignation as I allow his sobering words to sink in.

  Chapter 9

  I sit on my own for most of the afternoon, my mind busily running away with itself.

  Harley is occupied at the grill, drinking a beer, trying to ignore Anna and Nash who are shamelessly sucking one another’s faces right beside him. The bridesmaids are clearly gossiping among themselves. Most of Nash and Harley’s friends are glued to the television inside, watching some baseball game. And I’m on my own, nursing a big bowl of pretzels, watching YouTube videos on my phone on the latest fondant craze, secretly wondering whether anyone would even notice if I get up and leave.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I jump, looking up to see Nash sliding into the patio chair beside me. He offers a cheeky grin, his eyes flitting sideways before he reaches his hand into the bowl of pretzels on my lap.

  “Yeah.” I smile, placing the bowl onto the glass tabletop after he carefully selects a handful of pretzels. “Anna won’t be happy if she catches you eating pretzels,” I tease. “Think of the wedding photos!”

  “She’ll get over it.” He chuckles, shoving a few into his mouth. “Is everything okay between you two?” he asks, his brow slightly furrowed as he casts Harley a sideways glance.

  I look to where Harley is at the grill, drinking a beer while talking and laughing with one of his friends, and I nod. “Yeah,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  What? Just because I’m not giving him an over-the-pants hand job like Anna is practically doing to Nash every time she’s near him, something has to be wrong?

  “I’m real glad you and Harley are together,” Nash continues, his eyes still focused on Harley. “He deserves a woman like you.”

  I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, and I almost scoff out loud.

  Harley looks over at that moment as if he knows we’re talking about him. And, with a small smile, he lifts his chin at me, adding a wink before busying himself with flipping the burgers. He’s actually kind of good at this whole pretending thing.

  “He’s a lucky guy,” Nash adds, flashing me a knowing smile before getting up and walking away.

  What?

  I shake my head in an attempt to clear the confusion suddenly clouding my mind. Harley deserves the best … He’s a lucky guy … Nash Harris is seriously beginning to confuse the hell out of me. If he thinks so highly of me, then why the hell did things end between us all those years ago?

  I hadn’t seen Nash since the funeral. He’d stayed to help as much as he could, but he had to get back to school for midterms. Plus, I’d kind of wanted to be alone while I tried to pick up the pieces after my mother’s death. But six weeks was a long time to go without seeing the love of your life, particularly when the rest of your world was lying at your feet in tiny, jagged pieces.

  Piece O’ Cake suffered while Momma was sick. I’d tried as hard as I could to manage the orders that continued flooding in, but between looking after her, taking her back and forth to the hospital, and tying up loose ends just before she passed away, it was almost impossible to keep the store afloat.

  With everything we owned of value sold off, I’d bee
n living off beans and working around the clock so I could try get the store back up and running. But, doing everything on my own was more difficult than I had ever imagined. Thankfully, I had one thing going for me. My mother had taught me how to bake when I was just 7 years old. I was her shadow in the kitchen when I was little. Watching her like a hawk while licking every spatula, I learned all I needed to know. I knew I’d never be as good as she was, but it was the gift she’d passed on to me, and I’d hoped and prayed it would help me save what was left of her legacy.

  I’d been busily working for weeks on the grand reopening, and I had spent a good chunk of Momma’s insurance money on radio advertising, signage, balloons, children’s face painters, you name it. It was what would hopefully bring Piece O’ Cake back from the proverbial dead. Nash was supposed to come home to help me. But then, something came up.

  “What do you mean you can’t come?” I cried, my cell phone clamped between my cheek and my shoulder as I busily frosted a batch of cupcakes.

  “You know how I was telling you about that accelerated program they’re running at Sacred Heart?”

  “Yeah,” I lied. He probably did tell me, but likely my mind had been elsewhere, as it had been ever since I’d found out Momma was ill.

  “Well,” he began, his voice tentative, “I got in. Can you believe it? I actually made it. But … it begins this week.”

  I placed my piping bag down, my hands gripping the stainless metal countertop as I tried desperately to take a few steadying breaths.

  “Are you there, babe?”

  “Yes,” I sighed, shaking my head. “So, when do you think you’ll be able to come home?”

  He hesitated, and I could almost hear the trepidation in his silence.

  “Nash?” I asked a little more urgently than I would have liked.

  “Probably not until Thanksgiving …”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Two months?” I cried.