I sit up straighter when Jay’s car, a rickety old Toyota his older brother bought when we were in middle school, stops in front of Gran’s house. He slips out of the driver’s seat, looking mostly the same as he did on graduation night.
He’s a good-looking man. Tall, brown hair, laughing eyes, and a dimple in his left cheek. But he’s not as trim as he was in high school. There’s a tiredness that clings to the lines of his face now.
Life hasn’t been easy for Jay Roads. We bonded over our mutual loss and grief. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I trusted him as quickly as I had. He’d lost his mom to cancer the year before my parents were killed. Our mutual loss, coupled with the history of living in a small town, pushed us toward each other and until I left for Nashville, we remained a unit.
Jay owns all my firsts. I hold all his. There was a time when I envisioned us married and settled in the little house at the back of his dad’s property, raising a brood of children. My hands would be caked with clay and his fingers rough from building furniture in his granddaddy’s custom shop.
It was a simple dream, but it filled me with pride. With longing and nostalgia and hope. It made sense. I was so certain of my path until I went to art school. Until I met new people, made new friends, and learned of new opportunities. New York, L.A., Europe. Galleries and showcases and portfolios.
I shake my head, clearing it of what-could-have-been thoughts. I came home for Gran, for my brothers. Right now, that has to be enough.
Jay ascends the rickety porch steps and plops down into the rocking chair beside mine. We’ve sat in these exact chairs countless times. We’d watch dusk settle and the sun set. We’d listen to the birds and the crickets. We’d talk about the future we’d build, the family we’d create.
“How was your first day?” he asks.
I rock back in my chair. I used to feel peace when he was here, rocking beside me. Why does it now feel stilted? Unfulfilling? More of a burden than a blessing? Is it Jay and the shadowy memories of high school? Is it coming back home? Is it having to press pause on the other life I dreamed up? The one my heart still yearns for.
“Good,” I admit. “It’s just temporary. As I settle in with Gran. Get things going for my shop.”
“You still set on that?” I feel his gaze on the side of my face, but I don’t meet his eyes. I don’t want to look at one more person as they tell me my dream is farfetched. That potters don’t make any money. That I need to do something with more stability.
“I am.”
He clears his throat, but I’m grateful when he doesn’t say anything else. Until, “But you’re back for good?”
Am I? I roll my lips together. As far as my family is concerned, I’m back for good. I’m taking care of Gran. I’m settling back into my old routine, my old life. How can I bring up New York? Or any of the opportunities and experiences that shimmer just outside of my world, a different reality but still within reach?
My throat burns as I force out a confirmation. “Yes.”
Jay’s hand covers mine where it rests on the armrest, and I flinch at the contact. He tightens his grip. “Good. We can be us again, Bea. Don’t you miss that? Don’t you miss me?”
Pain sears through me at the hurt, the hope, in his tone. Jay is a good guy. For years, he was my constant. I hate that my moving away, moving on, affected him as deeply as it has. But my feelings for him aren’t what they once were. Nothing is as it used to be and yet…here I am.
“I miss what was, Jay. Sometimes, sure I do. But”—I force myself to turn my head and look at him—“things are different now. I’m different.”
“But you’re here.”
“I know,” I concede. “But I don’t want the same things I used to.”
His mouth twists, disappointment filling his face. “You don’t want a husband and family anymore?”
I shrug. “One day, I guess. But I’m twenty-three.”
“We used to talk about marrying our senior year of high school.”
I tug my hand out from under his. “But we’re not the same people we were in high school.”
“We’re not that different, Bea. You don’t change who you are in four years.”
Except I have. I study Jay, wondering how I can explain to him all I’ve learned, all I’ve done. Internships and a trip to New York City. A roommate whose mom is a famous painter. Discussions about expression and movement that lasted until sunrise.
My entire world opened when I moved to Nashville. It’s not far away and yet, my bubble was vastly different than here. Would Jay understand? Does he want to?
“I just got back, Jay. I’m settling in.”
He sighs. “You need time, fine. I’m not going anywhere, Bea. I waited for you, for this.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’re supposed to be together. You’ll see. Tell Gran I said hello.”
He lopes off the porch and back to his car. I watch him drive away. I wait for the sun to dip below the horizon, for the sky to darken, for the cool night breeze to kick up. I pull my sweater tighter, a shiver rolling over my shoulders.
“Bea?” Gran calls. “Are you hungry?”
I go inside and try to embrace my new life. But it’s hard when it feels more like an echo of what was instead of a cheer of what could be.
Beau moves to Knoxville. Even though his commute isn’t long, only forty minutes, knowing he’s not in the house changes things. He clings to the distance, the space he desperately needs, and Gran and I give it to him.
Of course, I still see my brother at The Honeycomb but there, he’s with his team and I don’t want to appear the pestering, needy little sister.
Instead, I settle into my new routine. Breakfast with Gran. Laundry and cleaning. Meal prep and filling her pill box with her necessary medications. This month, I’m at the arena during the hockey clinic hours, bagging sweet treats for sweaty, enthusiastic boys and girls. On game days, I open the pop-up shop early, setting everything up for the rush.
On regular days, the hours pass slowly. I thumb through design magazines or read one of Gran’s paperbacks, a cozy mystery, a historical romance, or a classic.
Within two weeks, the bright spot of my day is Cole. I find myself looking forward to his stopping by the stand. He comes every day, the way he promised.
Over the last few days, he brings along a joke. A corny, awful joke that is so not funny, we find ourselves laughing loudly at it. His blue eyes crinkle when he smiles and the lines in his forehead ripple with his laughter.
Even though Cole looks like a linebacker, he’s got the disposition of a teddy bear. He couldn’t be more different than Jay, and as my conversations with him grow longer, I realize how much I like that about him. His easygoing outlook, his friendly smile, is refreshing.
“What do you call a fake noodle?” he asks on Monday morning, dropping his elbows to the top of the counter.
Instead of leaning back, I lean closer, wanting to erase the space between us. I’m drawn to Cole for reasons I don’t fully understand. He’s not my usual type, which tends to be artistic and moody. He’s nothing like Jay, more memory than reality at this point.
But his cologne is intoxicating, his personality captivating, and his looks—huge and overbearing with a smile that effortlessly charms—are downright hot.
“What?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
Cole’s eyes hold mine, filled with amusement. “An impasta!”
I snort and his smile widens. Our eyes hold, our mouths twitch, and then, we both erupt in laughter.
“That’s the worst one yet,” I tell him.
“You’re laughing.” He points at me.
“True,” I concede. “But you need new material.”
Cole shrugs, his eyes tracking me as I fill a box with four cupcakes. Sliding it across the counter, I ask, “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Just practice.”
“Practice?” I lift an eyebrow. He looks like an athlete, but I’ve never seen him with the hockey team, horsing around as they leave the locker room after practice. I’ve never heard my brother mention him in passing the way he has Damien Barnes and Devon Hardt.
Cole’s cheeks redden and he nods. “I have a question for you.”
I grin. “A question or a joke?”
Cole presses his lips together, as if trying to contain a chuckle.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know why the cupcake went to the doctor.”
Cole frowns. “Because he was feeling crummy.”
I groan. “I asked for that.”
“You really did. Practically begged for it.”
I snicker.
“But it was a question, not a joke.”
“What’s your question?”
He straightens, his demeanor shifting from playful to serious. As he does, my heart rate ticks up. “If I ask you out for dinner, would that be presumptuous?”
My hands tingle as nerves ping around my body. Cole, the teller of bad jokes and the best part of my monotonous days, wants to take me to dinner.
“Ah, too forward,” he decides by my silence. Before I can correct him by explaining my surprise, my excitement—guys like him don’t ask girls like me out for dinner—he amends his offer. “Have lunch with me, Bea? Or coffee? Just, give me some of your time outside of here.” He taps the countertop.
“Okay. I, yes,” I stammer. “Lunch.”
Cole smiles and I feel it, his delight, down to my toes. It’s thrilling, to know that I can be a bright spot for him too. “Lunch,” he confirms. “Tomorrow?”
“Two PM. I’m off at two since there’s no game.”
“I’ll pick you up here.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Can I go home and shower first?”
Cole laughs. “Of course.”
“I’ll meet you—”
“I’ll come get you, Bea. Here.” He passes me his cell phone. “Give me your number and I’ll message you. Then, please send me your address and let me do this the right way.”
“The right way?” I ask, saving my number before passing his phone back.
“Like a gentleman.” He shakes his phone at me while I hear mine buzz in my purse. “That’s my number.”
Melt. I melt.
My brothers will tell you I’m old-fashioned. They always mean it in a boring, predictable way. The way that made me lame and no fun. I’d rather make a vase than stay out late. I prefer black and white films to whatever is trending in Hollywood, save for Celine’s films. I love the scent of paperback books and getting lost in libraries.
They thought I’d settle down with Jay and tend a small house on a patch of family land while raising a brood. They didn’t love that idea, mainly because they didn’t care for Jay. But still, they had to push me to attend art school and move to Nashville.
Maybe, in some ways, they’re right. I am old-fashioned. An old soul.
But not in the ways they think. I want to be courted and sought after. I want to be desired and challenged. I want to be with a gentleman. One who goes out of his way to impress me.
I smile. “Okay. I’ll text you my address.”
“And I’ll pick you up at…”
“Three thirty.”
Cole grasps the box of cupcakes. “I don’t know how many of these I can keep consuming.”
I laugh.
He winks and it’s as silly as it is endearing. “Tomorrow at three thirty.”
I watch as he walks away. My fingertips tingle, the way they do when I need to create. Butterflies release in my chest and my stomach tightens. For the first time in years, I feel the delightful mixture of excitement and nerves about a guy.
It’s only been two weeks and yet, on some level, it feels like my connection with Cole is deeper than the one I share with high school friends who’ve known me for years.
As Jay blows up my phone and my friends from high school ask if I want to get high in the same parking lots we used to cruise through five years ago, I can’t help but feel that I don’t belong anymore. Except for Cole.
We talk about our current lives. Living in Knoxville and travel (he recently checked out the Gustav Klimt immersive experience when the team played Toronto). We discuss what we’re reading (Rupi Kaur for me and Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribay for Cole) and music we love (we both like Dean Lewis). We share cupcakes and Cole listens as I describe a foreign film I watched the night before—most recently Caramel. He once spent half an hour trying to convince me to read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson. I finally acquiesced and went to the library on my way home to Gran’s.
Cole’s presence provides a flicker of hope, of excitement, on days that already feel too routine.