A Love Like the Sun

Chapter 25 The Things We Remember

Nerves hardly let me sleep last night, even with drinks in my system, but the sun is doing what it does this morning: I’m buzzing when I step onto my front porch and it beats down on my skin. It’s grand reopening day and adrenaline has me heading to the shop early, but I can’t neglect my morning glories. They’re purple and pink trumpets that are thirsty for water, but the first thought that pops into my mind when I hear a throat clearing behind me is that they could’ve been thirsty a little longer.

I turn to face Wilma with the watering can in my hand and the fakest smile I can muster. “Good morning.”

“That’s what you’re wearing to work?” she asks, gaze flicking from the New Balances on my feet to the floral T-shirt I’m wearing. “That skirt is mighty short. Are you okay?”

It’s a slip dress that hits above the knees with a shirt layered on top of it. I think I look cute, but apparently, I must look like I’m going to the club. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Was drinking my coffee and wondering if maybe you lost it after reading the article in this here magazine.” She bends to drop it onto the top step below my porch. “Then I come over and see what you’re wearing, and yep. You’ve definitely lost it.”

“I appreciate you caring about my mental health,” I say through gritted teeth, “but I think I’m alright. Is there anything else you want to say before I head out?”

She nods to the magazine. “Well, I wanted to warn you that people like him have a world of options at their feet. Make sure he’s willing to stay committed to you while you’re across the country. And remember he’s the one who ran away from little Rhode Island in the first place.”

I turn the words over in my mind, then ask gently, “The way Bridget did?”

Wilma’s face falls, her sadness hard to hide. “I’m not talking about my sister.”

“But it hurt when she left you here and it never seemed like she wanted to come back, didn’t it?” Something swells in my chest, telling me to push further. “Do you miss her? Because I can—”

But Wilma waves a hand, cutting me off. “Good luck with the shop today,” she says.

I don’t pick up the magazine until she’s gone, and I wait until I’m in the car and parked around the corner to flip it open and find the article. It’s dated two weeks back with some information about Shida Anala’s upcoming album. There’s a picture of me and Issac, and a warmth spreads through my stomach at the smile on his face as he stares at me. But a nagging feeling stirs there too, a whisper, maybe a warning that Issac might not be looking at me the way you’d look at a friend or someone you’re only attracted to. I tear my eyes away from the picture and focus on the caption underneath: They are a treat to look at, but can we truly say our most eligible bachelor has finally committed to love? It didn’t work out so well with the last one we thought he might commit to, and this one lives all the way in little Rhode Island.

As soon as I read it, I’m reminded of the opposing opinions and theories about Issac’s love life in the media. No one knows whether he’s afraid of commitment, or if Melinda broke his heart and he came running to me. Not even I’m sure how he truly feels about her, because when she called him during my last hours in Cali, he excused himself to take it, even though he didn’t have much time left to spend with me. Who’s to say that it didn’t work out so well with her when second chances happen all the time?

I toss the magazine in the back seat and put my own confusing feelings about the two of them on the back burner, but I can’t tuck away Wilma’s words because part of me does wonder if Issac will ever move back home.

Outside of Wildly Green, I find Lex wiping down the glass door. He hugs me and tells me how incredibly cute I do in fact look, then he shakes off the jitters.

“We have to be absolutely perfect. And the customers, all of them, better be on their best behavior because the shop is so lovely. Too pretty for me to fight them in,” he says. “And there’s a surprise waiting for you inside that made it even prettier.”

He opens the door, and I gasp. It was already gorgeous, filled with greenery, but now there are dozens of extravagant bouquets everywhere. The shop smells like a field of wildflowers.

“What is all of this? And how could we afford it?”

“We can’t,” Lex says. “But Issac can.”

My heart races. I try to hide my smile, aware that I’m under Lex’s scrutiny when I pick up a card on the counter. Because you would’ve said no when you wanted to say yes, is all it says. I should’ve known this was Issac as soon as I walked in.

“You’re right, the shop is way too lovely to fight in,” I say to Lex, but he’s already out of earshot, walking toward the back room, where Mom probably is.

He picked the perfect word to encompass the way it feels being in this space. It’s organized, every section has a purpose, the lights, the vine plants in the window, the scent of white linen and cedarwood candles burning complements the smell of the flowers. The skin-care table has prewhipped butters that look good enough to eat. It feels like a haven here. At least until we open it to the public and they make a mess. It’ll be the best kind of mess today though.

I spin the chair where I’ll be testing products on people and admire my own hair in the mirror. It’s rounder than it usually is for day-two hair. It’s long but still looks like a green growing thing, reaching for the sunlight coming through the windows. I could be just another plant in the shop.

I’m still looking in the mirror when the door opens.

That strange sensation squeezes my stomach again. Butterflies spreading their wings when they should be sleeping. I bite my bottom lip and watch in the mirror as an incredibly tall, broad-shouldered man walks toward me.

“I thought the flower delivery meant you wouldn’t be able to make it,” I say after a beat. “But I’m happy I was wrong.”

The plan is for me to fly out to California next week and celebrate the reopening with him before we attend the art exhibition he’s curating, so it would’ve been fine. But Issac flashes me a smile in the reflection, and says, “I told you I wouldn’t miss this day.”

I don’t turn around, too deep in my body, having so many big feelings there I don’t know what to do with. He plucks a flower from one of the bouquets and comes up behind me to tuck it into my hair. Even though he’d pick flowers from the front of houses after school to hand me, this gesture is more intimate. Nothing feels as innocent as it did before he posted that first picture of us. We stare at each other in the mirror. I’ll tell him I plan to steal his sunglasses and the black utility vest he’s wearing when I remember how to breathe.

He bends to rest his chin on the top of my head and wraps an arm around my waist. I sigh into him.

“We look even better together in real life than we do in the pictures we took at the party,” he says. “And we looked so good then.”

That damn dress, I can almost hear him saying.

The tension between us thrums. What if instead of resisting it, I let myself lean into the chemistry of these stolen moments? Just because this will never be real doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it for a few more weeks.

I laugh nervously, shaken by my own thoughts.

“We are kind of cute as far as humans go,” I say.

But he trails his fingers down my arm absentmindedly, and goose bumps rise in their wake. The tension doesn’t break, especially when he touches the ring dangling in the center of my chest.

He doesn’t speak. I watch him swallow while we both examine it. The importance of this ring and this necklace lies heavy in the air. He inches his fingers to the skin below it, and I close my eyes at his continued touch. Does my body even belong to me anymore when he’s this close?

This is not…we can’t. We said we wouldn’t.

“We’re crossing those lines again, Issac,” I warn.

“We’re just friends,” he whispers against my ear. I wish he’d bite it. “Fake dating friends.”

It’s like his voice in my dream, him saying, Tell me you don’t want me.

I shiver, almost say that means we should stop, but then Lex clears his throat like he’s got the flu.

“We’ve got five minutes till we open, lovebirds,” Mom says, a question for me in her tone.

When Issac and I pull apart, he grins, clearly amused by her comment; he’s unaware that she wants to make sure we know what we’re doing so we don’t hurt each other. Do we?

Issac squeezes my hip before he goes, and I take one last look in the mirror, silently berating myself for having so little control over my body. But when I turn around and see him hug Lex, then take a tulip from a bouquet of them to hand to Mom, it’s my heart that aches.

“You remembered,” my mom says, voice heavy with tears. Because tulips were the flowers my dad would bring her every Friday when he got paid, for no reason other than he loved her and she loved tulips. Issac might not always remember to call her on her birthday, or not to call on the anniversary of my dad’s death because she likes to grieve alone, but there are some things that stay with us, and for some reason, the tulips stayed with him.

I release a breath and watch Mom fuss over her outfit. He helps her fix the strands falling from her bun. My bones throb to walk over and wrap my arms around them both. But with three minutes to spare, Lex and I triple-count the cash register, make sure we have enough sampling sticks on the tables, then flip the sign on the door to open. We’re as ready as we’re going to be.