17. Izzy
17
IZZY
“When are you coming back to California, honey? You’ve been gone for months.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to correct my mom. To tell her that I have not, in fact, been gone for months, but then I realize she’s right. I escaped LA in May, and already, we’re nearing the middle of July.
“I…” I trail off, unable to find the words to explain to her that I don’t think I’m ever coming back. Because I’m scared to make that commitment, and I’m not ready to defend my choices to her. So, instead, I say, “Wonton’s leash is getting tangled up, and I’m about to head into Via’s store. We’ll talk again soon. Love you, bye.”
I hang up before she can get another word in and let out a heavy breath, feeling like I want to crawl out of my skin.
Wonton spots Via inside and paws at the glass door .
When she hears him, she looks up and waves, which means I can’t linger outside a moment longer to catch my breath after that phone call.
Inside the store, I let Wonton off his leash, and he runs straight for Via and circles her.
She crouches down in her paint-splattered overalls to scratch his head. “Hey, Wonton. Good morning to you, too.”
I set my bag down on one of the tables and pick another plate to paint.
“Are you okay?” Via asks from behind me. “You’re quiet.”
“I was just on the phone with Mom.” With a deep breath in, I set the plate on the table. Then I head over to the counter to pick my paints.
“Oh.” She crosses her arms over her chest, her expression going distant. “How is she?”
“Good.”
Via has a complicated relationship with our parents. She’s the eldest daughter, and they placed a lot more pressure on her shoulders than mine. She was expected to be perfect, with a solid career in law and a husband and two and a half kids. When she divorced her husband and left law to move all the way across the country, our parents didn’t take it well.
Despite how hard she tries, and how hard my parents do, too, they’ll never have the relationship they all want. The divide is too great.
As the baby of the family, I was always awarded more freedom. They didn’t really balk when I started my YouTube channel. Sure, they would’ve loved for me to be a doctor, or something of the sort, but my career took off quickly, so they kept their mouths shut about it for the most part.
Via pulls her phone out of her pocket, and a dopey smile appears on her face. Must be Reid. I hope she never loses that look. She’s so hopelessly in love.
“Reid’s going to bring coffee by for me. Do you want anything?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no. I don’t want her boyfriend to have to bring me something out of obligation. I’m the pathetic single little sister, after all. Though, ironically, I’m older than he is. But I really could use the pick-me-up, so I pluck up the courage to ask for an iced matcha.
“You got it,” she says, her thumbs already tapping out a message.
There are a few other people in the store: A couple in the back painting on separate canvases. An elderly woman carefully adding details to a ceramic pitcher. And a mother with her two kids.
After Via slides her phone back into her pocket, she sits across from me at the same table I chose the last time I was here. Wonton settles beneath the table, resting his head on my feet.
“Oh,” Via chirps, hopping up from the table a second later. “Your first plate.”
I watch her scurry to the back, suddenly hit with a wave of sadness. It’s been too long since I was here last. Despite being so close to my sister physically, I hardly see her. It’s no fault of hers, or even mine. She’s busy, and so am I.
Derrick probably thought I was out of my mind when I volunteered to work for him, but I needed a purpose, and he gave it to me.
I would’ve gone mad by now if I had nothing to do but take photos for social media accounts I’m currently avoiding.
I’m pulling my hair back and out of my face when Via returns with a visible pep in her step .
My sister is glowing . Her every movement is lighter than it was a few years ago. It’s not just Reid; it’s this place . Because she’s finally found the place where she belongs. She’s flourishing.
Not that long ago, I felt as though I was flourishing, too. Now I’m like a wilted flower—not quite worth throwing out of the bouquet yet, but it’s obvious I’m suffering.
“Here you go.” She gently hands over the plate.
I remove the honeycomb packing paper carefully, my throat tight. Suddenly, I’m sure the piece won’t look at all how I wanted it to.
But when I pull the paper away, a breath whooshes out of me, and my heart flutters. It’s perfect. The little flowers around the edge of the plate are beautiful. Sure, they’re a little crooked, but that imperfection is what I was going for.
“Are you happy with it?” Via asks.
My smile is so big it hurts when I nod and wrap it back up. “It’s perfect.”
She nods to the blank plate on the table in front of me. “What are you going to do on this one?”
“I was thinking butterflies.” I dip my brush into the paint and tilt my head, trying to envision the design.
“Oh, that’ll be so cute.”
The door chimes behind us, so, with a squeeze of my shoulder and a smile, Via leaves me to paint while she greets her new customer.
I take my time, working alone for the most part, sipping the drink Reid drops off and going over the colors multiple times to make sure they’re vivid after being fired. When I’m finished, I put it on the cart in the center of the room for items that need firing.
Via’s on the phone, answering customer questions when I leave, so I wave, miming that we’ll talk later, and guide Wonton out of the store.
My pup leads the way down the sidewalk with a pep in his step. I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. He slept the whole time I worked on my plate. While I’m in town, I make my way to the bookstore to see whether Ella has a new release I thought might find intriguing.
I scoop Wonton up before entering just in case the store’s cat, Tremaine, is roaming about today.
Inside, Ella is reading a book behind the register. She promptly shuts the paperback and gives me a welcoming smile. “Hey, Izzy. What brings you in?”
I fish my phone out of my pocket and bring up the browser. “I was looking for this.”
She bites her lip, squinting at the cover, brow furrowed like she’s not sure she’s seen this new release.
“It just came out.”
“Oh,” she says, popping up. “It might be in the back. There are a few boxes I haven’t unpacked yet. Hold on.” She holds up a finger for me to wait, then disappears into the back room, her hair swishing over her shoulder.
Adjusting my hold on Wonton, I walk deeper into the store, between the full shelves, breathing deep. I love how they’re overflowing, with books stacked on the floor in some spots. I pause halfway down one aisle and scan the shelves to see if anything else jumps out at me. When I come across a cookbook solely dedicated to salads, I laugh out loud and snatch it up, certain it’ll make Derrick laugh, too.
Is it odd that I find myself thinking of him in ways like this?
It makes sense, right? We’ve been living together and?—
Closing my eyes, I blow out a breath. I have to stop overthinking things, especially when it comes to him. I’ll drive myself insane if I don’t.
For a moment, I consider putting the book back, but decide to hell with it and take it with me as I head back to the counter.
On my way, I stop at a section of coastal books—a collection that consists of nonfiction books about Maine and the ocean, and even a few romances set in the area. Unable to resist the New England summer vibe, I snag one of the romances.
“I found it!” Ella comes around the corner, holding the book proudly out in front of her, just as I’m approaching the counter. She scans it and holds out a hand for the other selections I’ve made. “A cookbook on salads?” She arches a brow, her lips quirking like she’s trying her hardest not to laugh at me. “That’s interesting. I didn’t even know we had that.”
With a grin, I tap my card on the machine.
She holds the small paper bag out to me. “Will I see you at book club?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say with a wave as I head for the door.
“Cool. See you, Izzy!”
The warmth of the summer sun on my skin is rejuvenating when I step outside and set Wonton on the sidewalk. I’m rounding the corner when I catch sight of the ice cream shop. It’s only open in the spring and summer, and right about now, it sounds like exactly what I need.
“Would you like some ice cream?” I ask Wonton.
I swear his tail wags faster in response.
Luckily, the ice cream shop isn’t busy, so I tie Wonton up outside and pop in to order, making sure to keep an eye on him while I wait. I’ve been beyond paranoid since he escaped during the storm.
Once I’ve got a scoop of strawberry ice cream and a pup cup, I head back out. I can’t help but grin when Wonton greets me with an excited yip.
I set the cups on the table and untie him so I can set him in my lap. Then I scoot his cup closer, and he goes to town licking the vanilla ice cream, completely ignoring the bone in the middle. He likes to save that for last.
While he’s occupied, I have a taste of my own. Some may consider strawberry a basic flavor, but nothing beats it, in my opinion. I swirl my tongue around the plastic spoon, making sure to get every drop before I dive in for another bite.
“I never thought I’d be envious of a spoon.”
Jolting, I snap my head up, finding Derrick stopped a few feet away on the sidewalk. His cheeks slowly turn from their normal tan to red, like maybe he didn’t mean to say that out loud, and my own cheeks warm as well.
“Hi.” It’s perhaps the dumbest response in the history of responses, but it’s the only word rattling around in my brain at the moment. I’m too stunned to even come up with a witty quip about his comment.
He clears his throat and nods toward the chair across from me. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. Do you want ice cream?”
I point with my spoon at the window into the shop. When I catch the spoon in my periphery and remember his comment, I blush all over again.
I’ll never look at the utensil the same way again.
“Yeah, I should… I should do that.” He runs his fingers through his hair. It’s gotten long. I don’t think he’s cut it once in my time here, and I hate to admit it, but I’ve had dreams of pulling on his hair, riding his?—
“Izzy?”
I want to melt into a puddle under the table like ice cream, never to be seen or heard from again. Just a sticky, forgotten mess on the sidewalk. “What did you say?”
“Do you want anything else while I’m in there? A drink?”
“No, I’m good.” Somehow, the words come out with more confidence than I feel.
With a nod, Derrick steps around me and heads into the little shop.
I bite my lip and watch him at the counter, surreptitiously ogling him. A plain white Hanes T-shirt clings to his muscular chest, practically suffocating his biceps, and his gray cargo shorts hug his shapely ass in a way that has me thinking about things I most definitely shouldn’t be. Not about my sister’s boyfriend’s dad. About my friend’s dad. God, this is so fucked up.
I need to have sex, that much is obvious.
I’ve been relying way too heavily on my vibrator.
If I go out and have a little fun, then I’ll be good. I’ll stop thinking dirty thoughts about Derrick.
I try to convince myself. Really, I do. But who am I kidding? There’s not a chance in hell that I’ll stop. Not only is he hot, but he’s kind and caring in that quiet, gruff way of his.
He drops a couple of bucks into the tip jar, and when he turns to head back out, I nearly break my neck turning away from the window and hoping to god he didn’t catch me staring.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath when I find that my ice cream has melted. It’s not a total loss—I wasn’t ogling him for that long—but it’s a bit soupy for my liking.
The wrought-iron chair across from me scrapes across the sidewalk, and Derrick settles his big body into it while somehow making the chair look comfortable .
As he gets situated, I assess that space between his neck and shoulder.
What would it be like to press my face in that crook? What would he smell like?
Oh my God, I am certifiable.
Despite my previous thoughts, I’m not interested in going out and hooking up for a night. I did plenty of that in my early twenties. So that means the minute I get back to Derrick’s house, I’ll be ordering new toys. Because I need something, anything, to take this edge off.
“What flavor did you get?” I ask by way of distracting myself from my sex-starved thoughts.
“Cosmic brownie.”
“Like the Little Debbie kind? That’s the brand, right? With the rainbow sprinkles?”
I’m rambling. About a brownie I haven’t eaten since I was probably seven. But I can’t help it. I babble when I’m nervous. It’s not my best trait and often gets me in trouble, since I invariably spew out the very thought I’m trying to suppress.
Like the thought I keep having about how I very much want to feel the weight of Derrick’s naked body on top of mine.
God, I bet he’d take such good care of me. He’d be sweet, but a little rough, attentive.
“That’s the one,” he answers. “You want a bite?”
I swear my heart stops. I force a harsh breath in and drop my attention to my ice cream. “No, I’m good,” I say as I scoop up the soupy mess and shove it into my mouth. While keeping my eyes set on my bowl, I sort through the files in my brain for something safe to ask him, and when a topic finally comes to me, I clear my throat and dare a peek up at him. “What were you up to before you stumbled upon us? ”
On my lap, Wonton has his nose stuffed all the way into his cup, and he’s grunting as he tries to get ahold of the bone. I grab it with my left hand and hold one end of it steady so he can nibble.
“I had to run by the hardware store for a few things.”
I frown and look at the ground by his feet. “You don’t have any bags.”
What the hell, Izzy? Are you trying to make it sound like you think he came for you ?
“Loaded them in the truck already.” He thumbs over his shoulder, gesturing to where his truck is parallel parked. “I saw you guys then. I wasn’t sure if you saw me, so it felt rude not to come over.”
“Plus, who can say no to ice cream?”
He cracks a grin. “That, too.”
That look melts my heart, making it as gooey as the ice cream I’m finishing. It’s way too easy being around him, talking to him. Even when I’m nervous and losing my shit over my own thoughts. And it’s pure torture.
Why does the first man I’m seriously attracted to in years have to be him ?