3. John
3
JOHN
He’s here. I can feel him. Always could. It doesn’t matter that Beth told me she spotted Micah rolling into town. It’s as if my heart is a homing device, clenching, beating, searching, wanting him near.
Still, my breath catches when the door swings open and Micah walks into my bar. I drink in every inch of him, from his long legs to his prominent shoulders, his dark-brown coiffed hair, clean-shaven jaw, and caramel eyes. Like one of those old-school movie stars. He is still one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I need to get it together before I give myself away. It’s been years, and he still has the power to disarm me. I can’t let that happen. Not anymore.
The bar is empty this early, which I’m thankful for, not only because there will be fewer witnesses to our reunion but also because it feels like I’m in a dream as he moves toward me, causing memories to blur together.
“ Meet me behind the stage curtains so we can make out. ”
“ Let’s do it, let’s get married. I want to be your husband. ”
I nod nonchalantly as he approaches. “Sorry to hear about your grandfather.”
“Thanks.” I can just make out a mix of grief and discomfort in his irises. “He lived a long life, even though the last few years were questionable.”
“I tried to keep an eye out.”
“I figured you would.” His gaze meets mine. “Always willing to lend a hand.”
“That’s me,” I mutter, regardless of whether the sentiment is true or not. Sure, I’m available to help people in the community, but not like my father was. “Let me know if you need help getting anything squared away at the house.”
“Christ.” He rubs a hand over his face. “He got worse with age. The place is stacked to the gills with junk.”
“What kind of junk?”
“Anything you could imagine someone would collect. Planter pots, ridiculous figurines I didn’t even realize he was interested in. Every newspaper and magazine known to man. Stacks and stacks of them.”
“Why do you suppose he held on to all that?”
“I want to say sentimental value, but I doubt it. He liked to avoid stuff—necessary discussions, in particular—so maybe this was his way of coping with facing certain things, like his health, and it became an obsession.”
I want to point out that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, especially when it comes to our relationship. I know this is not the time for a marriage discussion. But maybe we need to have one before he leaves town again.
“You knew him well, so your logic makes sense.”
“Rosie knew him better.” He frowns. “Said she’d sometimes throw things away when he was napping in an attempt to keep the place tidy.”
“Bet he blew a gasket if he ever caught her.”
We share a secret smile as another memory filters through.
“I don’t care who you screw around with, but that boy can use the front door perfectly well. If I catch him on that trellis again, he’s gonna help me with the landscaping.”
Grandpa Malone might’ve been hands-off for the most part, but his chastising voice unnerved both of us.
“I’m just glad my grandpa had someone.” He swallows roughly. “At the end. He barely returned my calls and only spoke through Rosie.”
He slides onto a barstool, looking exhausted. I can see the regret on his face, likely that he didn’t do more or try harder. Probably figured he had more time. Don’t we all.
I rap my knuckles on the bar top. “What can I get you?”
“Got any ciders?”
“Really?” I smirk. “Your tastes have apparently changed.”
He hitches a shoulder. “Refreshing. Spring is coming. Tastes good going down.”
“On it.”
I turn to pour him a glass and hear him clear his throat. “You look good, J. I like the scruff.”
My fingers automatically find my chin. I guess I have let my hair and beard grow a bit more in the last couple of years. “Thanks. I can say the same to you.”
Our fingers brush when I hand him the glass, and it’s like an electric shock to my system. Micah averts his eyes and mutters, “How’s business been?”
“Pretty good. You know how it is. Ebbs and flows.”
He nods and takes a hearty sip.
“How about you?”
He places his glass down, swirling his thumb around the edge as if carefully crafting his response. “You know, the same old grind, but got a few small parts here and there.”
“I know. I’ve been following your career. Well, as best as I can.”
“Yeah?” His cheeks color, making him seem young and innocent.
I nod. “That one zombie movie was cool. It was hard to pick you out at first, but then I found you.”
“Thanks. That was a lot of fun to film with all the makeup and fake blood.”
The thing is, I always thought Micah could shine on screen all on his own—he’s that charismatic, or I’m that biased. But he hasn’t gotten his big break yet. Many never do, but he keeps plugging away.
As more customers wander in and I get busy, Micah falls uncharacteristically silent, as if he doesn’t know what to say or how to act around me, and that’s rarely been the case between us. He was never much for small talk with the locals, especially the ones constantly in his business, so his awkward glances around the bar track.
The townsfolk’s scrutiny lessened as he matured into an adult, but many in this town still gave him a wide berth. To them, he seemed unpredictable and his grandfather a bit eccentric. Thankfully, my parents never bought into that bullshit, embracing Micah as soon as I started bringing him around. Mom always called him a restless soul, and she was right. I still see the edginess in him, even sitting stiffly on a barstool.
“Is that you, Micah Malone?”
Micah’s shoulders stiffen briefly before he turns to greet the man who runs the fruit stand in town. “Sure is, Mr. Kosta.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather. Haven’t seen him around in years, but Rosie stopped by often. She told me his health had taken a turn for the worse.”
I can see his jaw clench as he tries to rein in his sharp tongue. Mr. Kosta hasn’t always been kind to Micah or his grandfather, especially when Micah got caught pocketing an apple or banana on the way to school. I have no idea why Micah did it. The only thing I could ascertain was that it was a habit left over from fending for himself while living with his father. “Thanks.”
Once Micah’s glass is drained, he stands. “Heading back. Gotta clean out some shit and then decide what to do with the place.”
My gut churns, knowing it’s unlikely he’ll consider staying in town. It would hold too many bad memories for him, on top of stifling his career. “You’re gonna clear out all the stuff he’s collected?”
“Chuck says it won’t sell otherwise. Too cluttered to show it off properly.” He leaves cash on the counter. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who can give some advice on how to make it more…presentable?”
“I sure do. Jack’s new man.”
His eyebrows rise to his hairline. “He finally got one to stick around, huh?”
He shifts uncomfortably, likely realizing how that sounded. Except our situation is different from what Jack had with his ex. At least, I’ve always told myself it is.
“A good one too. His name is Aaron Edwards, and he moved here from San Jose. Likes to restore houses. Lives in the Martins’ old cottage.”
“What happened to Mrs. Martin? She pass away?”
He looks stricken, probably because she was one of the only people in town who was kind to him. She would slip him hard candies from her pocket whenever their paths crossed. He liked the butterscotch ones best.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He frowns, and it makes me reach toward him, but then I think better of it and draw my hand away.
“She kept up with you too, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” He averts his eyes as if embarrassed about the attention. “She sent me a postcard once.”
Huh, I hadn’t known that.
Glancing around to make sure all my customers are taken care of, I step around the counter and walk him to the door. “I can get in touch with Aaron for you.”
“Appreciate that.” He turns to say something, then seems to change his mind.
“Anything else?” I can see it in his eyes. The raw neediness. And not only because of his grandpa and Mrs. Martin. It’s that visceral thing that tethers us together. I step toward him. Maybe he needs my arms around him like I did after the accident.
He stares hard at me before shaking his head. “Nah, it’s okay. Wouldn’t want any rumors to spread.”
And before I can respond, he’s gone.