Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
Christine
It’s completely unreasonable to be upset because Tagger left. It’s not like I didn’t see it coming. It was a four-day visit. That’s it.
His life is in New York City.
Mine is here on the ranch.
We couldn’t be more distant in miles, time zones, or even our way of life. I knew that before I kissed him. So why does my heart still hurt?
“Are you going to eat that, sweetie?” I look up from the counter to see Peaches smiling down at me. Sympathy shapes her brown eyes, pulling down the corners with the sides of her mouth. She’s just like Lauralee and can see right through me.
Rubbing my stomach in a fake play to feign full, I try to change the emotion on her face. “I think that’s all I can eat.”
“Those biscuits are your favorite. Let me wrap up the last two for you to take home.”
“I appreciate it.” Lauralee’s mom has always been the sweetest and brought me into her brood like I was one of her own.
She disappears into the back, leaving me with my thoughts again. Those thoughts are the reason I came up to the sundries store in the first place. It’s been five days since he left, and I’m tired of being lost in my head over it. He owes me nothing. That’s what he took with him. So why am I carrying around our time together like it’s precious?
The man has always been popular with the ladies. He’s more handsome than ever, so just chalk it up to what it was—nothing but a good time. One time. That’s all.
The bell above the door chimes, and I look back like Tagger’s going to walk through it. I need a major distraction from my life right now.
I’m being utterly ridiculous. Normally, I wouldn’t mind indulging in my fantasies. It was a way to pass the time and gave me something to joke about with my best friend, and was completely harmless. I’ve done it for years without repercussions because they remained inside me. But Tagger and I made some come true last week, and now fantasies aren’t the fairy tales I once thought they would be. They’re reminders of what could have been, which hurts my heart.
I spin to the side on the chair, watching the kids bob and weave as they find the candy they want. The girls’ laughter overshadows the soft music piped in overhead while he follows her around like he would follow her anywhere.
Lauralee walks out with flour on her temple and powder on the side of her neck. I laugh behind my hand. “Looks like you were caught in a battle of wills. Who won?”
“The mixer.” She swipes across her forehead with the back of her arm. “It needs replacing.”
The teens come to the counter to pay for their candy, so I stand and go to refill my soda to give them space. I hear the buttons of the old-fashioned register clacking and clanging, and then she says, “That will be three fifty-seven for the candy.”
The kids pay and dash out the door, my attention grabbed when the chime sounds again. I’ve been trained like Pavlov’s dog to respond to the sound of the bell because one time, that bell meant Tagger Grange was here.
I return to the counter. “What do I owe you?”
“For two eaten biscuits, one with nibbled edges, and two to go?—”
“Don’t forget the soda.”
“Plus a small soda.” The tap of the keys leaves us in suspense until she says, “Oh weird.” Smacking the side of the metal register, she grunts. “It says on the house again. Lucky you.”
I roll my eyes with a laugh. “You can’t make it on the house all the time or your business will go under.”
Leaning against the bakery display, she says, “Business is just fine. It’s doing better than it’s ever done. The added fountain drinks and morning coffee have turned it around.”
I set down a ten-dollar bill anyway. “No change.”
“Well, considering it was zero dollars, that’s an outstanding tip. Hey, Mom,” she calls to the back. “We’ve got a big tipper out here.”
My cheeks heat from embarrassment. I grit my teeth, and whisper, “Do you have to make a scene every time?”
She nods, pleased with herself. “That’s half the fun.”
“What’s the other half?”
“Pure delight.”
I’ll admit that she’s funny when she wants to be.
Her mom pushes through the swing door, and Lauralee and I quickly straighten our shoulders as if she just caught us up to no good. When she sees the money on the counter, I swear I almost catch her about to roll her eyes, but she stops herself. Always being the prim and proper lady she is, it was refreshing to almost see her stoop to our level. She says, “I’m not taking that, Chrissy.”
“Pocket it, put it in the register, or donate it, but it’s staying right here on the counter.”
She hands me a small white cardboard box. “I put some extra biscuits in there for your dad.”
“Thank you.” I take the box, knowing she won’t let me leave without it even though they could make twice the money by selling it to someone else. And I don’t have the willpower to walk away from their biscuits. They’re comfort food, and right now, stewing in my vulnerability, I can use all the consolation I can get. “He loves your biscuits.”
“Tell him to come by and see me sometime. It’s been too long since we had a visit.”
It’s true. He doesn’t leave the ranch much if he can help it. And other than the feed store, he really doesn’t go anywhere. It’s actually a good idea to bring him with me next Friday. “I will. Thank you again.”
Lauralee is slipping off the apron. “I’m going to take a break and chat with Chris, okay, Mom?”
She replies, “You girls enjoy.”
We walk outside together and start a short stroll down the small main street Peachtree Pass has maintained for the past one hundred-plus years. The stores have changed, but the bones are still here.
The sun is blasting today, but the covered sidewalk gives us a nice reprieve. I stop in front of the only clothing store in town to peer in. It’s straight out of the nineties in style, but I score something good every once in a while.
“What’s going on with you?” she asks, standing at my side and staring through the glass. “I held a whole conversation with you that you didn’t hear. You didn’t even realize when I left. You just sat there, staring . . . and eating a biscuit. What gives?”
“Nothing,” I say effortlessly, but I’m certain the heavy sigh that escapes right after gives me away.
“That nothing sure is weighing on you.” She shifts to face me, blocking my window shopping. “Chris? What is going on?” I’m given an arched brow and hands-on-hips stance. She means business. I’m not getting out of this easily, and if she has her way, she’ll crack me open like she always does and know everything down to the soap I used this morning. “Is this about Tagger and him leaving?”
What can I say that won’t involve information I’m not ready to share?
More importantly, why am I hiding this from her in the first place?
I tell her everything, but my lips feel locked when it comes to Tagger. He didn’t ask me to keep a secret. I didn’t think to say anything to him about it. I know neither of us is rushing to tell my brother anything, but Lauralee is different. She would never betray me. Or judge me for any good or bad decision I’ve made.
But I still say nothing.
Why am I protecting the time we spent together?
It’s not like he will hop on a plane and surprise me just because we kissed in the middle of the road at four o’clock in the morning. I mean, maybe if this were the movies, a romance comedy or even a dramedy. But it’s not. This is real, and my life doesn’t work like that.
I once heard to never meet your idols. It will only disappoint you.
Is there a phrase about hooking up with crushes? I could really use the advice since it was better than I ever imagined, and now I’m expected to live life like it never happened.
Yeah, it’s too soon. Too raw. My thoughts are unable to wrap around why my heart is so involved when it was only supposed to be a little fun.
This is too personal to talk about just yet, so I hook my arm with hers and redirect her down the sidewalk. Without pressuring me, she says, “There will be other men, better ones, the kind that call you babe and then stay.” She stops and looks at me. “Forget him, Chris. It was a fluke that we even saw him. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.”
“You’re probably right.” I know she is. Tagger and I were lightning striking at the right time and place. We couldn’t predict that sparks would fly in the aftermath. That he had the same idea, the same urge and craving, to drive over to see me one last time before leaving . . . Those sparks were fireworks. And then we left the door cracked open, inserting hope where it doesn’t belong. The thing is, he’s not here to walk through it. “I know you are,” I add as we start walking again. “I need to get my head out of the clouds before I waste my life waiting for something that can never happen.”
Her arm comes around my shoulders, and she hums. “Always here for you.”
“Thanks.” Starting now, I refuse to lose more time to a daydream. I put on a smile that feels more natural with each passing second. “As for you, who’d you go home with from Whiskey’s?”
“It’s a sad tale as old as time.” She laughs. “I went home alone, crawled into my pajamas, and watched reruns of The Golden Girls until I fell asleep. Exciting? Nah. But I needed the rest, so it’s all good. You got home alright?”
“Got home safe and sound.” Though the image of his taillights disappearing into the night still plagues me.
“I was hoping you’d have a good story to share. Like he kissed you because he couldn’t resist you any longer. Or confessed under a full moon that he’s always loved you.” She shrugs. “A girl can dream for the big romantic gesture.”
“A girl can dream, but this is real life. You know my family and what they’re capable of. If they get their way, I’ll never date anyone, much less get married.” The realization that there is no winning in this situation with Tagger has me adding, “If they found out Tagger even glanced my way, we’d be attending his funeral.”
“Stop living your life to please them.”
I turn back to see her poised on the sidewalk with her brows cinched in irritation. “Trust me, Laur, it’s not about pleasing them. It’s about the first and only man I’ve ever felt connected to living an entirely separate life in another universe. We might as well be living on parallel timelines. I doubt we’ll ever cross paths again, and if we do, it will be as friends and only friends.”
With my truck parked nearby, I signal it. “I should get back to the ranch.”
Kind enough to let things slide from here, she says, “Text me later.”
“I will.” I start backward, but ask, “Want to go to Austin this weekend and do some shopping, grab some lunch, and stuff?”
“I’ll get my mom to cover for me.”
She’s the brunette to whatever mess of color I am, the brown eyes to my blue, the yin to my yang, and apparently my rocking chair companion. She deserves better than she gets, like I do. But we’ve become experts at playing the cards we’ve been dealt.
I hustle to the truck, get in, and set the box in the seat next to me. Would I prefer it be Tagger sitting there? I don’t think I’ll ever not want that, but I’ll settle for the biscuits if I have to. And clearly, I do.