5. Maisy
5
MAISY
“I can’t live on potato chips alone. My body needs fresh vegetables,” Graham says.
He wads his empty chip bag into a ball and tosses it on the table. Because of the tight filming budget, the only way he can afford to feed the cast and crew is by stocking his trailer with sandwich ingredients and chips. Lots of chips.
Sighing, he adds, “If we keep this up, I’ll have to start running again. And you’re coming with me.”
My nose scrunches at his mention of exercise. “Gross. Don’t force me to end our friendship.”
His amber eyes remain glued to my face while he takes several swallows from his water bottle and smacks his full lips. No man should have lips as luscious as Graham’s, but they’re part of his Hollywood appeal.
We met when he was cast as the love interest in Tatum’s first music video, and the three of us became inseparable. Tatum and Graham bought houses next door to each other in California, and we lived as one big family, along with Tatum’s security team and Miguel. I miss those days.
“Are you still heading to Walford today?” Graham asks.
Licking a glob of mayonnaise off my finger, I nod. “Yep. Right after we get done with this exquisite lunch.”
The chip bag hits me in the face. “Be grateful I’m feeding you.” He ruffles his sandy-brown hair and sighs. “Wish I could go. I wouldn’t mind poking around there a little more. The town’s way better than you made it out to be.”
Last week, he made his first trip to Walford and returned the next morning with the awful idea to live there someday. I’m on a mission to knock that notion right out of his mind.
“It’s the worst place in Texas. Pick somewhere else.”
As he rolls his eyes, our cell phones vibrate.
Tate
Help me decide what movie to watch next.
“Oh, fuck me.” My head hangs at the reminder of how Tatum tortures herself when she’s sad. She indulges in a marathon of the sappiest, most heartbreaking romance movies known to womankind.
Graham claps his hands together and hoots with laughter, aware of how much I despise romance or anything involving tears. “I take back my wish. This one’s all you.”
“You suck.”
“And I’m the best at it.” He waggles the eyebrows I trimmed for him yesterday.
Me
Pick something where the men have fangs.
So I have a thing for vampire movies…sue me. They involve romance sometimes. And the prospect of being bitten turns my blood into molten lava.
Tate
I have Robert Pattinson on my list.
Graham
Watch the one with Emilia Clarke.
I glare at him for suggesting such a devastating movie, then I pound my thumbs on the phone screen.
Me
Forgot to tell you Graham’s not coming today. He’s still coming down from the ED pill he took last night.
An exaggerated gasp comes from across the table. “You’re a runt with a capital C!” Graham shouts.
We both attack our screens like they’re video game controllers and we’re in a heated game of Mario Kart. We’re known for engaging in fierce battles of wits and insults over text.
Me
And he called me a Crunt, so clearly his dick’s broken.
Graham
Please tell Maisy to see a doctor. She’s being insensitive about my fish allergy.
GIF of a fish holding its nose
“Good one,” I mutter with a smile tugging at my lips. Few people can make me laugh, and Graham is one of them.
Tate
I’m in the mood for some Gosling. Good luck with your problems down under.
“She’s got jokes this year,” he muses. “This is good, right?”
Tatum’s going through a difficult time, and we want to be there for her. Unfortunately, our lives are changing, pulling us in opposite directions. We’ll have to find different ways to support each other now that we’re living apart.
Graham would love to join me on the quick trip to Walford, but he has a video conference with studio executives interested in his film. He feels guilty about his busy schedule, but Tatum’s a selfless person and would never ask him to put her first.
“This is good,” I say. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way.”
I shrug on my white faux-fur coat and gather our trash to toss in the bin outside his trailer. He reaches the door first but stops with one hand on the handle.
Looking down at me with a softened gaze, he says, “Whatever it is about Walford that makes you run away, I want you to know I’m proud of you for setting your troubles aside and being there for Tatum. You’re a bigger person than you realize. And you’re a great friend.”
“Well…” I glance around the simple trailer to avoid his tender eyes as pressure builds behind my own from the compliment. “I can’t be there for her if I’m still here with your sappy ass.”
He draws me into a hug, but I can’t hug him back because my hands are full of empty chip bags and water bottles. My friends joke about me not being a hugger, which is true for reasons they don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t want to show them affection. The truth is, I don’t know how. I never received much physical comfort growing up, so I’m awkward about hugging and cuddling.
“I’m only sappy because I love you,” he says. “You make me so sappy.”
“You’re such a weirdo,” I murmur into his button-down shirt.
His chest bounces against my cheek when he laughs. “I am, but you love me anyway.”
I really do.
Most people are still at work when I arrive in Walford, which means I can pop into The Drip unnoticed and grab Tatum a hot tea as a comfort offering. She loves tea for reasons I’ll never understand. Water flavored with plants and flowers is gross.
At the end of Main Street where the road bends, I park next to Menchy’s Hardware Store. The choice is strategic, putting me on the opposite end of the strip from Bruno’s Bar. When my feet hit the sidewalk, Menchy rushes out of his store with his apron secured tightly around his waist and reading glasses perched on his nose.
Franklin Menchy, who goes by his last name only, monitors the happenings in town. Either he’s nosy, or he’s cautious. The jury’s still out. With his weathered umber complexion and shock of grey hair, he looks to be in his sixties or seventies, but no one knows his actual age. He’s a quiet man who keeps to himself, which is why his approach surprises me.
“Maisy.” He looks me over with a kind smile. “My, my. Look at you, all grown up.”
I zip my coat to trap what little warmth I can and say, “Hey, Menchy. How have you been?”
“Good, good. Just keeping an eye on things.”
An awkward pause hangs between us because I don’t know what to say. We’ve never had a conversation that I can recall.
“So…” He hesitates, and I tense up, prepared for what’s coming. “How are you doing?”
For a moment, I’m stunned because he didn’t ask about Vera. So stunned, I repeat his words in my head to confirm he’s asking about me.
“I’m great.”
He nods, rocking back on his heels. “Good, good. Well, I’ll let you be on your way. Don’t be a stranger. Stop in and say hello to Old Menchy once in a while.”
“I’ll do that,” I say, eyeing him warily.
Another quick nod, and he spins on his heel and marches into his store.
Menchy never engages in small talk with people, reserving his brusque communication skills for anyone who falls out of line by his standards. Needless to say, our interaction baffles me.
Stuffing my hands in my coat pockets to protect them from the biting chill, I lower my head and stroll toward The Drip. A presence forces me to look up, and my steps falter, eyes widening in alarm.
Jensen strides toward me with a determined expression on his bearded face and a black hoodie covering his hair. My panicked gaze darts to the coffee shop less than half a block away as I consider my odds of reaching the door before he reaches me. His long legs eat up the brick pavers between us, and I’m too late to act. In a blink, he grabs my shoulders and walks me backward into the narrow alley between the antique store and the donut shop.
“What the?—”
He slams his mouth onto mine, and I go stiff, frozen from the shock of his unexpected kiss. When he presses harder against my mouth, shoving his tongue along the seam of my closed lips and demanding entry, he earns my quick surrender. Pathetically quick. I part my lips and welcome him in, allowing the longing I’ve felt for him all these years to wrap around us like a blanket of hopeless submission.
Jensen groans in victory and lifts me off the ground, taking us farther into the shadows. My dangling legs wrap around his waist when my back hits a brick wall. Using his hips to pin me in place, he thrusts his fingers into my curls and yanks on the roots. I rip his hood off and do the same, sliding my hands into his thick, luscious waves and fisting them until he grunts from the pain.
We’re chaotic and messy, all teeth and tongues, biting each other’s lips and stealing air from each other’s lungs. He smells incredible—like spice and musk and dirty dreams—and I want to drown in his scent and never come up for air. Reflexively, I sigh into his mouth, drawing a rumble from his chest.
“Do I have your attention now, birdie?” His ragged whisper vibrates against my stinging lips.
“Shut up.” I dive back in, pouring more aggression and anger into our frenzied kiss.
How dare he bulldoze me like this? How dare he kiss me without permission? I’m furious with him, but I can’t make myself put an end to this madness.
My teeth sink into his full bottom lip so hard his breath hitches. He squeezes two handfuls of my ass and grinds his pelvis, dragging a deep moan from my throat. In retaliation, I bury my sharp nails into the back of his neck and rub my core against his belt buckle, grateful I wore leggings today. My body craves the friction.
“God, I miss you so much. Please stop running from me. Give me a chance to make things right.” His gruff tone warms my insides, but his hurried speech stops me cold.
In the chaos of lust, I’ve forgotten the vow I made to myself long ago. This man will never be in my life again. He had his chance and made his choice.
Chest heaving, I reluctantly turn my head away, denying him once again. “Put me down, Jensen.”
“Maisy,” he breathes, his voice cracking. “Please.”
“Put. Me. Down.”
He rests his forehead against my cheek, panting hot breaths along my jaw and neck. “I can’t take this anymore. Haven’t you punished me long enough?”
I squirm against his hold until he relents, helping me slide down his firm body. Once I’m on solid ground, he paces and rubs his beard without taking his eyes off me.
My stare is fixed on the brick wall behind him when I say, “I don’t know what you want from me.”
When he spoke these exact words to me years ago, he lied. Jensen knew what I wanted from him. The request I made back then was crystal clear. After all this time, however, I’m uncertain of his intentions. Any type of relationship with him, friendly or romantic, is out of the question. I won’t become vulnerable for anyone again, especially him.
Frustrated with his lack of response, I meet his intense gaze and search for truth amid the emotional chaos brewing in his eyes. “Say something, Jensen. Say anything. Use your words.”
With a defeated sigh, he shakes his head. “You know I’m not good with words.”
I step toward him as if he’s the smaller person here. I’m so pissed off right now, I feel massive compared to him. “That’s bullshit. You’ve had years to think about what you would say to me. Fucking years . And you choke yet again.” I laugh in his face, although nothing about this situation is funny. “Typical. You know, for someone so big and strong, you sure do scare easily.”
“Because I can’t—you don’t—I’m not—dammit!” Fumbling to put his thoughts into words, his volume and distress rise before he regains control with a steadying breath. “You know this isn’t easy for me.”
I do. And I’m a terrible person for using his perceived weaknesses against him. Still, I have to protect my heart.
Tossing up air quotes, I say, “Then tell me, in one simple little ‘Jensen’ word, what you want from me.”
“Anything!” he explodes, raking a rough hand through his hair. He yanks at the strands, and his eyes fill with anguish. “Fuck. I want everything from you, Maisy. But give me five minutes of your time.”
“Why?” I ask, challenging him. “So we can sit in silence? Stare at each other while I try to read your mind?”
He holds out his hands, palms turned up as he begs. “Five minutes. Spare five fucking minutes of your life for me.”
For longer than I should allow, I lose myself in his pleading eyes and so desperately want to give him those five minutes and more. But I opened my heart to him once before, asking for his honesty, and he ruined me with a deadly combination of lies and silence.
Jensen would hold too much power over me if I were to give in to him. My future’s on the line—success is within my grasp—and I won’t let anyone in this godforsaken town slow me down. So I shake my head, offering him the only thing I can: rejection.
“I don’t have anything left to give you. Not even one more second.” When I turn to go, he grabs my arm to stop me. My eyes dart to the offending hand grasping my elbow before I glare at him. “Don’t touch me like you have the right. We aren’t friends anymore. We aren’t anything.”
Releasing me, his face twists in agony like I’ve gutted him with a jagged blade. My rioting heart aches as well. Despite my anger, it’s difficult to walk away and surrender him to all the places where I tell myself he belongs. In the shadows. In the past. In my dreams.
I’m near the end of the alley when he calls out to me, stopping me in my tracks. “Vera’s sick. She’s been sick for a while but won’t tell me what’s wrong. It’s not a cold or the flu like she claims. It’s serious.”
With my back to him, I study the concrete beneath my red Doc Marten boots and ask, “How do you know?”
“I went by her house yesterday. She wet herself while she was sleeping on the couch. And her balance has been off, like her body doesn’t work right.”
I noticed that too, the day she stumbled in the guest bedroom. She was acting strange, and Vera would never miss work for a common cold. Only a serious illness or injury would keep her at home.
Jensen continues, the sound of his voice drawing closer. “She needs help, Maisy. More than I can give her. I’m trying to find her a doctor, but I can only do so much. She needs you. I nee?—”
“See?” I cut him off, glancing over my shoulder. “You’re capable of stringing words together after all. Gold star.”
The last thing I see before striding away is crushing dejection, an expression he wears whenever we cross paths. I notice it on his face because I’m the one who keeps putting it there.