5. Aidan
FIVE
Aidan
Magnolia didn’t respond to my texts asking if we were still on for tonight, but that didn’t stop me from driving to her store.
When I arrive at Magnolia’s Steals, I hear the stereo blasting before I enter the lilac-hued two-story house.
The “closed” sign is in the window, but the door is unlocked.
I enter as quietly as possible, closing and locking the door behind me.
The scent of wood polish and lavender hit me at once.
It’s a scent that I’ll associate with Magnolia from this moment forward. It’s not strong, it’s a perfect blend.
As I take in my surroundings, my heart begins pounding out a staccato.
Following the loud music brings me to a back room, hidden by a narrow staircase.
The door is closed. My hand on the knob, turning it, I gently push the door open.
She’s sitting with her back to me, her head on the desk in front of her, a small jewelry box of some sort in front of her.
I call her name once, and she turns to my voice, her face red and swollen. “Aidan. What are you doing here?” She looks down at her watch and then at the clock on the opposite side of the room.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, trepidation laced in my question.
Dealing with emotions is not my specialty, nor something I’d choose to deal with if given the options between tear gas, bullets, and emotion.
“Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question given her appearance, but one I have to entertain because as the only other human in the room, it’s my job.
She reaches over and turns off the radio.
“What does it look like?” She spins on the stool to face me.
“I’ll never be okay,” she says. Rubbing her eyes, she shakes her head.
“I can’t believe you’re here. I’d forgotten completely.
I was here by happenstance. I couldn’t be at home in case Kendall went back there. I’m a mess today, so I’m hiding.”
Tentatively, I approach, my heart in my fucking throat. I extend the bottle of wine. “Will this help the mess at all?”
She scoffs. “It’s a good start. Grab that gadget over there.
It’s an old corkscrew.” I let my gaze pan over the table filled with shit I have no clue about and find the only curly thing she could mean.
I hand it to her. “You can leave now. You don’t want to be with me tonight.
It’s going to be sloppy and crude. Thanks for this,” Magnolia says, shaking the bottle of wine, her hand wrapped around the neck.
“You saved me a trip down to the general store, where I would have made a fool of myself. Again. The town gossips would have loved that.”
Sighing, I take a step back. “How sloppy? I’m into sloppy,” I admit. “But if we’re talking about crying while fucking, I may have to bow out gracefully. Hard pass.”
She laughs loudly and then pops the cork. “Maybe you need to stay for a bit. You make me laugh.”
That’s a nice ego boost even if it seems like she’s putting me in the friend zone. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to stay. You are my plans for tonight, Magnolia.”
She rubs her lips together and shakes her head. “I look like shit. Just my luck.”
Raising one brow, I comment, “You’ve looked better, but it’s obvious you’re upset. Do you want to tell me who to kill now or later?”
“You’d kill for me? Awwwww, you’re such a good fake boyfriend,” she replies, standing to open a free-standing cabinet in the corner.
She takes out two wineglasses that remind me of a stained-glass window.
She blows on them and rubs the rim against her shorts, one on each side.
“These are expensive. Let’s not break them, okay?
Also, I might take you up on that whole killing idea.
I need a little more time to ponder it.” She pours the wine sloppily, trying to fill them quickly.
“That serious, huh?” I ask, accepting the glass of wine she thrusts into my hand.
“This place is amazing, by the way. I’ve never been inside.
I’ve only seen the extravagant window displays.
You do a really good job.” Every season is a display more extravagant than the next.
They remind me of the intricate displays you see in NYC during Christmas—the attention to detail is absurd, and people come from all over the state to crowd around and catch a glimpse of whatever the creation of the season happens to be.
When she first told me this place was hers, I felt stupid I didn’t make the connection, and then I was impressed because of the displays.
She smirks, sipping from her glass. “The Christmas one last year,” she says, glancing to the side. “It will be hard to beat.”
“Yeah, the Christmas tree made from old wrought iron cooking utensils,” I say, hoping the change in subject will sway her mood. “What do you have in mind for the next holiday?”
She sits back down on the stool, shaking her head. “I have no earthly idea.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I manage, eyeing her hesitantly as she drains the entire glass, her eyes glassed over.
She shakes her head. “Are you staying then?”
“I said as long as you want me to.” There’s a chair stacked in the corner. I grab a leg and turn it right side up and set it next to her.
She swallows hard. “No matter what I say? You’ll stay?”
My stomach churns even as I nod. “Magnolia. You can’t scare me.” I hold up a hand. “Maybe you could if you were sloppy drunk, fucking me while holding a weapon. I’d be a little uncomfortable then. I can’t be sure, though, because thinking about it is getting me a little excited.” I shrug.
She slides me a half smirk. “You won’t even be able to give me advice because you’re just a…whore,” she says. “I don’t mean that in an offensive way, but in a factual way, you know?”
“Ouch,” I reply. “Bitter about a man, then?”
“It’s not you. It’s men in general. And their whore women who ruin lives.”
I swallow hard. Uncharted territory means I have no idea what the fuck to say, and she’s right.
I won’t have advice. This is shit I don’t have to deal with when my only companions have been twenty-something one-night stands, though I do have enough shitty life experience to keep conversation broad. “Your ex?”
“He’s marrying Pamela. The woman he cheated on me with.
The woman Kendall saw him physically fucking on my dining room table.
Marrying her. Giving her my vows.” She takes the bottle from the desk and fills her glass and then mine.
Shaking her head, she closes her eyes. “I didn’t think it would bother me this much.
It was a possibility, of course, but I thought she was just his first stop on the adultery train. ”
“Vows don’t mean anything, Magnolia. Not from a man who breaks promises.
I’m sorry you’re hurting, but you should know that the vows he will give Pamela are just as weak as the ones he gave you.
That’s not anything special. It’s lies disguised as vows.
” I sip my wine, looking anywhere except her eyes.
They’re boring into me, trying to eat my soul.
“If it makes you feel better, you should know she’s just a stop on the adultery train.
There will be other women—a second, a third, and probably a fourth and a fifth.
Consider yourself lucky you’re out now and don’t have to wonder.
Poor Pamela will do nothing but wonder if he’s lying.
A relationship built on a lie that consuming isn’t worth a grain of salt. ”
I make the mistake of catching sight of her face.
“But you’re lying to everyone. Wanting them to think I’m your girlfriend when I’m just an accessory to remedy your own adultery train.”
“Touché.” Twirling the wineglass gives me something to do with my hand. “I never fuck with married women, Magnolia. You should know that.”
“How do you know? Everyone lies these days. That’s the root of all of this. Goddamn lies.” Her chest is rising and falling as her anger takes control of her body. I can’t say I blame her. I can’t imagine the predicament she’s been in. To have her daughter uncover the affair makes it even worse.
I palm my chest. “I don’t know. You’re right.”
“That’s all you have to say?” she says, hurt filling her eyes.
The time for running from this fucking mess has passed.
I’m invested. My friends call it the hero complex.
We make jokes about it. That motherfucking shit is true.
I can’t turn away from a problem that needs to be solved.
I cannot let a beautiful woman like Magnolia flounder like this.
It would be criminal if she never pulled herself from this suckfest. Plus, I can confidently say I enjoy talking to her more than I like talking to anyone else.
I scoot my chair back, away from her, giving a polite, neutral distance between our bodies. I nod once. “Tell me everything you’re mad about. Let it all out. Everything,” I say. She tilts her head, trying to get a read on me and my motives. “Tell me where it hurts. Tell me where the death blow is.”
Clasping my hands between my spread knees, I wait.
Her eyes widen and her mouth pops open. She closes it again.
I go on. “When it’s all out and there’s nothing left to say, it doesn’t belong to you anymore. It belongs to me. That’s the deal. I’m stealing it.”
Magnolia narrows her eyes. “But it won’t. It can’t. I’ve lived it. It will always be mine.”
I shake my head. “That’s the deal. Once you’ve spoken it, I’ve taken it from you.”
“How much are you paying for my dumpster fire?” She smiles, assuming I’m joking.
I look around, wondering how much she leases Magnolia’s Steals for.
She interrupts my thoughts. “Why in the world would you do anything for me? You barely know me,” she says, shakily setting her wineglass down on the desk. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense. I can handle your dumpster fire times a thousand. Give it to me.”