Chapter 4
4
[Judd]
“ W ell, that was messy,” Sebastian states, finally approaching me and I wonder for a moment if he means Heather or Genie.
As I watch Genie Webster exit the bakery, her question about finding her a date rattles through my brain. I’m well aware that years ago I stood her up.
My chest aches when I consider a young girl waiting on my arrival, dressed in a prom dress she excitedly told me the color of and then refused additional details, telling me I’d have to wait and see her in said dress to learn more.
I never learned more. I had my reasons. And while those reasons haunt me, one of my biggest regrets is hurting Genie.
Currently glancing down at myself, I’m further embarrassed by my appearance. I lift my arms to my sides and shake them once as if that will make any difference in the stench coming off me or the wetness that is seeping into my skin.
My younger brother stands beside me with a mop and a bucket. “I was trying to give you a minute, but I really gotta get this cleaned up.”
Pushing back my chair, I see the drips of macchiato that haven’t been absorbed by my shirt, jeans, or skin. Liquid had puddled between my legs on the seat of the chair. Melting ice drips down to the tile floor.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his typically rough voice softening.
“I will be.” Maybe I should be more distraught over my breakup with Heather, but as I’m the one calling it quits, I’m not. I can already hear the tale Heather will spin to her friends and family. I’m the asshole. She broke up with me.
Let people believe what they want. I typically don’t care about anyone’s opinion other than my family’s, and even with them, I try to keep my distance. It’s a strange dichotomy as I work with a few of my siblings.
I prefer being alone. Sadly, I’m used to it, but I’m also tired of being lonely, which was one reason Heather appealed to me. But sometimes, even being in the presence of another, one can feel invisible. In my case, I often try to make myself disappear.
My two oldest brothers have tried very hard not to allow my non-existence to happen.
With gradual return to Sterling Falls of the remainder of my brothers, all younger than me, I’ve been slowly coming out of my shell. A snail’s shell, which means it’s been a languid unfurling.
“Who was that woman speaking to you?” Sebastian arches a brow before he begins mopping around my feet.
“Genie Webster.”
Sebastian doesn’t shift from his sweeping motions, his non-response evidence he doesn’t remember her. Genie would have been roughly between Knox and Ford back in school. Sebastian is younger than them.
Genie Webster . I didn’t get a clear enough visual of her the other night, but in broad daylight, I caught some of the finer details. Her hair is cut to her chin with loose waves, streaked strawberry blond and hot chocolate brown. Her dark, expressive eyes are a richer color than her hair. Her smile is still the same. Bright and vibrant.
“Anyway, sorry again about the mess.”
Sebastian shrugs. “It happens.”
“Really? Women toss drinks in guys’ faces every day around here?”
Sebastian snorts and lifts the mop to wring out the wetness. “People break up.”
We stare at one another a second. Our family doesn’t hold a strong belief in romantic love; as in, many of us don’t think we’ll experience it. Stone, our eldest brother, however, has been adamant we all deserve the powerful emotion, and love will happen in different forms for different people.
Sebastian fell deeply into the didn’t-think-he-deserved-it camp until he met Enya. Surprisingly, I’d met her first in a professional manner. We’re both accountants and shortly after working with our family business she decided to move to Sterling Falls. Then , she met my brother.
And I want to feel the kind of sparks I see between them. That fire in his eyes when he looks at his wife, and the smile on her face when she looks back at him.
Heather and I did not have that kind of flame.
The thought returns my mind to Genie.
Firefly .
She’d been this brief flash of light during my fight. A flicker that popped in the darkness, held, and then extinguished.
I didn’t want that light to burn out.
“Want to go for a ride later?” Sebastian asks, still watching me.
For one of the first days of May, the beautiful day is perfect for a ride around the mountaintop passes near us. Since his return from jail, Sebastian and I share a similar love of motorcycles and the quiet understanding that sometimes you need the rumble beneath your legs and the open road before you. We don’t need to talk. We can just be silent.
Then again, the silence surrounding my loneliness and the chatter of Heather in my ear are two things I’ve been wanting to do away with. Today, I checked one item off my list.
“Rain check?” I suggest, my head a few steps in front of my heart.
Sebastian shrugs and I get busy helping him clean up the bakery before excusing myself.
Suddenly, I have new plans for the afternoon.
The last place I really want to be is Janet Hurley’s home or the Buttercup Society Garden Party. I’m not the face of Sylver Seed that’s Clay’s job. Actually, our business logo contains a newly sprouting plant coming out of a clay pot, a symbol of rebirth and growth after our father ran the business into the ground.
As much as I hate that I’ve given in to Clay’s request, because he has other plans that deserve his attention, namely his new little family, I have a change of heart and ulterior motive for being present.
If only I can avoid Heather. Then again, I want everyone to know we are no longer together. And we never will be.
I’m familiar with the concept of wallflowers because I read all kinds of books, so I make myself a plant, stiff and still in a corner near a window, hoping my presence is noted but no conversation is required.
I can tell Clay I did my due diligence. The society is happy Sylver Seed & Soil is represented. And I can get the heck out of here once I see . . .
Genie.
She’s dressed in a monstrosity of a yellow dress. Something poofy, with bows and scalloping, making the bottom look like the layers of a wedding cake. The top portion is fitted, which leaves very little to the imagination, hinting at every curve and dip, and the ampleness of her breasts, although they look a little constricted. To further prove my observation, Genie slips her thumb into the strapless dress right between her breasts and attempts to heave the top portion upward. Her elbow sticks out and she almost clocks the waiter cautiously walking among the crowd with a tray of champagne.
He turns to her as if she were trying to grab his attention, but her nose cutely scrunches as she quickly waves off his offering of the bubbly drink.
Glancing around the room, Genie’s deep brown eyes catch on me. I smile timidly.
I might not want to be here, but it’s my chance to see her again.
Her proposition earlier still haunts me. Can you find me a date by one this afternoon? It might look a bit suspicious to appear as her date within hours of a breakup, but I’m here to keep Genie company, if she’ll let me.
I owe her. An explanation. An apology. Maybe even some groveling.
For some reason, I envision myself on my knees, hiking up that extra wide skirt and diving beneath the fabric to bury my face between Genie’s thighs as a form of apology.
Quickly, I glance away from her. What the hell am I thinking? I can’t do that with Genie. I just separated from someone else. Then again, it’s been months since I’ve done anything remotely close to my imagination with a certain someone.
I don’t even want to think her name, and I’m grateful I haven’t seen her yet.
Slowly, Genie makes her way to me, every few steps nodding at someone, but not stopping to engage in conversation. Pulling up beside me, she mirrors my position, standing close to the corner and staring out at the gathering.
“Whatcha drinkin’?” she eventually asks.
“Whiskey on the rocks, although I’m not really drinking it.” I’m simply holding the glass to give my hand something to do. Plus, the alcohol is a reminder of someone else I don’t want to think about, but a good reminder of where I need to be later.
When this day is over, I’ll have extra energy tonight in the ring.
“May I, then?” Genie is already reaching out for the short crystal glass and removing the drink from my hand. As the two ice cubes within clink, she chugs down the whiskey in one steady stream. Lowering the glass, a quiet sigh of relief escapes her wet lips, and suddenly I’m thinking about them.
If she’ll taste like the harsh alcohol. If she’ll allow me to lick it free from her lips.
I scrub my hand down my face, willing my thoughts to dissipate.
When I was in middle school— no, even before that —I had a crush on Genie. As I aged, the crush turned from innocent schoolboy interest to a burning desire to be closer to her.
And I’d fucked up.
“Did you know today is National Naked Garden Day?” Genie says, startling me both with the tenderness of her voice and the random information.
“I—”
“Yet everyone here is clothed.” She focuses on the room and grimaces while continuing to hold the empty glass, waving it outward to emphasize her observation. “But who would want to see Mrs. Chapman naked?”
I glance at the eighty-something, retired librarian and then quickly look away, not wanting that image in my head.
“Of course, I’m the only one in this custard-colored atrocity that even an empty donut wouldn’t desire.”
Genie glances down at herself while holding out the empty whiskey glass without looking in my direction. Our fingers brush as I take it from her, and a spark crackles over my skin where our hands touch. Genie’s head quickly turns in my direction. Did she feel it too?
But just as quickly, she looks away again and cups beneath those restricted breasts, shimmying a little, appearing to adjust those luscious swells. I glance away to avoid a glimpse of something I shouldn’t see.
She sighs, which sounds more frustrated than revealed by her adjustment.
“You look . . . pretty,” I mutter to the room. She looks uncomfortable and the dress appears a bit dated, but again, what do I know about women’s fashion.
“I look like Didi Conn in the role of Frenchie in Grease . And I feel like an overstuffed banana.” Genie tugs at the sides of her skirt, while mumbling, “If this is a size ten, I’m a fucking princess.”
I snort. She’s funny . Humor and I are not playmates, though, so I don’t have something witty to say in response. Then again, I don’t need to speak because Genie continues.
“It’s also Kentucky Derby Day, but is there a mint julep in sight?” She pauses without looking at me, waving outward toward the room. “No, there is not.” Her voice raises just a touch, and a couple nearby looks our direction.
“It’s also National Star Wars Day.”
“You certainly know a lot about this day.”
Genie huffs, continuing her streak. “The Force does not feel like it is with me today.”
This reference I understand, and I laugh. One short puff of air.
Genie turns toward me looking startled, like she’d momentarily forgotten I’m standing next to her despite her chatter. “I know a lot about dates because it’s my business.”
“Like asking me to find you one?” Maybe I’m misunderstanding her situation. I definitely did not like the assignment. If she’s looking for a date, I’m ruling out husband or boyfriend for her relationship status. She already knows my hours-old position. Single.
“No,” she chides with a smile. “As in, I make calendars. Quirky Girl Calendars.” She presses a hand to her chest like I should understand the reference.
“Anyway,” she continues. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
I arch a brow. “I’m not supposed to be. But I thought I’d be reinforcements for you.” Maybe the Force will be with her after all.
“Why would I?—”
“Virginia, there you are.” Janet Hurley is a force. One I don’t particularly like. I’ve had occasional interactions with Janet because of the woman I’m no longer going to name having a connection to this pillar in our community. She’s one of the reasons I’m standing next to Genie.
Because Genie asking me to be her date becomes clearer as Janet takes in my proximity to her daughter.
“Judd.” Janet nods stiffly. She doesn’t care for me anymore than I care for her.
“Mother, I see you know my . . .” Genie pauses and glances up at me.
I arch a brow, almost daring her to call me her date. In my gut, I know it’s premature to say such a thing. And it’s definitely impetuous to say what pops out of my mouth next.
“I’m her fiancé.”