25
“So what did he do, exactly?” Brenna asks carefully.
“Hm? What did who do?”
She glares at me, “Everyone knows Adam has sent you a gift every few days for weeks! Not to mention all these flowers! And how many Canton Cards I’m sorry cards has he sent?”
“I think all of them that we carry.”
She whistles. “Did he cheat? Because unless he cheated, I gotta say, you’re being quite the hard ass.”
“Brenna!”
She holds up her hands. “I’m on your team, just finally tell me the details so I can be adequately upset!”
I roll my eyes, “He’s just a mean, grumpy jerk who finally said something unforgivable.”
“But you didn’t break up.” She glances at my ring.
Dang. She’s got me there.
“Okay, maybe not completely unforgivable. But you’re right, I am being a hardass and he deserves it.”
“But you’re not going to tell me what he said?”
I think it over, since obviously I can’t explain the whole situation. “He kind of accused me of, like, sleeping my way to the top.”
“With your own dad?!?” She yells.
“Ew no!” I yell back. “Sorry, I mean, more like he was saying I was ambitious and only with him because he’s a Bell.”
“Oohhhh. Okay. Yeah, that’s gross. Like you would ever not be totally truthful and authentic and just oozing integrity. Does he even know you?”
I laugh nervously, “Right?!” My stomach flips over at the realization of my friend’s opinion of me versus the truth: I’m a big phony. Ugh!
“So what’s this one?” She asks.
“Probably a fork.” She grimaces as I start unwrapping the latest gift. “They’re tiny etchings of stops from our trips, remember? Popeye, the twine, a rocking chair, a Cadillac, a shovel, next up should be the big fork.”
“Ohhhh, right. Well, that’s pretty darn romantic.” She says. I glare at her. “I mean not enough to make up for him calling you a manipulative ho bag, of course. But sweet. And are you sure he carved them himself?”
“Yup.” I say, taking out a little flat piece of wood with a drawing etched into it of the weird street corner and the giant fork where he proposed.
“And are you going to forgive him?”
“I mean we have the whole wedding thing coming up.”
“Oh that?” She laughs.
I laugh too. “So, I will have to face him eventually. But not…” I take a set of flowers and dump them in the trash so my overstuffed counters have a spot for the new carving. “…today!”
I also take the latest card and dump it. He has never written anything more than I’m Sorry, Adam in them. Same as his three rotating text messages: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Can I please see you? I’ve yet to reply to any of it.
Because there is no point.
I throw a couple more cards from where they’re tucked into flower arrangements, straight into the bin.
Brenna watches in awe. “Has your little sister seen this ruthless side of you?”
“Skye? Ha, yes she has, she is hoping I go full Runaway Bride. And Megan does too, wants me to reject the tradition and stick it to the man. She even bought me some running shoes.”
We both laugh and resume our pre-apology-gift-delivery activities. I’m ready for a night out in the amazing little college town that is Norman, Oklahoma with my friends. I know the guys are joining again but odd man out or not, I’m decidedly not inviting Adam this time.
_____
“You’re lying!” Pearce laughs again to my right in the crowded street corner wanna-be pub.
“She’s not, I’ve met Sally, this is for real!” Brenna adds.
“It is! Skye, my middle sister, had convinced her that the tooth fairy desperately needs teeth to grind up to make fairy dust. So there she was, my four year old sister sitting on the floor, bleeding from the mouth and filing her tooth down with a nail file!” Everyone laughs again. “She’s just so smart and serious and literal, she thought well why give her the tooth? I’ll just make the dust and put it under my pillow.”
“Did she hurt herself when she pulled her tooth? Was she traumatized?”
“No but I’m the one that found her covered in blood!” I answer Pearce. “ I was traumatized!”
He laughs and puts a hand on my bicep. “Aw, I bet you were.”
“I’m gonna need you to take your hand off of my fiancé,” the deep voice rumbles at my side, sending a current of energy up my spine. The one sentence somehow cuts through all the noise in the bar. Pearce’s hand falls, along with his face.
“Uh, I, um,” the poor guy says, looking like he’s about to vomit.
I almost don’t blame him. Adam’s normal grumpy giant persona is intimidating, but this man—somehow taller and wider and thicker beside me, brimming with anger and scowling like never before—he’s legitimately scary. And so undeniably hot. He’s in his scuffed jeans and work boots that I love, paired with a football shirt. And his shirt is…dirty?
No. Sawdust. He’s covered in sawdust.
But the strangled, awkward sound Pearce makes as he retreats brings me back to reality.
This man—hot as he may be—is a total jerk.
“Adam!” I scold.
He moves to stand directly in front of me, blocking my view of my friends, who are quickly scattering like mice to various corners of the pub. I look for Brenna or Megan or someone, anyone to stand with me as backup.
Cowards!
I look up into the deep brown irises burning their gaze right into my soul. I fight the urge to gulp.
“Who told you I was here?” I say, sounding braver than I feel.
“Lucky guess. I keep trying everywhere, all the time, for weeks. You’ve been hiding.” I shrug. He’s right, but I’m not going to tell him that.
“I’m sorry.” He says, sounding more…irate than contrite.
“I told you not to bother saying that.”
His jaw works and he looks past me, then locks back on my eyes. “You gonna try and tell me again that the guy wasn’t hitting on you?”
“For the hundredth time, that fireman was not—”
“Well, Pearce sure as hell was.”
“Well, again, so what!”
He exhales, then slowly responds. “I realized something.” He waits, so I cock my head and raise my eyebrows. “I told you I wouldn’t do anything with anyone while we’re together.”
“We’re not together.” I mutter
“You didn’t say the same.” He says and his scowl finally falters. Instead he looks…scared?
I laugh at the sheer absurdity. “What!”
“You didn’t agree.”
“Okay? So?”
“So it’s been weeks. Are you seeing other guys with my ring on your finger?”
“Oh my word, you are unreal!” I start to pull on the ring, then stop myself and lower my voice, leaning in so he can hear. “If we weren’t legally bound together I’d take this stupid ring off and throw it in your face!”
“You didn’t answer my question, Susan.”
“No is the answer! You insane, crazy, insane, freaking insane asshole!”
Wow, Susan. Articulate.
I try to move past him but he stops me. “You’re right. I am. And you were right, I didn’t mean what I said and immediately felt terrible.”
“As you should have! Now you come get all caveman on me in front of my friends—totally innocent friends, by the way, nothing was happening there—and ask me about my integrity instead of apologizing? I still don’t want to see you.” I push away again and he grabs my hand.
“Wait. Can we go outside? Can I just talk to you?”
“No.”
“Please.” He looks around and takes both my hands in his. Then he tugs on my hands and lowers his voice. “So I can apologize without…an audience.”
“Fine!” I pull my hands away and storm out of the little bar. Once outside, I walk a few paces away from the doors. He is hot on my heels. I turn and he’s close. Too close. So close I can smell his woodsy scent, feel his warmth. See the fatigue around his eyes, no doubt from trading sleep for the time to carve those amazing little works of art.
“I miss you.” He blurts out.
My mouth drops open. “Funny way of showing it.” I get out, barely more than a whisper.
“I know. I said I’m an ass. You’re right. What can I do or say to get you to forgive me?”
I shake my head, more confused than ever. “What does it matter? Isn’t this all going to be over soon?”
He pulls at the back of his neck. “Yes, probably.”
“Great! Then who cares? Let’s just survive this.”
“I care. I screwed up. I want to make it right.”
“Fine, I forgive you.” I say quickly, afraid of all the feelings that are resurfacing. Coming back with a vengeance after weeks of keeping them at bay.
He swallows. “So can we go back to how we were?”
“No. I mean, we can hug on campus to keep up the charade but I don’t want to do any more trips or dates or kisses…to try anymore. Let’s just do the bare minimum until your uncle comes through.”
He sighs, his hands lifting a bit like he’s about to reach for me, then relaxing back down at his sides. “Okay.”
“Okay. I’ll see you…whenever.”
I move around him, eyes burning, wishing for more. For him to tell me he wants to kiss me. That he wants to date. That he wants it all back, but for real. But that’s not what he’s saying.
He’s not brave enough to admit that. Or to even feel it. The man carved me a million very personal, thoughtful gifts. He almost burst every blood vessel in his face glaring a death stare at Pearce. He just can’t or won’t see what we could have, what we could be.
But I’m done trying to explain it to him.
When I put my hand on the door handle he calls out, “Wait.” I pause and barely look in his direction. “Did you like them?”
His voice is so small, his eyes so earnest. It’s the most sincere I think I’ve ever seen him. The most nervous.
It makes my eyes water.
“I hated them. I hate that I didn’t hate them, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” I say, quoting a favorite line of mine and sounding just as tearful as Julia Stiles did. Then I rush back into the bar, letting the noise and the crowd hide me away as quickly as possible.
He doesn’t follow.
He doesn’t call.
He doesn’t send any more gifts.
He doesn’t show up randomly again or question where I am or what I’m doing or who I’m doing it with.
But he does text me, every single day.
Adam: Hug at 12:30?
And every day, weak, forgiving, lovesick fool that I am, I reply: Okay.