Chandler
CHANDLER
T he truck engine is loud when we pull out of the driveway and onto the road. I’m just grateful he left the keys there. And that it actually works.
When we made it to town, I went through a drive-thru at the nearest fast-food place, and we eat burritos in the car.
“We have to go to the thrift store to get some things for your grandpa’s house.” Sam says, taking a bite of her burrito. Doesn’t seem like she’s giving me much of a choice.
I shake my head no, still chewing my food.
"We absolutely have to go!" she says, and it doesn't sound like she's giving me much of a choice.
“For what?” I ask. “We’re just going to clean it up. We don’t have to do all of that.”
“Yes," she says. “We do. I have a lot of ideas for the place.” She hesitates for a moment. “Plus, what would it say about me if I did a half-ass job?”
"That you shouldn't have offered to help," I point out. Her nostrils flare, and she looks away from me. I have to hide the satisfied smile that wants to break through. I can't help it. I love getting on her nerves sometimes. When she looks back at me, she looks disappointed.
", please? I just want to see if they have anything we can use to spruce it up a little more. The house is beautiful. It just needs some love, and I want to make it feel like a home.”
Damn. If that just doesn't make me feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. I’m grateful for her help with the house. She seems to be putting a lot of thought into what the space will look like. But does she have to look at me like I just crushed her hopes and dreams?
“Okay, fine,” I give in. “We’ll go to the damn thrift store.”
There’s only one thrift store in town, and it doesn’t take us long to get there.
As soon as walk in, I almost lose track of Sam, and find her in the back where the furniture is, looking at the different shelves for sale. I watch her walk down the aisle, biting her bottom as she looks over each shelf. She stops in front of a white bookshelf, and looks at me.
“We should get this.”
I frown. “Why?”
“It looks like it’s the same height as the shelves in the living room, and it’s white so we won’t have to paint it.”
“Okay , but why do we need another shelf?”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Were we not just in the same house? There isn’t any room for all of the books in the living room and I’m sure you don’t the house to burn down from those books and newspapers near the fireplace.”
I sigh. I was just planning on putting the extra books into boxes and shoving them in what is now the potpourri room. I just hope she realizes we’ll need to get all of this stuff to the truck and into the house. “Fine. We can get the shelf.”
We decide to come back for the shelf and I follow her down each aisle. Surprisingly, I enjoy watching her face light up when she find something she likes, or the way her nose screeches up with disgust when she comes across a puke green dresser. After a while of searching she finds a rug, almost the same color as the one in the living room now. Then she spots a tablecloth that she apparently could not pass up for the dining room table. I don’t know why I can’t say no, but seeing that look on her face makes me feel like I’ve hit the fucking jackpot.
“I think I should get some clothes while we’re here,” she says, putting the tablecloth in the cart.
“Knock yourself out,’ I say.
We go to the clothes section, and I stand with the cart while she picks something out. I check my phone for any new messages from Ken while I wait. Still nothing. Hopefully we’ll have time to go back to the hotel at some point. I look up from my phone and see Sam running towards me with a huge smile on her face.
“I think I found something that will look good on you,” she says.
“What’s that?” I ask, grinning.
She holds it up in front of her and my smile falls. The blue flannel shirt would not look good on me. Not the person I am now anyway.
“I don’t wear flannel, Sam.”
“You don’t right now.” She flashes me a teasing smile. “But I bet you used to.”
I did, but that’s not the point. “I’m not wearing it,” I argue. “Put it back.”
She gives me a cheeky smile and throws in the cart. “No.”
I let out a defeated sigh before following her to the cash register. Sam lets the cashier know we want the white bookshelf in the back and she has to go back to scan it. The total is just under 100 dollars, with the damn shelf. God, this better be worth it. Sam takes out her wallet to pay, but I scan my card first. There’s no way I am letting her pay for this. She looks at me, frowning.
“Why’d you do that? I was going to pay.”
“Most people just say thank you,”I tease.
“But I was going to pay ," she argues. “I picked out everything you should have let me pay for it.”
“I’m not letting you pay for things to fix my family’s house. That’s my job.”
“Well," she says, still confused. “Even my clothes and the flannel shirt?”
“Even your clothes and the flannel shirt," I agree. She smiles at me, and I can’t ignore the elation I feel again when she does.
We load everything into the truck and head back home. My home. My old childhood home. Despite what we did last night, things weren't completely weird today. I’m not sure what it will mean for us when we get back to Florida. I’ve been trying not to think about it all morning.
Having her sit next to me in the passenger seat of the car as we drive back to the only home I’ve ever known makes me wonder what things would be like if she and I were a real couple. A couple coming back from shopping for the day to fix up a house that I’ve always loved. Jesus. Maybe we’ve been spending too much time together. Or maybe it’s because now I know how she looks coming around my fingers, and it’s taking everything I have not to pull over on the side of the road and kiss her until she’s begging for me to do it again.
“It’s nice out here," Sam says, breaking my thoughts.
“It is.” I nod.
She turns to me, her expression curious. “Was it nice to grow up in a place like this?”
I shrug. “Sure, it was fine."
“I would’ve loved it as a kid."
“Most kids do," I say. I sure loved it, for the most part. As a kid, before my grandmother died, I loved roaming the forest, helping my grandmother in the garden, and catching fireflies in little jars with Cheyenne when we were little. Days were spent outside in the sun, and evenings were family dinners followed by sitting on the porch listening to my grandma read stories to us at night. I loved growing up here. There’s a pang in my gut when I think of my grandmother and how much this town meant to her. She loved it here, and everyone loved her just as much. Sometimes I forget how much I miss her until I come home. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. I wonder what she would have thought of Sam. I think she’d like her. She’d welcome her with open arms and show her all of the coolest shops around town, and show her how to make potpourri. The thought makes me smile.
Sam lets out a contented sigh, and I glance at her from the driver’s seat. She rests her arms above her head, leans back in the passenger seat, and places her feet on the dashboard. She looks so damn cute.
“Comfy?” I ask.
“Very.” she nods, looking back at me with a grin, and my heart races.
What am I going to do about these is these feelings for her?