Chapter 7 Ginger
GINGER
Iset the open box of muffins and pastries in the middle of Nina’s table and sit down. “I hope we didn’t cut your morning with Travis short.”
“Not at all,” Nina says, waving away my concerns. “He went over to his parents’ house to help his dad with something.”
“Good.” Willow slaps the tabletop. “Now we can get to the bottom of why Ginger stayed home to do laundry last night instead of hanging out with us.”
I place a chocolate croissant on my plate. “It’s no big mystery. I had a busy week with the holiday and Black Friday, and fell behind on my laundry.”
Willow rolls her eyes. “Spare me the lies, girl. I’ve known you too long to let you get away with a lame excuse like that.”
“If I were trying to lie, wouldn’t I have come up with something more elaborate?” I ask, hoping to throw them off.
“Not necessarily,” Nina says, taking a gingerbread muffin for herself. “Keeping it simple works best.”
“You’re an expert on lying, are you?” I tease.
Nina shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. There have been times I may have lied to my brother to get him off my back at work.”
“You must love not having to deal with that anymore,” Willow says.
“Well, that’s not exactly true. I’m still involved in the family business. They’ve just lightened my load and are allowing me to work remotely.”
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Pretty good now, but at first my father wasn’t pleased.”
“Shouldn’t he be happy you fell in love with a great guy?” Willow asks, setting a pumpkin muffin on her plate.
“You’d think that would be his reaction, but the family business comes first with him.”
“What’s your sister up to?” I ask. She came to visit Nina at the end of the summer after a bad breakup but we never got to meet her.
“She’s in New York, trying to get on with her life without her asshole ex-fiancé.”
“So, back to your laundry,” Willow says, smirking. “You didn’t think we’d moved on, did you?”
I laugh. “I’d hoped.”
Willow shakes her head slowly. “No freaking way. What’s going on with you? You might as well tell us.”
“Getting whatever it is off your chest might help,” Nina suggests.
I let out a long groan. “You two are a pain in my ass for making me talk about this.”
Willow snickers. “Spill the tea.”
Nina smiles knowingly. “I think I already know. This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain tall, infuriating, absurdly attractive Thorne brother who owns a dispensary, would it?”
I sigh and briefly drop my head into my hands. “Yes. Is it that obvious?”
“Not at all,” Willow says, popping a piece of muffin in her mouth. “I only know because you’ve had a crush on him forever.”
“What’s changed that has you avoiding him?” Nina asks.
My appetite has disappeared, but I tear a piece from my croissant to avoid looking directly at either of them. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being weird.”
“Define weird,” Willow says, leaning in like we’re discussing military secrets.
I take a breath, debating how much to share. But then I decide to go for it because I’m confused and can use any insight my friends have to offer. “Last Sunday he hung the shelves in my shop for me.”
“You told me about that when I helped you fill the shelves,” Nina says.
Willow slowly blinks. “You stayed home from s’mores night because of shelves?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That was last Sunday. But that’s when it started.”
Willow frowns. “What started?”
“This strange thing where he stopped being the flirty, cocky Jordan I’m used to and started being…
” I pause. “Sweet? Thoughtful? I don’t even know how to put it into words.
” Both of them remain silent, which is rare, so I continue.
“When he was there that night, I suggested he sell pumpkin spice edibles. He said none of his suppliers carried them, so I offered to help him make some to sell on Black Friday.”
Willow’s eyebrows press together. “You offered to voluntarily spend time with Jordan?”
“Yes. I mean, he helped me out, and I figured I could return the favor.” I tuck one leg underneath me on the chair. “So Thanksgiving night he came to my shop and we spent a couple of hours baking cannabis oil infused pumpkin bars.”
“Ooh, did you try them and then make out with him?” Nina asks.
I snort. “No to both.”
Nina’s excitement deflates right in front of my eyes. “Bummer.”
“No, not bummer at all,” Willow corrects, shooting a what-the-fuck look at Nina.
“I know you’re in love and you want everyone to experience how amazing it feels, but Jordan is nothing like Travis.
If Ginger got involved with him, the only thing she can count on is him breaking her heart. She deserves much better.”
“Maybe he’d be different with her,” Nina challenges.
Willow rolls her eyes. “Sure. If we live in fantasy land. Here in reality, statistics show he’d most likely be the same. A leopard doesn’t change his spots.”
“Okay, Miss Negative,” Nina says, sticking her tongue out at Willow before she looks at me. “I’d like to hear what happened when they made the edibles.”
“He listened to my instructions and took them seriously. He toned down the suggestive comments—toned them way down—and he was normal. Actually, he was complimentary and genuinely kind. I had a lot of fun with him.”
“With Jordan?” Willow asks, wide eyed.
I nod. “Yes, our Jordan.”
“Sounds like he’s your Jordan,” Nina says, tittering.
“Let me get this straight,” Willow jumps in. “You skipped a night out with us to do laundry, but really it was because you didn’t trust yourself not to look like a love struck fool in front of a certain edible-making shelf hanger?”
I wince. “Basically.”
Nina leans back in her chair, polishing her nails on the front of her sweater. “I called it.”
Willow sends a concerned look my way. “You’ve got it bad, girl.”
“I know.” I groan. “And I tried to remain impervious to his good looks and charm. But then he went and hit me with the sweetness and threw in a sprinkle of self-deprecation. I even saw hints of vulnerability.”
Willow slowly ticks her head side to side, as if she’s confused. “I can’t believe we’re talking about Jordan Thorne. Are you sure it wasn’t an alien shapeshifter?”
I laugh. “It would be easier to accept your theory than to understand this new version of Jordan. And now, here’s the kicker… I find myself wanting to spend more time with him.”
Neither of them has anything to add, and we fall silent. That’s the moment it hits me. This isn’t such a little crush anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. I just refused to see it, and spending time alone with him forced me to acknowledge the change.
Willow finally breaks the silence. “What are you going to do?”
I push my half eaten croissant around on the plate with my fingertip. “I wish I knew.”
I sit down on the couch and put my feet up on the ottoman.
“How was your morning?” Pops asks.
“It was nice to have some girl time.”
“Are you still okay with hanging up the outside Christmas lights?” he asks.
“Yep.” Ugh. Hanging lights is the last thing I want to do. But he already asked me this morning and I agreed, so there’s no backing out. “Can I ask why you want outside lights? We’ve never put them up before.”
“Can’t a man want to see lights on his house before he dies?”
“Pops! Don’t say that.” I toss a pillow at him playfully. “If you want lights, you’ll get them. You don’t need to make it about some morbid reason.”
He shrugs, entirely unfazed. “You asked and I answered. I can’t help if you don’t like my motivating factor.”
“Do you know where you want them placed?”
“Yeah. On the front bushes, across the porch railings and roofline, and the boxwoods along the side of the house.”
The doorbell rings before I can respond. I push myself off the couch. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“Yeah, Roger.”
I open the door, smiling. “Hi, Roger.”
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Come on in.” I step aside to let him pass, and I’m about to shut the door when someone else fills the threshold. Jordan.
“Hi, G,” he says, flashing his lazy grin.
I automatically smile back. “Hey. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
From his recliner, Pops calls out, “I asked him to help you hang the lights.”
I sigh. “Pops, I’m a grown woman, perfectly capable of hanging some lights by myself.”
Jordan chuckles and lightly touches my sleeve. “I’m happy to help out.” His touch lingers a second too long. Or maybe I imagine it.
“Okay. Thanks,” I say, shoving my feet into my sneakers without untying them. Grabbing a pink hoodie from the coat rack, I pull it over my head. I open the side door that connects the house and garage. The smell of sawdust and old paint hits me. “The lights are out here.”
Jordan follows behind, hands in his pockets like he’s trying to stay out of my way.
“They’re in that bin,” I say, pointing to the dusty green tub stacked beneath two gray ones.
He sets to work without hesitation, lifting the top two bins down like they weigh nothing. I try not to stare, and I fail.
“All set,” he says. “This feels like you have enough lights to wrap the entire neighborhood.”
“Yeah, Nan was a big fan of after-Christmas sales.” I smile at the memory and press the button to lift the garage door.
He carries the bin outside and then opens the cover. There’s an extension cord and package of hooks on top that he drops on the ground before he starts pulling out tangled strands of colored lights. I start untangling one section while Jordan plugs in another to test if they still work.
“So far, so good,” he says. “Where do you want to start?”
“Let’s do the boxwoods first.” I grab a strand. “They should be simpler than the rest.”
We get to work, moving side by side, looping lights around the tall shrubs. It’s going smoothly until I toss one end of the strand over a higher branch and turn around to ask him to help. At this point I realize I’ve somehow become tangled up.
“Wait a sec,” I mutter, trying to reverse out of it.