Chapter 9
Ellyn
“How’s your wrist feeling?” Wanda, my best friend, former sister-in-law asks.
I hold up my wrist that I’ve secured in a brace since I no longer need the cast.
As the owner of the studio Wanda was able to sneak in a private session for me even though it’s the day after Thanksgiving.
“It feels great,” I tell her as we stand in between the two reformers in the private room of the studio. “The core and lower body emphasis kept the pressure off of my wrist just like you said they would.”
“And the hip?”
“Little sore but not much pain,” I tell her.
“Good.” She pulls me into a hug. “Missed you at Thanksgiving yesterday.”
“You had Charles’ family over,” I remind her.
“You still could’ve come with Meghan.” Meghan went to her aunt’s house after we had our Thanksgiving meal together.
“I like things quiet these days.”
Wanda nods. “And my husband’s family is anything but quiet.”
We both laugh. Her husband’s family is known to get a little rowdy.
“Is Meghan flying out tonight?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “She wants to get back to the city before classes restart on Monday.”
“I’m so proud of her,” Wanda says. “Everyone in the family knows you’re the one responsible for her drive and hard work. Shanice’s too.”
I wave her off. “Meghan has her father’s work ethic in her.”
Wanda groans. “Don’t compliment my brother. Not when his ass doesn’t deserve it.”
“Stop it,” I say while trying to hold my laughter. Sometimes Wanda’s more upset with Rick than I am. Now, four years out from the completion of my divorce, I hold no anger or ill will toward him, which is freeing.
“Let’s do brunch this Sunday,” she suggests.
“Sounds good. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
After I leave the studio, I’m not quite ready to head home just yet. Today’s the first real day I’ve had out of the house in over a week. My hip feels great, just a little sore, but the doctor said walking may actually help with that.
Instead of heading toward my car, I decide to take a walk around the strip mall where Wanda’s Pilates studio is housed. There are some department stores along with a smaller craft and bookstore that I want to check out.
One of the reasons I fell in love with the town of Harlington is the mix of larger department stores with smaller mom and pop businesses and family-owned shops.
A wintery Christmas display in the main window of the craft store catches my eye. Before I can make heads or tails of my actions, the overhead bell of the store rings as I push the door open to enter.
“Welcome,” the cheery older woman behind the counter greets. She waves but doesn’t approach since she’s ringing up a few customers.
I greet her and then move toward the display that I’d seen in the window. An array of ornaments, and seemingly handmade gingerbread house lookalikes, sit on the shelves behind the display.
A memory of making gingerbread houses with Meghan and Shanice and their two cousins who visited us a week before Christmas comes to mind. Those days were hectic but there were moments where I got to sit down with the girls and just enjoy the time with them.
I’ll never forget their laughter and giggles as I snuck gumdrops from their pile and popped them into my mouth. Or when I wiped vanilla frosting on Shanice’s nose and snapped a picture.
“Thank you for waiting.” The store clerk comes up behind me. “Is there something specific you were looking for?”
Is there?
A sudden jolt of realization overcomes me. I’ve walked into this craft store, drawn in by the Christmas decor.
But I have zero intention on decorating for Christmas this year.
“Um, well, not really,” I answer the clerk, not wanting to be rude.
“If I might …” She holds her arms out to a separate display. “These are our handcrafted miniature trees.”
At every turn or short break in her speech, I mean to tell this woman that I didn’t come in here with the intention to purchase anything. I want to tell her that I am not the target customer she’s looking for because I do not have any intention of decorating my home for the holiday.
I’m over all of that.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
But none of those protestations make their way past my lips. Thus, after thirty minutes of looking over and listening to the clerk’s thorough explanation for how the items for the store are made and selected, I walk out with an armful of holiday decor.
“Just for my office,” I mumble to myself. I’ve only gotten enough items to decorate my home office.
Besides, I’m a full-time YouTuber. It would help my analytics to have some holiday decor in the background of my videos.
Though that’s the excuse I make up in my head as I drive home, the image that keeps coming to my mind is that of a big, sexy ass rancher, setting up Thanksgiving decor in my kitchen and dining space.
The picture Joel made as he stepped back, intently inspecting his work, ignites something electrifying in my belly.
I loathe that in the back of my mind I start to wonder if he would like the new items I’ve just purchased.