Chapter 9
I have no idea where Shayna is leading me or what kind of information she thinks I need to know before deciding if I’m going to help her with her flower-truck renovations and learning how to set boundaries.
But I do know that I’m a complete idiot.
With each step up the creaky stairs, I overanalyze everything I said in our conversation downstairs.
Why on earth did I call her flower? I don’t give people nicknames, let alone cute ones. I’m not even going to think about the fact that I willingly touched her. Again.
I knew walking into this house with the sole purpose of helping Shayna was a stupid idea. I should’ve told Mallory I was too busy unpacking and trying to get settled with my job and being back in Louisville. Neither of which is true, but I think they at least sound like valid excuses.
Shayna opens a door at the top of the hallway and leads me into what I’m immediately able to identify as her bedroom. Why is she taking me in here? I scream the question in my mind, but I try not to let my panic outwardly show.
I do my best to keep my eyes fixed on her and not look around.
Being in her room feels like an invasion of privacy, even though she’s the one who brought me up here.
I take a deep breath and immediately regret it when I’m hit with the sweet, floral scent of her perfume.
I shove my hands in my front pockets and rock on my feet. “Why are we up here?”
“You’ll see.” Shayna opens her closet door and kneels before moving a giant box out of the way. She slides out the slightly smaller box that was hiding behind it. She remains kneeling on the ground and looks at me warily as she gestures to the box. “Go ahead.”
I bend over and open the box. I’m not scared of much—it’s part of the job—but I have no clue what I’m getting into when I pull the first item out. “What is this?” I pinch the large bundle of itchy yellow fabric between my thumb and pointer finger, holding it in front of me.
“A ball gown. I dressed up as Belle from Beauty and the Beast for a musical, even though I can’t sing, because the ladies at Sunrise Springs—the assisted living facility where Kelsey works—insisted I play the part. Obviously, I couldn’t disappoint the vivacious elderly women.”
Right. Of course she couldn’t. “And that right there is your problem.” I drop the dress back into the pile.
“At least most of them are hard of hearing, so their ears were saved from the travesty that was my singing.”
I feel my lips twitch, but I repress the smile.
What is it with this woman and the strong emotions she pulls from me?
Ones that no one else does. I’m just going to chalk it up to the fact that Shayna doesn’t do anything halfway.
She’s always all in. All joy. Exuberance.
And she’s trying to rub it off on me, but I made the mistake of letting someone in before—of thinking about a bright future with someone else—only for everything to come crashing down. I won’t let that happen again.
“What else is in there?” I gesture to the box, feeling like it’s a magician’s hat, where you never know what they’re going to pull out next. Or maybe more like Mary Poppins’s bag.
Shayna reaches deeper into the box and pulls out a large plastic bag filled with different sizes of paintbrushes and paints.
“Face-painting supplies for the birthday party I told you about.” She sets it aside and grabs another bag with various-sized tubes.
“These are makeup products I bought from old friends who sell products online, and I couldn’t say no, even though I’ll never stray from my trusted makeup brands.
” She shoots me a pointed look. “And by friends, I mean people who suddenly decided to reach out to me years after we’ve graduated high school, even though we hadn’t talked since then. ”
I run a hand along my chin, still not used to the smooth feel of my skin. “Why don’t you just say no? Better yet, don’t respond.”
She gasps in horror. “I could never.”
“We’ll work on it,” I grumble. “Dare I ask what else is in there?”
Shayna continues to pull out a plethora of random items ranging from perfume samples to knockoff sunglasses sold by a mall vendor that she wasn’t able to walk past without feeling pressured to buy something.
Once we’ve finally gone through the whole box, she sighs. “Then there’s all the balloon animal–making supplies you already saw in the kitchen.” She glances back at the full box. “I’m not sure how I’m going to fit it in here, but I’ll figure it out.”
I don’t understand why she would say yes to so many things she clearly doesn’t like or want to do. “Why keep it all?”
Shayna blows out a long breath. “I guess I could sell or donate some of it. But what if someone needs me to face paint at another party or play Belle again? I wouldn’t want to buy another princess dress.”
It sounds like I have my work cut out for me.
Shayna looks up at me from her kneeling position with wide eyes. I see both trepidation and hope lingering in her irises. “Now that you have all the information on how much of a lost cause I am, do you still want to help?”
If anyone should be scared, it’s me. I’m the one who will likely say something stupid and make my sister mad because I hurt one of her best friends’ feelings. But if it will keep me busy and save me from having to go on a date with my mother’s church friend’s great-niece, I’m game. “Sure.”
“You don’t sound super confident.”
I grunt. “I said I’ll help.” There are a lot of things that I’m not, but I do try to be a man of my word.
“All right, then.” She stands and moves to slide the box back into the closet.
I stop her with a hand to her lower back. There I go, touching her again. “Don’t put that away,” I manage to get out, yanking my hand back as if I’d touched a hot stove.
She turns to face me, a slight flush on her cheeks. “Why not?”
“We’re going to donate everything in that box on our way out.”
Shayna’s eyes widen as she shakes her head. “What if I need something again?”
“If you can tell me one thing in that box that you’ve used more than once, I’ll let you keep it.”
She rolls her bottom lip into her mouth until she finally lets out a resigned sigh. “Fine, we can donate it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Including the…what did you say they were downstairs?” It was impossible to tell what kind of animal they were when all they looked like were mangled snakes.
“Monkeys.” She winces. “We can throw out my attempts. But I still need the balloons and pump for the party.”
I shoot her a look.
She lifts her arms into the air before letting them fall dramatically back to her side. “I already said yes—I can’t back out now. I like to follow through on my commitments.”
“When’s the party?”
“In two months.”
“Perfect, that gives them plenty of time to find an actual balloon artist to come to their party.” I bend down, lift the box, and head back downstairs.
I hear Shayna’s light steps following closely behind me.
“We can work on a text message for you to send them while on the way to pick up your flower truck.”
“But—” she starts.
“No buts.” I have to stay firm if I’m actually going to help. “If you want to learn how to set some boundaries and say no, we’re starting today.”
“Fine.” She sniffles.
I don’t look back. I’ve never been good with tears. “Grab anything you need and meet me at my truck.” I open the front door and step out onto the porch before yelling back over my shoulder, “And make sure you lock the door behind you.”
I press my lips together. I don’t know why I said that. I swear, Shayna has some kind of magical power to get me to open up. Whenever I’m around her, it’s like I have a word disease, where I can’t seem to control what comes out of my mouth, and I’m not sure there’s a cure.
If she responds, I don’t hear her, because I shut the door behind me and head to my truck.
I throw the box into the back seat before leaning against the passenger door.
While I’m waiting for Shayna, I think through the checklist of work she said the truck needs.
If I remember correctly, one of my high school baseball teammates now owns a local body shop.
I open the social media app that I haven’t checked since high school and search for his username.
I find a link to a business page. When I click on it, all of the posts are pictures of newly painted cars. They look nice, so I click the phone number up top and press call.
After two rings, a familiar voice answers on the other end. “Pat’s Auto Body, this is Pat speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Pat. You may not remember me, but this is Connor Por—”
“Connor Porter! How are you, man? It’s been, what, nine years?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Something like that.”
“Well, it’s great to hear from you. Are you back from Seattle?”
“Moved back about a week ago.”
“Great, you’ll have to come play a pickup game with me and the guys. We play at the park on the first Saturday of every month. I’m sure everyone would love to see you.”
I grunt, unsure what to say to the random invite. This is why I don’t make phone calls often. I open my mouth to try to formulate some kind of response, but Pat blessedly ends my small talk misery. “Anyway, what can I do for you, man?”
I clear my throat. “I have a friend who’s opening a flower-truck business, but the truck needs a tune-up, some external work, and a fresh coat of paint. Problem is, it all needs to be done by next month.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because we’re located right next to a mechanic shop. I can contact one of the guys over there and get her truck in for the tune-up, then move it over to my shop for all the body work. What color does your friend want it painted?”
“I’ll have to ask her.”