Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
Audrey
Steam rises from my cup of coffee as I stand at the window and take in the view. The sun shines bright against the gray-blue sky, and a dusting of snow kisses the ground. The field beyond the kitchen is shallow, maybe a hundred yards deep, and the line of trees at the far reach is capped in white.
It’s beautiful. Serene. The perfect backdrop to end this Stoic era.
My lips twitch at the reference. I’ve never thought of it like that, but I’ll never think of it any other way now.
I sip my drink and grab a seat at the kitchen table. It’s small and round, and if someone didn’t chop the trees down and make this in their garage, I’d be shocked and slightly disappointed. It’s simple but heavy-duty—all function and no fuss. There’s something remarkable about it.
I swipe my finger across my computer’s trackpad when my phone rings. The screen lights up, but I reach for my phone instead.
“Good morning, friend,” I say before taking another quick drink. The hot liquid warms my insides, fighting off the remnants of the morning chill.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Gianna says. “How’d you sleep out there in the wilderness?”
I laugh, pulling my feet up to the edge of my chair. A smile ghosts my lips as I recall why it was hard to fall asleep—a reason I can’t mention to Gianna lest she have a heart attack. If I told her that I masturbated last night to Brooks Dempsey, she’d lose her mind.
Heck, I think I might’ve lost mine.
Gray’s friend isn’t my usual type. I’m typically drawn to quieter, broodier men. The few boyfriends I’ve had have been that way, as was my last crush, Seth. But something about Brooks captivated me. Excited me. Clearly.
Sure, his smirk is devastatingly sexy, and his abs are fire.
He also smells of spicy promises and dangerous encounters, and he moves with a confidence that only someone with zero self-doubt could muster.
I can’t decide if he’s intoxicating, or if I’m in such a dry spell that I’m considering drinking poison.
Probably the latter.
“Once I finally fell asleep, I slept like a baby,” I say instead.
“How many lights did you leave on?”
“All of them.” I laugh, remembering how I slept in ten-minute spurts for the first three hours. “I’m hoping that by the time I go home, I’ve conquered my fear of sleeping in the dark.”
“Hopefully, by the time you go home, you’re sleeping next to a certain cowboy.”
I roll my eyes. “Hartley is just a friend, Gianna. I’m not going to sleep with him.”
“Not with that attitude, you won’t. There’s nothing better at helping you feel like yourself than getting laid. I’ve been telling you this for months now. I don’t know why you won’t listen to me.”
I bring my mug to my mouth and sip again. She isn’t wrong, but I’m not telling her that either.
“How’s Drake?” I ask, leaning back against my chair.
“Sexy. Delicious. He’s at his parents’ house today, meeting with his sisters and mom about Big Ed.
” Gianna’s voice wavers as she says Drake’s dad’s name.
They’ve formed a bond over the past few months, and I know watching him slip further away from them is harder on her than she’ll admit.
“Drake might ask his parents to move in with us.”
Startled, I balance my mug on my knees. “Really?”
Gianna and Drake haven’t dated long, and despite knowing Gianna is madly in love with her boyfriend, this is still surprising.
It’s a big step—a huge one for her. I would never consider my friend selfish, but she’s had a lot of life changes lately, and she’s usually more reserved about letting people get this close to her.
But it’s one of the biggest reasons I love her. Her heart is enormous.
“I love this for you if this is what you want,” I say softly.
“Yeah, it is. Drake said he would feel the situation out and decide on the spot whether to bring it up. He wants to make sure whatever happens is his mom’s choice, since so much of her life these days isn’t. Do you know what I mean?”
“Of course, I understand.”
“We could renovate and create a separate wing of our house with a full kitchen, bedroom, en suite—all the things. It’s important to Drake.”
And to you. “I’m sure it is. And I think it’s really kind of you to open your home to them like this.”
“Astrid and I went to Stupey’s last night for dinner,” she says in her trademark Gianna Bardot I’m done discussing emotions kind of way.
“Kim brought your usual Arnold Palmer to the table and was offended that no one told her you were leaving town. I left her a big tip as an apology, so you owe me a manicure and thirty bucks.”
I giggle. “I’ll happily reimburse you.”
“But I also want to point out how unfair it is that when you’re home, we’re missing Astrid. And when she’s in town, you’re not.” Gianna huffs. “Why can’t I just have both of my best friends here at once? Is that too much to ask?”
Frowning, I sigh because I know exactly what she means.
The dynamic between the three of us has changed a lot lately. Gianna and Astrid have found their soul mates and are living their happiest and best lives ever—and I couldn’t be more thrilled for them. But I also couldn’t be more bummed for me.
I haven’t mentioned it to either of my friends because I don’t want them to take it the wrong way.
And I don’t want to be a spoilsport. I’m truly over the moon that they’ve hit the love jackpot—Gray and Drake are the literal best men ever—but their life progression has forced me to look into a mirror and take an honest look at my reflection … and I don’t like what I see.
Gianna and Astrid lived, experienced, and made mistakes before they settled down. They have stories to tell their grandchildren someday. Gianna will need to edit a lot of hers, but that’s beside the point.
I don’t have any stories to tell.
I’m the same girl I was when I was twelve—just with bigger boobs and better shoes.
I’m kind and sweet, a descriptor that has been used so darn much that I’m ready to scream.
They say it like it’s a badge of honor, and I suppose there are worse things people could say about me.
But I’ve come to realize that sweet is all I am.
I’m a rule-follower, a good girl just like my parents designed. And I’m so, so sick of it.
“How long are you going to be gone?” Gianna asks. “Do you hate it out there yet? Do you miss me?”
I laugh at her dramatics yet love them at the same time. “I’m not sure what I’m doing. Just taking it day by day until I’m ready to come home. And, of course, I miss you. Are you kidding me?”
“If you get lonely, call me.”
Laughing, I take another sip of coffee. “The whole purpose of coming here was to be lonely.”
“Which I’ll never understand.”
“I just need to figure some things out,” I say. “I’m having a minor ontological reckoning, and I need some space to work through it.”
There’s a pause, and I can imagine Gianna tilting her head at me in question.
“Okay, first, I don’t know what an ontological reckoning is, and I’m okay with that,” she says. “But second, and most importantly, you don’t have to do anything alone. You know that, right?”
I grin. “I know. I know you’d be here if I asked you to, and that’s why you’re my best friend. But I realized that I’ve outsourced my identity for the past twenty-seven years, and I want to figure out who I am under all the …” Sweetness.“Layers.”
A part of me feels bad excluding my friends from this process, but it’s something I must do alone.
I’ve been too passive, too much of a bystander in my life up to this point.
I’ve let too many people mold and form the person they wanted me to be instead of doing the shaping myself.
I don’t know what the result will look like, but I know I have to be the one to get me there.
“Just know that we love every layer of you, all the way to the bottom,” Gianna says before gagging. “And that’s enough goopy talk for one morning. It’s not even noon yet. Damn.”
I giggle.
“Moving on,” she says as if she’s shaking off an emotional plague. “Remember Matilda? The sourdough starter my sister gave me?”
“Yeah, I remember when Lucia gave it to you. But didn’t Matilda die?”
Gianna groans. “Yes, she met a very untimely death from neglect, and I wasn’t sad about it.
It got me off the hook from having to try to make bread.
But Lucia didn’t take the hint and brought me Margo, Matilda’s twin sister.
So now …” She blows out a breath. “I’m not good at domestic shit.
I think I’m in the process of committing another yeast-based homicide. ”
A vehicle coming up the driveway sends a rumble through the cabin. I rise and jog into the living room, peeking out the window and finding a big white truck parked next to my Jeep. Hartley hops out and waves at me as he approaches the porch.
“Okay, good luck with Margo,” I say, hoping to get off the call before she hears Hartley’s voice. “Call me later.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you.” My finger hovers over the red button to end the call. “Goodbye.” I tap my phone screen as Hartley knocks on the front door. Perfect timing. “Come in!”
The door squeaks, and then the sound of heavy boots pounds against the hardwood. He rounds the corner from the foyer but doesn’t venture any farther inside. He removes his cowboy hat and gloves with the same ease that I’ve come to expect from him.
“Good mornin’,” he says, smiling beneath his dark brown mustache. Dressed in jeans with a thick jacket and a flannel poking out of the bottom, he’s casual but still somehow perfectly put together. He’s handsome in the easiest way—like he doesn’t have to try.
“Is it still freezing out there?” I ask.
He shrugs as if he can’t tell the difference between a ten-degree day and a hundred-degree one. “It’s all right. Not as bad as last night, if that’s what you mean. Bet that was a fun drive from Nashville.”
“It sucked, actually.” I laugh, sitting on the sofa. “I should’ve waited to come today.”
“That’s what I thought you were doing. I was surprised to get Gray’s message last night that you were coming up in the storm.
” He looks around, assessing the scene before him.
“So how are you doing out here? I’m about to head to town to grab a couple of fence posts.
Thought I’d come by and see if you need anything. ”
I wrap my arms around my knees and pull them into me, curling back against the cushions.
“Yeah, I do, but I think I want to venture into town myself later today and get a lay of the land, so to speak. It might be fun to poke around a grocery store for a change since I usually just have my groceries delivered in the city.”
“Sounds good to me.” He slides his hands back into his gloves. “Just a heads-up, though. Cutler’s Creek is flooded, so don’t try to make it to the highway. Just take Shoals Road, and it’ll drop you into the back end of town.”
“Shoals to Sugar Creek.” I nod. “Got it.”
He nods, too. “All right, then. If you change your mind, you have my number, right?”
“Yeah. Astrid programmed it into my phone herself.”
He chuckles as if that’s not hard for him to believe. “Cathy, my … what does Astrid call her? My domestic supervisor?” He shrugs helplessly. “Anyway, she helps me out around the house, and she’s there today. Feel free to swing by if anything comes up.”
Kindness shines in his eyes the way it always does, and I wish I were attracted to him. He’s sturdy and dependable, a hard worker and a family man. He’s the kind of man my parents would love to see me bring home. Which is probably why I’m not attracted to him.
“All right,” Hartley says, returning his hat to his head. “Have fun. You know where to find me.”
“Thanks again.”
He leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.
I sigh and return to the kitchen table. My movements awaken my computer, and my sights settle on the screen … and on my whimsy list.
The list began about six months ago, at the start of my existential crisis.
I found the courage to tell my brother’s best friend that I had a crush on him.
During a party, from across the room, I sent him a fairly explicit text that took me two weeks and Gianna’s help to craft. The response was humiliating.
Hey, Audrey. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. LOL Look, you’re an amazing girl and so sweet. But I don’t think we’re really compatible like that. Sorry, babe.
Then he glanced up and winked at me like I was a pathetic little girl he pitied.
He’ll be the last man to make me feel so minimized.
After I cried my eyes out on the flight back to Nashville, heartbroken and defeated, I opened my laptop and started crafting a list.
Whimsy List
Stop being sweet.
Learn to flirt.
Get a tattoo.
Have a one-night stand.
ORGASM! (with a man)
Take a self-defense class.
Sleep in the dark without being scared.
Wear a bold lipstick.
Eat alone in public.
Do something spontaneous.
Buy more lingerie (and wear it daily).
Cut my hair.
Learn to be okay if others are disappointed (even if it’s in me).
The cursor blinks beneath the last bullet point, waiting for me to add to the collection. Instead, I sip my coffee and go over the list of things for the millionth time.
I’ve tinkered with this over and over, adding, deleting, and clarifying. There’s a red lipstick in my cosmetics bag and a tab open at the top of the screen for lingerie. But I’ve been too hesitant—too scared—to really act … until now.
I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t know what the future holds, but I know it’s time. I feel it in my bones.
It’s time to find the real Audrey Van.