11. Chapter 11
eleven
Istep out of the building into the late-afternoon heat, my first day officially behind me.
Wouldn’t you know it? The assignment for senior literature was to write a personal essay on a life-defining moment. A groan escaped me. Of all the prompts.
Walking to the car, my senior year floods back—Calder’s hands on my waist, the sound of his laugh, the smell of hay and summer heat, the way my heart didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore.
I shake it off—or try to.
Damn the memories.
“Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.”
Wordsworth.
I love that poem. I look forward to teaching it.
Strength in what remains behind.
That’s me now. I resolved, the day I left Franklin, Tennessee, to stop shrinking myself for anyone. And being back here… It’s given me confidence I didn’t know I had. It’s liberating.
But to be honest, I’m tired. Mom was right.
I haven’t taught for so long, I’ve got to get used to getting dressed, working, and coming home to my precious son.
Lord, he’ll be in pre-school this time next year.
I’m glad Ladera’s a small district. His building will be close enough for me to check in on him every day.
My tote bag is digging into my shoulder, my feet hurt, and my voice is still scratchy from talking all day. But it was a good day. A real day. A day that felt like mine.
I hit the unlock button on my SUV. The lights blink. When I open the door, heat slaps me in the face like opening an oven door.
Texas in August. It hasn’t rained since I’ve been here.
I’m halfway into the driver’s seat when something tugs at the edge of my attention—movement across the parking lot, in the football stadium.
Calder’s standing behind a welding truck. His welding cap’s flipped backward, the brim hugging the back of his neck.
And something just… pulls me to him, the way it always has.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I toss my tote into the back seat and start walking his way. My feet move first. My brain catches up second.
Busy loading equipment, he doesn’t see me approach.
“How was your day?” I ask to his back, his denim shirt damp. He’s worked all day in this heat.
He turns quickly, his eyes moving over me. “You checking on me?”
For a second, he looks like he did in high school, when he wore his ball cap backwards, pushing his hair forward and sharpening every angle of his face. It shouldn’t be this sexy, but God, it is.
“Saw you when I went to the car. What’s wrong with the stands?”
His gaze leaves me, roaming across to the stadium as he shucks off his leather gloves. “Needs some repairs.”
A man of many words.
I shouldn’t have walked over here. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now. But my feet had a mind of their own.
He’s glistening with sweat. Of course he is. And I hate that I notice—hate that my body remembers things I wish it didn’t. For a heartbeat, I can almost feel his slick skin sliding against mine—a ghost of a memory skimming through me.
He wipes his neck with a cloth he pulls from his back pocket, smearing soot into the creases. Now how can something that simple make my insides quiver?
“What’d you need, Laurel?”
I smile, my gaze direct. “Friends?”
He snickers. “Yeah.”
Our eyes hold as the world fades away. He’s so much thicker now, all shoulders and long lines, built like a man who’s spent his whole life working outside. A body sculpted by work, not a gym. With his sleeves rolled to the elbow, those strong arms are impossible to miss.
It’s his eyes that undo me, though. Tampa Bay blue—clear, bright, impossible to look away from. Eyes that used to see straight through me, and still do, if I’m not careful.
God help me, he’s beautiful. Not pretty. Not polished. Beautiful in the quiet, natural way this land is. He’s just… Calder, who once held my whole world without even knowing it.
“When’s the first game?”
“Not a fucking clue.” The edge in his voice stings more than I want to admit.
“Well, okay.” I glance left and right. “I won’t bother you anymore. I just wanted to… say hello.”
I turn to leave, but his voice stops me. “What are you doing, Laurel?”
I spin on my heels. “Nothing. I was just trying to be—”
“Friends. Yeah.” He takes a step closer. “That’s how we’re going to play this?” His eyes sweep over me—slow, assessing, the same way they did this morning.
I think he likes what he sees.
Good.
“What do you mean?” I bat my eyes.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Cocky ass.
“I know they don’t grow in West Texas, but it’s called an olive branch.”
He bites back a chuckle, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and all I can do is stare, wondering why that makes my insides melt as he says, “Never cared much for olives.”
I drag in a quick rasp of air. Now he’s just being an ass.
Something in me snaps—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the day I’ve had, maybe from a lifetime of swallowing my voice.
Closing the space between us, I have to tilt my head back to look into those oceanic eyes. “Calder, get this through your thick skull. I’m divorcing. I’m not going back. I need my mother’s help keeping Bowie while I work, so I’m here to stay. In Ladera. Get used to it.”
“I came to peace without you, Laurel.”
It feels like he slapped me. Maybe that’s why it slips out before I can stop it. “But you never married. Have you ever been in love?”
Oh, God, why did I ask that? I may hate the answer.
He barks out a sharp, humorless sound. “Now why would I want to walk into a fucking fire twice?”
Well, that went well.
Mercy laughs when I relay the olive branch part of our exchange. I stopped by her office on the way home. “I can’t believe you. Jesus, Laurel, who walks right up and pokes the bear? What’d you expect?”
“I don’t know.” I drop into the chair across from her desk, my body sagging. “I guess… I thought maybe we could be civil.”
Mercy snorts. “Civil? With Calder Boone? Honey, that man’s been holding a grudge since the day you drove out of town.”
“It wasn’t a grudge,” I mutter. “It was… I don’t know. More like a wall. A whole fortress.”
“Yeah, well, you helped him build it.” She shows me her palm. “I know you had to, but he always considered it your choice. That’s a recipe for some hurt feelings.”
I rake my fingers under my hair, lifting, twisting it into a high bun. I got sweaty just talking to him in that heat. “He said he came to peace without me.”
Mercy’s eyebrows shoot up. “He said that?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I think I’d have slapped him.”
“I was too stunned.” I lean back, staring at the ceiling. “Then I asked him if he’d ever been in love.”
Mercy chokes on her swallow of iced tea. “You did what?”
“I know.” I cover my face with both hands, shaking my head, as if I could take it back. “It just came out. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m tired. I’m emotional. I’m… stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.” Mercy points her pen at me. “You’re human. I still can’t believe you walked right up to the one man in this town who can make your knees weak with just a look.”
I drop my hands. “He didn’t look away, Mercy. Not once.”
Her expression softens. “Oh, honey. That’s Calder.”
“And then he said…” My throat tightens, and I swallow. “He said, ‘Why would I want to walk into a fucking fire twice?’”
Mercy sits back with wide eyes. “Well damn.”
“You want a confession?”
Her eyes flash with a salacious smirk only she can give. “Always. The juicier the better.”
“I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad he hasn’t loved again.”
“Jesus, Laurel. You’re pathetic.”
“I know.”
“Mommy!” Bowie rushes to me as I come through the front door, his arms outstretched.
I drop my tote to pick him up, swinging him around, burying my nose in his neck, inhaling him. “I missed you so much.”
“How was skull?”
“School,” I correct gently. “And this time next year, you’ll go with me.” I nestle him on my hip, picking up the tote. “You want to see it someday? Let’s find you a Mother’s Day Out. Other kids, a playground. You’ll learn letters and stuff.”
“Can Grammy come, too?”
“No, Grammy will stay here. How was your day?” I set my tote on the bar and put his feet back on the floor.
“I’m Grammy’s helper.” He puffs his chest out, looking from me to her. “In flowers.”
“You should’ve seen him.” Mom has a crooked grin.
I think keeping him has brightened her days. Maybe she was lonesome before, and I never realized it. I’d been so worried that he’d wear her out, at her age.
“He played with the earthworms.” Mom’s mouth pulls sideways, a quick little shudder she can’t hide.
“Worms, Mommy. Ooey-gooey.” Bowie wiggles his shoulders and fingers.
“Can you tell your mother what you learned in Grammy’s flowerbed?” Mom looks from him to me. “He’s in my school right now.”
The tension in my shoulders leaves. He’s happy. She’s happy.
He purses his lips and tightens his blonde brows, cocking his head. “The black-eyed…” his eyes shift to Mom.
“Susans,” she says.
“The black-eyed Susans, they come back every year but the…” His brow furrows again as he looks back at Mom.
“Zinnias,” she whispers.
“Zinnias come back from seeds.” He wags his shoulders proudly.
“Yes!” I lift him again.
His mouth pulls to the side. “Mommy? What’s a seed?”
We all laugh.