Chapter 2
TWO
ELLIE
“Do we want a pop-up when someone logs onto the website? Or just a tab at the bottom for them to sign up for the newsletter?” Violet Schaffer looks at me over the top of her computer, playing with the tail of her long, red braid.
“I prefer the tab. The pop-ups stress me out, although research says they’re effective. ”
“Research also suggests that anti-aging creams reduce fine lines and wrinkles,” I point out. “I still have crow’s feet.”
“You do not,” she laughs.
“Oh, I do too. But it’s fine. I’ll just continue to wear bright lipstick and low cut shirts to divert attention away from my eyes.”
“Speaking of your cleavage, did the guy from the bistro call you last night?”
“Yup,” I say cheerfully, examining some sunglasses we just got in. “I hit the trusty FU button. Right to voicemail he went.”
Violet hangs her head, her braid swishing on the tabletop. “Why?”
“Meh,” I shrug.
“Meh?” She looks up at me and rolls her eyes. “What more could you possibly want? He was very good-looking, had a good job from what we could overhear, smelled fantastic, and I so kindly gave him your number and not mine.”
“Only because you have had two good weeks of screwing Jonas.”
“Your point?”
“That doesn’t make Bistro Guy any less meh to me.”
She flashes me another look, one that says I’m too picky, but I ignore it. We’ve been over this too many times to count and it always ends up the same way—her confused and me frustrated.
So what if I have a laundry list of stipulations a man must meet to even spark my interest? That doesn’t make me a bad person. It doesn’t even make me difficult. It makes me smart.
It’s not me that keeps getting burned by men over and over.
Yes, I got roasted once. Hurt so badly that I didn’t think I’d survive …
but I did. And like all the songs say, I’m stronger for it.
I’m even thankful for it. There’s no way I’d be the me I am without having had my heart smashed from the start.
“Maybe all those things don’t add up to the homerun you think they do,” I suggest.
“Maybe you’ll never know if you FU him.” A grin dances across her lips. “I’d have FU’d him in a much more gymnastic way.”
“I’m sure you would’ve,” I laugh.
We go back to the tasks at hand, Violet working on Halcyon’s website and me sorting through shipments of inventory for our new shop.
Vi is the brains behind the operation with her business degree.
I’m the sales specialist with my major in marketing.
Our store is a little shop of affordable, stylish, and practical items for women.
It’s not just clothes, but accessories, lifestyle items, and fun trinkets.
The best part about our business model is that a percentage of every purchase goes to local charities, including Shelters for Savannah, the one closest to my heart.
The grin on my face that’s ever-present when I’m inside this building is pasted on my lips. I’ve never had something that makes me want to get up in the morning and just get after it before now. This isn’t just a job to me. It’s the start of a new life, one that I worked my tail off for.
After working my way through college in Florida, waiting tables and cleaning office buildings, I worked in marketing at an online company for a few years. I paid my dues, strategized, saved, and made my way. And here we are.
The door chimes in the front and Violet looks at me with a furrowed brow. “You expecting someone?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Could be Mr. FU,” she teases.
“Oh,” I say with mock excitement. “Hold me back.”
“You’re such a jerk,” she laughs. “I’ll see who it is. I need to grab my water bottle anyway.” She takes off through the doorway towards what will be the sales floor. Her footsteps trail off under the hip-hop music she has playing from her phone through the sound system.
It’s a few minutes before I hear her clear her throat. Glancing up, she’s standing at the doorway with a huge smile on her face. She wiggles her eyebrows.
“What’s that all about?” I laugh.
“I hope he has a brother,” she giggles, walking towards me.
“Who?”
“The security guy. Holy hell, Ellie.”
Tossing a checkered blouse back in a bin, I face her. “He’s cute, I take it?”
“Cute? Ha! He’s tall, but not dark, and so, so handsome. Like, so handsome,” she exaggerates, one hand lying dramatically over her heart. “Did I mention he’s wearing a suit? I just want to rip it off with my teeth—”
“Down girl,” I laugh, shoving her playfully. “Are you going to show him around or what?”
“Do you seriously want to leave that to me? It could be an insurance liability before we ever even open our doors.”
Laughing, I see her point. “I’m not sure what the end goal here is, really. I get we aren’t in the ritzy part of town, but I’m not sold on the idea we need to pay for security.”
“I’d pay for that.”
“Violet!”
“Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
“Lord, help me,” I mumble. “Okay. I’ll show him around and then we can kindly tell him we don’t need his services. Sound like a plan?”
“You are so not fun,” she pouts.
“Hey, tell Mallory you need security at your house,” I joke. “Have her send him to you there where you can really do business, if you get my drift.”
She points at me. “You’re a genius.”
“It’s been said.” I glance down at my blouse, now a little worse for wear from moving boxes and cleaning shelves. “Do I look decent? I don’t have dirt anywhere or cookie crumbs on my shirt, right?”
“No, but check between your boobs,” she teases.
“He’s not going to be seeing between my boobs.”
“Not with that attitude.”
Shaking my head, I leave the back room. As I enter the front, my feet stutter-step.
This only happens to me every once in a while, maybe twice a year now, when I’m in a crowded restaurant or a movie theater.
Every time, when I think I smell his cologne, my breath catches in my throat.
Without fail, I’m taken back to warm summer nights, cheap strawberry wine, and the sound of crickets chirping as the sun goes down.
My heart flip-flops and I have to remind myself of the rest of that story to settle myself back down again.
I round a stack of boxes, a couple of cans of paint we’re testing on the walls, and a few racks that need assembled.
The mess distracts me, especially the swatch of paint on the far wall.
It’s more of a lime green than a mint one and I hate it.
Making a mental note to talk to Vi about it, my head whips to the side and I see a large body standing near the front windows.
“Hi, I’m …” My voice drifts away, shoved aside by the sheer incredulity of the moment. “I …”
I’ve often wondered as I’ve taken a seat in that restaurant or movie theater what would happen if I turned around and the cologne was coming from Ford Landry. Now I know.
My hand trembles as it flies to my mouth as my brown eyes nearly bug out of my head. The organ inside my chest responsible for loving this man betrays the years of telling it I don’t anymore. It throbs so wildly I think I’m going to pass out.
The man I haven’t seen in so long that I almost convinced myself he never existed is here, in Halcyon, like he just wandered in off the street.
“Oh, my God,” I stutter, reaching blindly for something to grab on to.
His head is down, pointed to the floor, as he crouches and examines a box of hats. The hard line of his jaw is angled to my benefit, the expanse of his shoulders and chest awe-worthy. He fills out the pricey black suit stretched over his body like it was made just for him.
His hair is lighter now and there are little lines he didn’t used to have at his temple. He still carries the regal-ness that the Landry’s are known for. Somehow, in all that, he’s maintained the sense of approachability that I always loved about him.
Simply put, he isn’t the boy I used to know. He’s an amplified, all-male version that has me gasping for breath.
The fog in my brain starts to lift as he stands.
Panic creeps into my belly, along with a heavy sense of dread.
I’ve managed to avoid the little ice cream shop on the east side of town where we used to go get milkshakes.
It hasn’t been that hard driving to the movie theater in the town next door so I don’t have to remember making out with him in the back of ours.
But as he starts to turn his head my way, I realize: there is no ignoring him now.
I turn to head to the back when my shoulder bumps a stack of boxes and knocks them off balance. They topple to the floor. Ford whirls right around.
To face me.
For the first time in almost ten years.
His eyes widen, his head twisting to the side like he’s as surprised to see me as I am him. I take a step back, needing every bit of space between us as my emotions struggle to get in line.
“Ellie?”
The richness of his tone, the way my name sounds rolling off his tongue, sends a shock wave through me. I don’t answer him. I don’t trust my voice. Not yet.
“My God, Ellie. Is that you?”
This can’t be happening.
I watch his face transform from curious and confused to confident and assessing. He takes me in from head to toe, the weight of his gaze washing over me like a warm blanket.
I lift my chin. “How are you, Ford?”
I’m impressed at how smooth I sound. It gives away nothing—not at how much he hurt me or how much I’ve managed to hate him or how surprised I am that he’s here. It’s completely devoid of any shits given. It’s perfect.
“I …” He stammers, still wrapping his brain around the situation. He runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s nervous or thrown for a loop. “Wow. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says hurriedly. He takes a step, then stops. “I … How are you? How have you been?”
“Great.” I give him the sweetest smile I can manage, but he notices the sarcasm. “And why are you here?”
“To do a security assessment, actually.” He looks around the room. “Is this place yours?”
“Yes.”