Chapter 4
Remington
Remington: What’s your favorite color?
Lainey: Who is this??
Remington: . . . You know exactly who this is, little pyro.
Lainey: I thought we were not going to talk about that night ever again . . .
Remington: Impossible. It was the night I met you and is my new favorite day of the year. I am going to petition for it to be a national holiday.
Lainey: OMG you are ridiculous
Remington: So color?
Lainey: Why?
Remington: I need to know so I can pick out a journal that you won’t want to burn.
Lainey: Pale lavender.
Remington: Favorite food?
Lainey: How will that help you pick a journal?
Remington: Absolutely vital! What if they have food-themed journals? All this info is a must—Journal Picking 101
Lainey: French toast.
Ismile at my phone as I walk down the block toward my sister’s shop.
I knew that I would be able to find just the right thing there.
I also knew I would not be picking an ugly-as-fuck journal that Lainey would hate, so I at least wanted to know her favorite color.
Which gave me the perfect excuse to text her—and keep texting her under the guise of Journal Picking 101.
I also learned that her favorite coffee order is a flat white, but at home she likes to drink tea.
Her favorite season is summer. Her favorite hobby is reading.
She has one best friend that lives in town, and they like to share a bottle of wine together once a week.
I like to keep my group of friends small, but it made me sad to think that Lainey only has one good friend here, and I wonder why that is.
My sister would probably embrace her into her fold of loud, wild friends in two seconds with or without her permission.
Not that either of them needed it. Shit.
I was already feeling protective over this woman, and she wasn’t even mine.
Getting close to the storefront, I fired off one more softball question.
Remington: Favorite flower?
Text bubbles appeared and disappeared three times before a response finally came back to me, one that left me feeling confused.
Lainey: I don’t have a favorite flower.
Remington : How is that possible?
Lainey: . . .
Lainey: It isn’t something I really talk about, but I guess I have no reason to not tell you. I have already embarrassed myself more than once, and you have my journal, and who knows what you will uncover in there that I forgot about writing.
My heart twists. There was no way I thought a simple question, one that most girls could easily answer, was going to cause her such trepidation. She is nervous and rambling, but in text, like she was last night. I feel like a dick.
Remington: You can tell me anything, Lainey. Always.
Lainey: I was not really allowed to have a favorite.
Remington: I don’t understand?
Lainey: My umm dad . . . He always said that they were useless and a big waste of money.
A waste of time. Talking about useless things upset him.
So I didn’t allow myself to pick a favorite, to like them, want them.
It doesn’t matter.
They just die. You don’t get to keep them.
The fuck? I could feel my blood heating with the rage I felt toward a person I never knew.
How could a man, a father of a little girl, treat her that way?
Make her feel like she couldn’t even have a favorite flower for fuck’s sake?
That they are a waste of time and money?
I am sure there is so much more she isn’t saying, a deeper meaning behind everything, and I am determined to make Lainey not only see the beauty in her own life, but in flowers and favorite things.
I also know exactly what I am going to do with her new journal.
The bell in Sutton’s shop rattles gently to announce my arrival.
She pops her blonde head up from behind the antique wood counter and says, “Welcome to . . . Oh, hey, Rem.” When she notices that it’s only me, her barely one-year-younger brother, she cuts off her normal “Welcome to Brooks and Books” song and dance for customers.
Usually I am here to visit or check up on her, but today I will actually be a customer.
“Nice to see you too, big sister,” I say with a drip of sarcasm while I scoop her tiny frame into a gentle hug, being mindful of her belly.
“Calling any pregnant lady ‘big’ is a dangerous choice of words, Rem. Deck would kick your ass if he was here,” she says with a sniffle.
Her husband Derek Brooks, or Deck as we all call him, is a Navy SEAL and currently deployed.
Sutton is sixteen weeks pregnant, and Deck left eight weeks ago.
She had just found out that they were expecting, in the first trimester sickness that made her feel awful, and it was a really hard time.
Still is a hard time. But we are all here for her.
My mom stops at her house daily and calls her lord only knows how many times a day.
My dad does all her mowing and yard work, and he even brings her a grocery delivery every few days.
I work a lot, but Sutton knows I am always a quick call away, when I am on or off duty.
Even Deck is still sending her care packages when he can.
boxes and random things show up at the shop or their house constantly for her or the baby.
That man cannot wait to get home and spoil her and that baby in person.
“Sorry, Sut. You’re right. Hello, older sister, lovely one that is making me an uncle and going to help me pick out exactly what I am shopping for today,” I tell her with a smugness, hoping the last bit of information will perk her up.
“Shopping?” Sutton’s shimmering brown eyes lock on me, and she smiles widely. “You aren’t just here checking in on me? You hate shopping. What are you shopping for?” Her words spill out in a flurry, like if she doesn’t get me to admit to talking about the dreaded s word that I may change my mind.
Laughing I say, “I make exceptions when I need something important. And I knew that your store would be the perfect place to get what I am looking for.” I can feel a flush creeping up my cheeks, realizing I am going to have to tell her more.
“Holy crap, Rem! This is about a girl, isn’t it?” Sutton, of course, wouldn’t think I would be shopping for myself. “Who is she? What happened?”
“It’s not a big deal, I just need a new notebook. Well, not a notebook. I need a nice journal,” I explain.
My sister’s place is like the quintessential small-town gift shop, bookstore combo.
It is the perfect fit for Fox Grove locals, the influx of out-of-towners we get from being not too far from base, and summer vacationers.
She and my brother-in-law have worked hard to make Sutton’s vision come true, and it has been worth all the hard work.
She runs the store full time with the help of a couple dedicated and trusted employees that Deck of course put through hoops and background checks before letting them on to the team.
Brooks and Books is full of earth tones, plants, and organized in a perfect, “chaotically Sutton” way that makes it feel warm and welcoming.
The shelves of reclaimed barn wood and thrifted tables are the exact right mismatch blend, displaying everything that has been brought in with a lot of intention.
The store offers a unique selection of items curated by Sutton and Deck along with locally made things that also help other small businesses and makers.
Each local artist has their own little area showcasing their work.
Sutton spins on her heel, marches toward the back wall of the store, leaving me to follow. The large wall is lined with a selection of cards, notepads, stationery, and most importantly, journals.
“We finally got in some new things that I was waiting on. Put them out and organized it all yesterday. What did you have in mind . . . Or should I ask what did she have in mind?” Sutton side-eyes me, the line of questions as subtle as an elephant.
Sighing I say, “Sutton. I met someone and she, ugh, she is really great, but she just went through a shitty breakup, and I am trying to help her out with something. That’s why I need that journal.
Her ex was a total asshole. She has this thing where she gets a nice journal on her birthday every year.
I guess she told him about how she liked Lisa Frank when she was little. ”
Sutton squeals with delight. I know all about Lisa because my sister was obsessed.
She had a big poster of the little tiger above the desk in her bedroom, and she always wanted all the folders and shit for school.
“Lisa Frank was THE best! I wonder if Deck would let me do the baby’s room in that theme.
” She starts laughing, tapping a thoughtful finger on her chin.
I know that as much as she used to love Lisa, her style has changed drastically, and she would only suggest that to Deck to drive him crazy.
And he will love every second of her playful torture.
“Yeah well, you would not love the stupid-ass notebook her ex-boyfriend got her. It’s a nightmare knockoff and would make your baby cry.
Creepy kittens and butterflies, and she told him that she had a puppy notebook when she was little,” I say with deep irritation.
I fill her in on the coffee shop scene, the fire cleanse, and officially meeting Lainey.
My sister looks at me with soft eyes and says, “Wow, first of all that guy sounds like an idiot. Good for Lainey for breaking up with him in a Sugar Cube–gossip-mill-worthy fashion. I love that that rumor I heard about is her! So badass. But most importantly, Rem, you are down bad for this girl.” Sutton looks delighted.
“No, I’m not. I know it’s only been a few days .
. . But I feel like I was meant to know her.
We have a connection, and I am honestly just trying to help her out.
Write the stuff from her old notebook into a new journal so she doesn’t have to ruin a year of work and memories or her tradition because of him.
Hopefully, it will help me get to know her, and maybe she will give me a chance to prove to her that not all guys are assholes. ”
“Just be careful, Rem. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Sutton softly delivers her sisterly warning.
Sutton knows I long for a real relationship, and that I have a hard time letting anyone get too close.
She also knows all the shit in my past that makes it hard for me to let people in, even when it’s the thing I crave the most. I think back to the way Lainey bravely handed over her journal to me, a stranger, and then opened up to me again when we were texting about the flowers.
She has every reason to be closed off, and I have a feeling that she is with other people, but with me she opened the door.
She let me in, and it makes me want to let her in, too.
Eli is always telling me that I need to relax and play the field like him.
He swipes his apps, hits it and forgets it, but that is not what I want.
I have always been ready for more, but my past burned me so badly that I swore off any kind of real and meaningful relationships and had only been casually dating.
The minute Lainey Quinn’s eyes locked on mine, I think I knew I was ready to jump back into the fire, especially if she was the one starting it.