Chapter 10 Lainey
Lainey
He didn’t kiss me good night. We had a perfect date.
I could not believe how thoughtful and planned out everything was.
I had zero intention of telling him most of the things I did, especially about my parents, but there is something about Remington that makes me want to tell him everything.
That terrifies me. If I give him so much of myself, my fears, my past, my dreams, all of it, any of it—that gives him so much power to break me.
More than any other man, any other person has had the ability to in the past.
After the heavier conversation, we laid in the bed of his truck for a long while talking about everything and nothing.
Lighter topics that helped us get to know each other better.
I learned that he hates blueberries but loves apples.
His favorite color is blue. He wants to have a dog someday, but his schedule at the fire station doesn’t really allow for that right now.
His parents have been married for almost forty years, and he has a deep respect for their relationship.
I had a pang in my chest listening to him talk about them, and I desperately want to meet them.
They must be special to have that kind of enduring relationship and admiration from their son.
Once I started to shiver, even under the blankets with Remington’s body heat and his warm hands caressing my back and shoulders, we packed up and headed out.
He held my hand all the way back to my apartment, walked me up, and I had that riot of wild, uncontrollable butterflies in my stomach the whole time as I unlocked my door.
He cupped my cheek sweetly and looked into my eyes, his darkening as he licked his lower lip.
I thought this is it, this is happening!
He told me he had a great time and asked if he could see me again, and all I could do was grin like a fool up at his handsome face, nodding.
Remington smiled back and said, “Great.” He ran his finger across my lower lips, making my panties instantly damp .
. . and then he kissed my cheek. “I will talk to you tomorrow, beautiful. Go in there and lock the door.”
I looked up at him, speechless. Stumbling back into my apartment, I shut and locked the door. I was too stunned to do anything other than follow his simple directions.
What the hell! What in the actual fuck had happened?
I thought we were on the same page. He for sure looked like he wanted to kiss me.
Our bodies were screaming to each other with every single touch all night long.
Or was it just my body? Maybe this was one-sided.
Maybe all the things I told him on our date finally sank in, and he was starting to see that I was a lot.
A lot of baggage. A lot of emotional damage.
A lot of family drama to deal with. That must be it.
Remington is too good of a man, from too solid of a family for someone so broken and trampled on like me.
I have worked really hard in therapy on my self-confidence and self-worth, but it is not a switch that flips on and you are just suddenly perfectly healed.
The wounds are deep and the doubts are plaguing.
That voice especially loves to try and take away the good things in life when they are trying to take root.
Taking some deep breaths, I steady myself.
I am spiraling, and I need to get it together.
I pull out my journal for this year and decide to write about tonight.
I don’t want to forget the good, the happy, the wild butterflies.
From the flowers to the extra cheese bread, which Remington insisted I keep the leftovers to snack on while I work from home, to the stunning sunset and raw conversation.
After writing it all down, I know that I didn’t imagine or fabricate our connection.
There must be a reason he didn’t kiss me.
Remington is thoughtful, the most thoughtful man I have ever met.
Maybe he wants to take this slow, not rush things and scare me off?
I am sure that he thinks I’m like a baby fawn, ready for fight, flight, or freeze after all the things he’s learned about me.
The last thing I feel around Remington is afraid.
He makes me want to do things for myself, including opening up to a man that has the power to break me or bring me to life.
The only way to find out is by taking the chance.
And after tonight, I know he is worth it .
. . as long as he still thinks that I am as well.
Brett always wanted me to keep my hair long.
It falls just under my shoulder blades right now.
It’s thick, heavy, and I have not really changed it much my whole life.
I wanted to do things to it so many times over the years, but I knew it would be overly critiqued and fussed over by my mother and deeply criticized by my father.
Once I told Brett I was considering getting a shoulder-length bob-style cut, and he was mortified.
I wanted something fresh and different. He told me that it would not look good with my face shape, and it would limit my options for styles when we had formal events in and around DC.
We had only ever been at the one charity event together that we met at, but he acted like we needed to be ready at all times to rub elbows with big executives and politicians at the drop of a hat.
I felt so much shame and disappointment.
That was the last time I brought it up, and I ignored the massive red flag waving right in front of me with his controlling nature and the expectation to be an ornament on Brett’s arm like my mother had always been for my father.
I was so stupid for so long, letting these awful people control, manipulate, and dictate so many of my decisions, worried about their opinions and optics.
I was D-O-N-E with that. Lainey 2.0 doesn’t let anyone decide these things, and I need to shake up my life a little bit.
Apparently, according to other girlies, haircuts can make you ready to take on the world.
I didn’t necessarily need that much power, but I did want a boost to take on my own life.
They also say hair holds memories, and like the clothes I was donating, I was ready to let go of more things holding me back.
That new attitude had me marching into Dip and Dye the morning after my date with Remington, ready to meet up with my bestie Kendra.
She works here at the salon, and also runs her side business for her pottery through Etsy.
She is hoping that she can sell some things locally soon and cut back on her shipping costs.
I love her work so much, and being her best friend comes with the perks of being gifted beautiful mugs whenever she is trying out new designs.
My cupboard is filled with one-of-a-kind Kendra Powell creations.
And today I am finally ready to let her get creative with my hair, something she’s been begging me to do for years.
She might totally pass out when I tell her I am not here for just my usual split-ends trim!
I also need to catch her up on all things Remington.
The last time I gave her a text update I had downloaded her on my embarrassment of a bonfire, and I purposely left out some key details .
. . like texting with Remington, our insane connection, the flowers, and everything else since then.
Kendra is the only person in my life that I am myself with, but even with her I keep things closed-up sometimes.
We met when I moved to town, and it was like our souls recognized each other instantly.
She grabbed on to me with both of her little, strong hands, literally and figuratively, and never let me go.
Her big, boisterous, artsy personality is perfectly her, and sometimes it can overwhelm me when I need time to think about things.
I needed to have time to process my feelings about Remington and decide what I really wanted.
I know that after my spiral last night I made the right call in waiting to tell her about all the details.
Relying on myself and my own mind to sort things out feels scary but necessary right now.
Journaling helped, and now I am ready for Kendra to add her perspective.
The whimsical chime of the salon signals my arrival as I push through the door.
There are only a pair of older ladies toward the front getting their hair done and chatting quietly.
Kendra turns from her station with a huge bright smile.
Her unruly blonde curls, streaked with bright pink, are barely contained in a claw clip, make-up done to perfection.
A trendy jumpsuit in navy hugs her petite curves perfectly, and a pair of cute pink Converse complete the look.
Her five-two frame is three inches shorter than mine, but her personality often makes her feel much taller when she gets excited and starts bouncing around.
“Heyyyyy!” she sing-songs. “I am so glad your morning meetings were canceled! We are so dead in here this morning, and I need some girl time, girl!”
Striding over to her I give her a hug and say, “Me, too. I have some things to catch you up on.”
“Oh, realllllly? You have been holding out on me, your very best friend on this perfect planet?! What gives?” She fakes her annoyance.
I smirk and roll my eyes. “Well for one thing, you know I love you, and you will always be my number one. I just needed to process some things . . . and I also made some important decisions.”
The cheerful teasing drops off Kendra quickly, like I just splashed her with a bucket of water. “What? Are you okay? Are you moving? What happened?” Concern is laced in every question she shoots at me in rapid-fire succession.