Chapter 14
“Thank you for asking. I was Mr. Wet Blanket Flamingo Cove, twenty years running.”
-Aaron
Camellia looks like she’s having a good time as she scoots closer to me on the bench seats.
Cheyenne, my pickup, once had a manual transmission, but I upgraded her to an automatic to make it easier to teach my daughters to drive.
That was a great idea.
But not having the stick shift in the way allows Camellia to scoot next to me, which is a terrible idea. The spicy and smoky perfume she’s wearing does things to me. And then, I get a whiff of all the tequila she drank.
“Camellia,” I pull to the side of the road and stop. “You need to get back on your side of the truck and put on your seatbelt.”
She scoffs and slaps my arm. “Wet. Fucking. Blanket. You’re no fun anymore.”
She slides back to the passenger seat and buckles up with a frown. I resume driving.
Fun? What’s fun?
I once worked 60-70 hours a week to provide for my family. I raised three daughters at a time where danger lurks around every corner. And I’m currently the Fire Chief for a small Florida city going through growing pains, which means hiring more firefighters and EMTs and training them the right way to do things.
No. I am not fun anymore.
Fun left the building when I got married.
Once again, I’m struck by how life would be different if I made other choices. I glance over at Camellia, who is staring out the window. If I chose her all those years ago, maybe we’d still be together. We’d be thatfuncouple. I wouldn’t be overworked. I wouldn’t live with regrets every day.
But I also wouldn’t have my daughters.
And I wouldn’t change that for anything. Not even a little bit of fun.
“Where are you taking me?” Camellia sits straighter in her seat.
I don’t answer her as I pull into my neighborhood. It’s older. My street is one of the originals in Flamingo Cove. I bought the house after I married Sabine, intending to raise a family here. She liked the brand-new-to-her house when we moved in. She didn’t like the family that grew into it.
After the last time I caught her cheating, she told me she felt suffocated and left. I ended up with the house in the divorce. After signing the paperwork, I repainted the house white with green trim and a red door. I also replaced the roof with a green metal one. Poppy said it looked like a Christmas house, but I didn’t care. I liked it.
I don’t answer Camellia’s question. Instead, pulling into the driveway and turning off the truck. I get out, walk around to the passenger side, and open her door. I hold out my hand, and she takes it. Stepping onto the driveway.
She looks up at the roof. “You taking me to see Santa’s workshop?”
I tug her hand toward the front door. “Come on. I’m cooking.”
???
Camellia saunters around the first floor, taking in everything. “This is your house?”
I nod and head toward the kitchen.
She follows me and plops down on an island stool. “Got any beer?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Camellia spins on the stool.
I roll my eyes and pull a bottle of water out of the fridge. “Drink this while I make something to eat.”
