But before the day is over, I wanted to wish this place farewell. I’ve strolled through downtown, stopping into several of the newly opened stores (several of which I even helped paint, which feels like a special kind of accomplishment now that I see how cute they’ve all become), and tried to get my fill of this place.
The one and two-story brick buildings that line either side of Main Street have a kind of character that comes with time, tradition, and heart. Plate glass window fronts with seasonal displays. Spring flowers on the table and stuffed bunnies in the chairs of the dining set in the window of the antique shop. Fake hands with pastel nails on show in the window of Mane on Main, the combo hair and nail salon where Gracie works. A springtime special, apricot Danish, available for a limited time in the bakery display at Foamy Heights. I treated myself to one this morning, a small splurge, and nearly groaned when I took a bite.
Even the post office has a stuffed bunny on the counter, dressed as a mail carrier, a basket of floral stamps in hand.
I hand over the postcard to the postal worker and it takes my fingers just a second to let it go. The postcards (already chosen at random) never get sent until I leave town, another precaution, in case Randall ever learns to read postmarks after watching a string of spy movies or something.
My fingers seem to know I don’treallywant to leave, and they hang on for a beat too long. Even if it’s what I know I have to do. Keep moving. Stay safe. Don’t let my past catch up with me.
It doesn’t mean that being here this past month, makingfriends—first with Weston (my stomach flutters), then with Lexi and her friend Gracie, and even to an extent Wyatt and Rory—didn’t warm a part of my frozen soul that I didn’t think could ever be thawed.
I force my fingers to let go of the postcard and force myself to let go of the idea of staying here any longer. It’s time to go wherever the wind might want to take me next. And who knows? Maybe I can come back, break my own rule and visit this place for a second time? Maybe see those fireflies after all?
The man behind the counter smiles at me as he takes the memento for my mom fully from my grip, eyes kind as he nods and wishes me a good afternoon. I think he actually means it.
That first night, when Weston stopped to help me, I thought he was a fluke. Either a serial killer, or a fluke to be so nice. But spending almost four whole weeks here, I see it now. This town isfullof nice people. It wasn’t just that first day I walked through town either. Every time I’m out and about, strangers smile, say hi, introduce themselves, welcome me here, and maybe press me for a bit of harmless gossip about my stay.
I bid the graying Black man with the kind eyes at the post office farewell and head back out again, coming out at the far end of Main, giving myself the chance to walk back down the entire strip of downtown for a final time.
Turning left out of the door instead of taking the crosswalk over to the drugstore at the other side, I head south. The first door I pass on my left is the bar, Smoky Suds. It’s a rustic, wooden door that looks almost like a barn door. Seeing it reminds me of the girl’s night I went to with Lexi and Gracie.
The bartender who served meverywell that night, Dallas. Dark hair, dark eyes, darkness pouring out of him everywhere. My stomach does a little flip at the memory of him, the way his gaze consumed me.
But not in the way my stomach erupts for Weston. This flip was a warning. Not to go near this one. Not in a dangerous way, not my instincts that have been in overdrive since I was a preteen working to keep me out of the way of men who would wish me harm. More like a yellow caution sign that reads Too Much for You.
I don’t need to be choked or spanked to get off. As much as I dream of being able to give up just a little bit of control over my own body to someone else for the first time, the vibe from that bartender is something I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for.
No, those reactions arecompletelydifferent from the feelings that overtake me when I think of Weston. The way my stomachswoops, my insides melt. It’s been hard to stay focused today when he changed my DNA last night.
My face heats as I recall exactly what transpired between us just hours ago. The way I was able to provoke him into that little show and tell. Watching him bring himself to ruin, then feeling his hands on mine as I did the same to myself.
Saying goodbye to Weston this morning, knowing what would happen next time we saw one another… My cells have been vibrating all day in anticipation. The way his hair fell over his forehead, his dark green eyes glinted at me from beneath the blond strands, and the filthy smirk laced with promise as he told me to drink plenty of water throughout the day, the vision of him has haunted me ever since.
I can feel how pink my cheeks are as my body reacts to the memories, and I hope I don’t run into anyone I know while looking this guilty.
But of course, just across the street at the first storefront on this side of downtown, sits a gaggle of women who I can hear clucking their tongues and cackling from here. I raise a hand, waving at them, and several of them nod and wave back.
“You be good, Amelia,” Wanda calls out.
“Is her van ready?” I hear the blue-haired lady, Mrs. Dixon, ask the other women at the table. “Did Wyatt Grady forget about Ole Bessie? My poor Bessie has been there since beforeshegot to town.”
Bessie?That sounds like a cow’s name.Is he a vet on the side?
The women continue chattering, and with a final fond smile I turn away and continue taking in the rest of the street. The newly opened pizza shop just next to the pharmacy, Smoky Slice, has a teal neon Open sign in the window, drawing locals into the recently renovated building. I can imagine the faint buzz of the sign, the one I’d hear if I were on the other side of the street infront of the storefront. Light aqua paint on the walls that I can see from here, the work site where Weston dabbed some paint on my nose not two weeks ago, telling me I looked damn good in that color. The way he looked at me as he said it told me he wanted to see me injustthat paint.
Two doors down, on that same side of the street, a Coming Soon sign hangs on the glass double doors. It’s one of the biggest retail spaces on the block, apparently it used to be the old diner once upon a time. We painted the walls in there a soft pink, so pale it’s barely more than white. In the back, where the kitchen area is, is where Weston made me laugh so hard I nearly peed while he did an impression of his brother with an entire log up his ass.
On my left I pass open storefront after open storefront, before passing the newly opened general store (walls a shade of white with pewter undertones—the place where I entertained Weston the entire day by recapping some of Jynx’s best episodes), the laundromat I’ve had to frequent in my time here (aka the second building on this block called Smoky Suds, and one I didn’t have to paint), the brand new bakery and patisserie that just had its grand opening this week, Smoky Sweets (most of the walls painted in thick, Parisian black and white stripes, where Lexi and I first met that first day I was painting with West), and I find myself across from the salon, gazing across the street at it.
Eyes on the storefronts opposite me, I don’t hear the chime of the bell of the one opening right next to me.
A much larger, softer body bumps into mine, sending me toppling backward until strong hands grab my arms to steady me.
I look up into dark brown eyes, a thin nose set between them, dusted with freckles, and wild, tumbling curls of cocoa and hazel spilling all over her face and shoulders.
“Lexi,” I greet her.
“Big Momma!” she calls back, a grin splitting her face. That name can’t help but remind both of us about our girl’s night out and I give her a big smile back.
