I offer her a smile and answer, “Maybe I’ve developed an allergy to something.”
Renee’s grin is Cheshire catlike as she peeks up at me from behind Miss Jones’s back. “Roses,” she mouths and I swear if I didn’t love her, I’d hate her right now.
“Mm-hmm,” Miss Jones murmurs, gracefully taking in another piece of art as she continues, “I believe Robert may carry a soft spot for you still.” Her voice is quiet, contemplative but still casual. “The way he’s helped you, a man doesn’t help like that unless he wants more.”
Every ounce of blood drains from my face. Oh my Lord, I can’t even think about Robert at a time like this.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, dear,” she’s quick to add and the look on her face seems practiced but genuine. The look is one that screams, “I’m sorry I said something alarming, upsetting … something that crossed the line, but also it needed to be said.” I know it well. “I thought we’ve had this conversation before? No?”
“We have,” I say and force a smile although I can feel it waver. Renee takes the moment to stand now, no longer seated and very much paying attention to every word. Bless her, but she doesn’t need to be my protector. Well, not from Miss Jones anyway, of all the people in this small town. “I assure you we’re only friends.”
“Oh, well then,” she says with a nod and moves on to the next piece, letting a little gasp show her approval of it, “then maybe that gentleman you happened to run into earlier? Is he a friend?”
“Word gets around fast,” I joke, feeling my cheeks heat.
“So he’s a friend then?” she asks, glancing behind her shoulder at me before telling me, “I’ll take this one.” As if this conversation isn’t exactly what she came for.
“A friend from your college days, I suspect?” she says and tilts her head, a blush coloring her own cheeks as well. I don’t have a moment to answer, not a single moment because just then the bell above the front door chimes and in walks the man of conversation, grabbing the attention of all three of us.
Involuntarily, I reach for the useless silent whistle as if it’ll save my life.
There’s a saying I never understood: he’s a tall drink of water.
The older women around here say it in the beauty salons and at luncheons all the time and it’s followed with slight blushing and laughter. I understood what it meant when I heard it; I’m not dense.
The men they were talking about were handsome. Got it, check, understood.
But I didn’t really get it until just now. As Brody stands there, slipping his hands into his jean pockets and biting down on his bottom lip like he’s unsure of his good-looking self, it hits me.
My mouth is dry and I can’t swallow. I can barely breathe, so there’s not much in my body that’s working at all. Other than the thermostat. One look at him and his broad shoulders, and his strong, stubbled jaw, with the snap of a finger, my insides are all burning up.
It takes a long second for me to close my mouth and gather up the energy to give a polite smile and say, “Welcome.” Even the singular word shakes as it drifts into the air.
From the corner of my eye I see two things happen at once.
Miss Jones takes a half step to the right, pretending she’s admiring a piece of art I know she hates. “I may take this one as well,” she says under her breath. “I’ll just have to look at it a minute.”
The second thing is that my good friend Renee, really my dearest and closest friend Renee, rolls her eyes. And not at Miss Jones. No, she rolled them at me.
My eyes close as I scold myself. Welcome? Really?
My smile falters but I widen the thing anyway. “Is there anything I can help you with?” My voice is a faux cheery tone and it’s obvious even to my own ears. Still, I’m doing the best I can, given the fact that I’m parched and hot and in desperate need of … that tall drink of water standing there, looking back at me like he may be lost.
“Magnolia.” He says my name and it feels like an ice bath drenches me from head to toe. So much so that my toes go numb.
“That’s me,” I say with my throat still tight, feeling like I’m swallowing down sawdust and pretending I’m just fine. I’m all right. The man who could be the father of my daughter isn’t standing right here. I didn’t lie to him back then. I didn’t run from him just hours ago.
Slipping my fingers around the whistle, I absently toy with it. It would be far too obvious to slip it between my lips and blow right now, but darn do I want to. He takes his time walking to stand in front of the desk where I am. Like a gentleman, he stays on the other side of it, but quite frankly, it’s not far enough away.
Everything in this place disappears. There’s no big hunk of wood that separates us. Not at all. It’s just him with his piercing gaze, and boyish charm. And me, scared and knowing I’m ruining everything. Everything I worked for is going to be ruined by a lie and a secret and there’s nothing I can do but to bear the consequences and I hate it. How do you tell a man you haven’t seen in years that he has a baby? A sweet baby girl with his eyes. Well, probably. She could be Robert’s. Oh my Lord, may the ground open up and swallow me whole.
Both hands wrap around the whistle, my fingers twining together as I try to get the courage to just spit it out. Get it over with. The only thing that keeps me from speaking is the thought that he’d deny her. My perfect little girl. That and the onlookers, and … well, maybe there are a lot of reasons. Either way, I can’t speak. Not a word slips out from between my lips.
“Hey.” Brody lowers his voice and glances at Miss Jones. I don’t even think he knows Renee’s right behind him. She’s practically hidden in the corner. “I get it,” he says then shrugs and offers me an asymmetric smile that’s so comforting and soothing.
It takes me back to that night at the bar, the nostalgic smell of a sweet cocktail and then him. His warmth. His touch. The way he laughed.
I want to hear him laugh. Just to know if my memory is right.
Given the way he looks right now in front of me, my memory hasn’t done him any justice at all.
“You all right?” His question brings me back to the present, the here and now of this man I’ve dreamed of for so long standing so close to me.
“Yes. Yes. What, umm … get what?” I manage to ask and this time it comes out even. I haven’t got a clue how. I clear my throat and say to clarify, “I’m sorry, but you get what?”
“I get why you freaked out. You’re a sweet girl. You’re from a small town.” He nods with each statement, then leans in closer to whisper, as if Miss Jones doesn’t have the hearing of a fruit bat. “You don’t want anyone to know about your college days.”
Oh my God. How is this conversation happening right now? My body blazes again but this time with sheer embarrassment. I know my cheeks are red and my jaw has dropped, but I can’t help a single reaction.
In an effort to look anywhere but at his handsome face, I look to my right, which is a mistake because Renee’s grin only adds to my chagrin. She sure is getting a kick out of my humiliation.