Jude flashes Kane a sharp look before turning to me with a sigh. “I hate to leave you with him, but I need to talk with your uncle about my foundation’s upcoming charity auction.” He thumbs toward Kane. “Just ignore him if he starts prying.” He settles a knowing look on his cousin. “He’s a prier.”
Kane grins proudly as if he’s just been given a compliment. “Why, thank you.”
Jude shakes his head with a laugh. “Nice meeting you, Hollis.”
“Great meetin’ you.”
I turn back to my beer, hoping this unexpected interaction will fade.
“I’m a good listener, you know.”
I don’t respond aside from a sharp side glance. You’d think he’d take a hint.
He doesn’t.
“I’m dyin’ to know the story behind the Pop Rocks.”
Jesus. This guy doesn’t let up.
I’ll pay my tab and move on. Because the last thing I want to talk about—least of all, with a stranger—is Magnolia.
“It’s her favorite candy.” The words are out before I realize it, and shock settles through me.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Have I sunk so low that I’m becoming one of those pathetic barflies who moan about their sad life? Shit.
I reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose and release a long, slow breath.
“And where might this lovely lady be now?” A more serious tone has replaced his earlier lighthearted one.
“Auburn University.”
“Huh,” is all he says for a moment. “You still love her? Or just miss her?”
I swallow hard before my response comes out, sounding hoarse. “Both.”
“And how does she feel about you?”
I huff out a humorless laugh and shake my head. “Not sure.”
I find myself telling him the entire story, and surprisingly enough, Kane lives up to his claim of being a good listener. Once I finish, we both fall silent.
“Want my advice?”
A hoarse laugh escapes me, and I hate how emotional I get just thinking about her. “Sure.”
Why the hell not? It’s not like I have anything to lose.
He fixes his blue eyes on me. “You’ve gotta get rid of that shit-ton of baggage you’re luggin’ around first.”
My brows slant together in confusion. What?
He continues. “You’ve had it jammed down your throat that you’re not good enough for her to the point you believe it.” His features turn intense, and I struggle against the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. “I’ll let you in on a secret. If you really think hard on it, no one’ll ever be good enough for your Magnolia. Not even you.”
He levels me a look. “And definitely not some guy who works on Wall Street, wears a three-piece Armani suit, and rakes in millions. But if you”—he points his index finger in my direction—“feel good enough about yourself and know you’d move heaven and earth to do right by her, that’s enough.”
He turns his focus on his beer glass, appearing thoughtful. “When you see good people get run through the wringer, it puts things in focus.” He glances over at me. “My buddy Hendy came back with scars all over his body. Went from bein’ a stud to what he saw as a monster.”
A faint hint of a smile forms. “He found a woman who saw more than the surface shit. She understood that money and material things don’t hold up in the long run. It’s what’s in here”—he taps the center of his chest—“and here”—he taps a finger against his temple—“that’ll keep you in the game for the long haul.”
I mull over his words quietly as I finish my beer.
“This woman…” I toss him a glance. “She’s still with your friend?”
He nods, and the edges of his mouth tip up affectionately. “Sure is. They’ve got a little girl now. Couldn’t be happier.”
Leaning back in his seat, he settles his laser focus on me. “You’re the one who needs to figure out if you’re good enough. Not for her. But for you. Until then, you’re no good to her.”
The next day, I decide to try something different. In addition to the usual postcard and cherry Pop Rocks I send in an envelope, I also send a text.
Hollis: Greetings from Amelia Island, Florida, Shortcake. I miss you.
I don’t get a response.
Until three days later.
Shortcake: Looks beautiful out there. Have fun and be safe.
Hollis: Greetings from Rome, Italy, Shortcake. I miss you.
Again, her response comes a few days later.
Shortcake: Looks amazing. Eat some good pasta. Have fun and be safe.
With each message—my stupid way of testing the waters—she never reciprocates. At least not the way I stupidly hoped. At best, we’re friends, and I need to come to terms that I’ve lost my chance.
But if friendship is all she’s offering me, then by God, I’ll take it.
If I can be in Magnolia Barton’s life in any capacity, then it’s enough.
It has to be.
Magnolia
Senior Year
AUBURN UNIVERSITY
Grant continues to talk about the future—more specifically, our future—and I suspect he plans to ask me to marry him after graduation. Everyone adores him, and I’m not sure there’s a soul on God’s green earth he couldn’t hit it off with.
His lovely family welcomed me with open arms, so warmhearted that it caught me off guard. It’s the opposite of the cool, guarded greeting I’ve come to expect from people with any form of wealth. His mom shared her recipe for her “famous” cornbread, and I divulged the secret our housekeeper, Miranda, taught me when making her delicious collard greens.
I can imagine myself marrying Grant and having Grandpa Joe officiate. Maybe starting a family a few years after, once I’m established in my job. Yet there’s a fine tether that holds me back.
Hollis.
I’ve only allowed myself to look him up on Instagram a time or two, but I’ve only found photos of sights or spots he’s found during his travels while working for his uncle. Or the latest car restoration—before and after photos—which are impressive even to a person who knows next to nothing about that sort of thing. I don’t follow him on there because once he left, a line was drawn, an unspoken agreement that we would keep in touch in the most minimal way.
Then he sent those two text messages and completely threw my world off-kilter.
I miss you. Three words he hasn’t included at any other time sent a mix of anger and near debilitating pain rushing to the forefront. Anger, because how dare he suddenly tell me he misses me when he’s the one who left me. When he hurt me so badly. When I wasn’t sure I’d be able to put the pieces of my heart and soul back together again.
Suddenly, he decides to change things, and I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve come so far, finally dredging myself out of the miserable abyss from his absence, and now it seems as if he’s trying to pull me back under.
I couldn’t bear to respond initially. I just couldn’t. I stared at those texts so long and so many times, I swear, if I close my eyes, they’re still imbedded on the insides of my eyelids.