“Okay… what else?” I ask. I’m enjoying the possibility of becoming someone new.
“Ditch the little polka-dot skirts and frilly tops, and buy some black leather pants. Get a tattoo…”
I laugh out loud. “Yep, me with a tattoo… I can totally see it.”
“We’re doing it,” she says. “I’ve got a plan.”
I smile wide. “I’m sure you do.” Of all my friends, Corrie is definitely the funnest one – it’s one of the reasons I’ve brought her along. There was also the fact that she doesn’t have a day job and was free.
“You’re still friends with Peter on Facebook and Instagram right?”
I nod. “Yep…”
She sits up and practically bounces off her seat. “We’ll show him,” she says. “We’ll post all kinds of pictures and make him squirm. He’ll be sorry he ever let you go.”
I bite my lip. I’m not sure I want to play these games. What are we? Thirteen years old? But I do like the idea of him seeing me in a different light, of showing him that there’s more to me than the sweet girl he’s always known. If I show him a different side of me, will he change his mind and come back to me? Will I get my old life back?
As soon aswe turn around the bend, I spot Momma running out of the house, arms flailing, dreads flapping in the wind. As we near closer, I can make out the vibrant pattern of her tunic, worn over black leggings. She has her slipper booties on.
“Your mom is so cute,” Corrie smiles. “I’d love to have a mom like that.”
“She’ll be in our faces the whole week,” I warn her. “Be prepared for that. She thinks she’s one of the girls.”
“She was awesome at movie night,” Corrie tells me. “Cute house.”
I study the little brick bungalow with its beds of flowers and white picket fence – it’s exactly the kind of house you’d expect in small town America.
As soon as I cut the engine, I hop out of the car and hug Momma. Corrie joins us, teetering on her heels on the gravel ground.
Momma gives her a big hug. “So nice to see you again, Corrie. Glad you could join Maeve.”
“Well, she needs a sidekick.”
“So how have you been?” Momma asks and they start chattering. As I make my way to the back of the car to retrieve the suitcases, I see him in the distance, stepping out ofmyhouse. What the heck ishedoing here?
And damn, he still looks so good. I was kind of hoping that he’d lose his hair, sprout a beer gut and develop some kind of strange skin disease, but no such luck. As he closes the distance between us, I take him in: all six foot two inches of him. He still has that dark thick hair, swept to the side. He’s wearing worn jeans which hang low on his hips, a simple white t-shirt and work boots. His eyes are as beautiful as ever as they take me in. A smile slowly curves his lips as he inches closer – his cocky grin is exactly as it always was too. It’s a bittersweet smile – it makes me want to punch him in the face, but it also makes me want to jump his bones. My heart hammers and I can barely breathe. He still has an effect on me, and I hate that. I really hate that.
He reaches for my suitcase. “Can I help you with that, Freckles?”
Freckles. It’s what he used to always call me. I liked it back then, but now it makes me want to take off my shoe and throw it at his head.
As he pulls out the suitcase from my trunk, I don’t fail to notice the curves of his lean torso and strong arms. I shake my head and turn my gaze to Corrie and Momma. Corrie’s jaw is hanging on the ground – she likes what she sees. Of course she does.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask him.
He cocks a brow as his gaze travels slowly down my body, from my frilly pink tank top, along the flare of my skirt, down to my cute pumps. Back up again it goes, and that cocky grin makes an appearance again. “Nice outfit,” he says. “You’re not planning on going fishing, I see.”
“Nope, I’m planning on having tea with my Momma and catching up. I really don’t know what you’re doing here but you’ll have to leave.”
He laughs. “Oh will I?” he says. “I think that’s up to your mom, not you.”
I’m going to kill her. She knows our history. She knows I can’t stand the guy. Why is he here?
He turns on his heel and heads back to the house, carrying both suitcases. To my dismay, he looks as good from the back as he did from the front.
“Damn, boy,” Corrie says, practically drooling – she is so shameless.
“What is he doing here?” I ask Momma.
