AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That’s not even mentioning the debacle that my relationship with Landon has become. I know him well, and have long realized his tendencies to be oblivious, somewhat self-centered, and even on occasion, to be a dick. Yet that’s only a miniscule portion of his personality. The creative side of him, and how he’s able to capture images no one else can, is alluring. And how he called me “gorgeous girl” while we were in bed…
Sigh.
I’ve treasured his friendship, and I’ve been attracted to him for years and years. But I can’t cope with him on top of the shambles my professional life has devolved into. If he’s so dense that he hasn’t picked up on the fact that I no longer have the bandwidth to see him—especially not as a lover—then I suppose I’ll have to cross the bridge when I get there.
Five
Landon
A few days go by, and I text Violet every day. In an attempt to cheer her up, I send her funny memes. This has been our modus operandi ever since she moved back to town, our little meme train. I’ll text her one saying, “I hate when I go to the kitchen looking for a meal and all I find are ingredients.” And she sends me one back of a woman sitting in front of a backdrop asking for the photographer to make sure she looks ten pounds thinner in the finished product.
I don’t know why she sent me that one. Violet has a near flawless body, and since sleeping with her, I know that better than ever. Even if something tells me not to mention that to her anytime soon. Because she hasn’t texted me back. Not once all week.
I yank my phone out to check again, and see that, nope, no replies to the ten separate messages I’ve sent. This doesn’t bode well.
I type in another.
Harrison: I know I’ve been giving you a bunch of silliness this week, but I really would like to go out with you tonight. I can meet you at the Heron at closing again if you’d like.
When a notification dings a few seconds later, I stare at my phone screen with joyful anticipation, only to find this…
Violet: Can’t.
That’s it.
Just, “Can’t.”
What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?
I begin to thumb that precise question to her but rethink it at the last minute. I’d rather speak to her face-to-face, for one thing. For another, I’ve been bombarded with commission work so much this week that most of the time I haven’t been in town. But I’m in town now. It’s Saturday, and even though she’s denying me a date, that doesn’t mean I can’t go peek in on her.
Before that, however, I need to meet up with my brother and father at the haberdashery. Today is the long-awaited visit that Harrison’s been expecting, and while I don’t know what our odds are of convincing him to update our business model like my brother is so desperate to do, it’s worth trying.
When I meander into the store, I’m inundated by the familiar feel and smell of the place. It hasn’t changed much during the entirety of my childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. My brother and I might not often see eye to eye, but when it comes to feeling like the haberdashery has essentially become obsolete, I have to concede the point.
“Ah,” comes the booming voice of my father as I enter the receiving area at the rear of the structure. “The prodigal son returns.”
Ironic since I’ve never been a prodigal. He’s the one who’s retired and seldom shows up in Oak Valley anymore.
“Hey, Dad,” I greet him, more to be polite than anything. He’s never been a hands-on parent. Even after Harrison lost his wife and struggled so much that even I was worried sick about him, our father barely came around except for Jane’s funeral. He’s stodgy and stubborn and set in his ways. My greatest ambition is to not be anything like him as I age. “You’re here.”
“As astute as always,” he says, looking annoyed. But then, he often looks like that. He’s the definition of a crusty curmudgeon.
My brother bursts through the dual sliding doors, an electronic tablet in his hands. Ah, figures and charts. He’ll be attempting to prove his improvements will help the bottom line through statistics. Nothing will impress Dad when he decides something’s good enough, so best of luck with that.
Still, I agree with Harrison, so I don’t say any of this out loud.
My brother makes his presentation, and miraculously, our father doesn’t interrupt. He actually says nothing at all, which is unusual. Typically, he’s happy to put the kibosh on everything involving the haberdashery if it involves any sort of change or suggested improvements.
“Fine,” Dad says at the end, and both Harrison and I stare at him. My brother appears to be holding his breath.
“Fine?” Harrison asks tentatively.
“Fine. I’ll sell my percentage of the company for this amount. Take it or leave it.” He hands a piece of paper to Harrison, then my brother offers it to me. It’s a chunk of change, but I think it’s fair. Whether my brother will agree remains to be seen.
Harrison pokes his fingers at the screen of his phone, and although I’m not certain, I think he’s using his calculator function.
“I’ll have to pull together some resources, but I can pay you out if you give me a couple of days.”
