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It’sbeenfourlong-assdays since Blair returned home to Blushing, and every minute of those four days has been nothing but a nightmare for me.
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating just a little bit, but for the first time in six long years, I’m starting to feel hope, and that’s what’s causing me this insane grief. Hope is dangerous, and fuck, I’ve already watched her walk away once. I sure as hell won’t survive it again. And that right there is why having her back home is a nightmare.
Fuck. I love her.
Ever since I took off with her electric heater, I haven’t been able to stop replaying that afternoon in my head. The words we threw at each other, each one of them filled with venom, were a hard pill to swallow. I said things I probably wouldn’t have had we been capable of talking like mature adults, and I’m sure she admitted to things she wasn’t ready to say. But in the grand scheme of things, all that matters is that she’s still hurting.
Fuck my feelings, fuck my pain. I can handle them, but what I can’t handle is knowing that she’s spent the last six years in agony. It kills me.
All this time, I thought she was living it up in New York, happy as a fucking clam as she made leaps and bounds in her career. Last I’d heard from Olivia, Blair was dating some big-time lawyer and living in her expensive city apartment. But what fucks with my head is if she had all of that, everything she wanted, everything she left me for, then why the hell is she still hurting?
She told me that leaving Blushing and walking away from me was the biggest mistake she’s ever made, and those words haven’t stopped playing on repeat in my head. If she felt that way, then why the hell didn’t she come home sooner? Why didn’t she pick up the fucking phone and call me? Because she has no fucking intention of being with me, that’s why. She’s hell-bent on heading back to New York and starting her new business. She doesn’t give a shit about the destruction she’ll leave behind . . . again.
Some things never fucking change.
I drive through the main street of Blushing, doing what I can to focus on anything but Blair, but as I pass the local coffee house and see Frank’s tow truck parked out front, I’m reminded of her all over again. I spent yesterday back at the Christmas tree farm with Frank and Oxley trying to figure out how the fuck we were going to get the old pickup out of the ditch, and after four agonizing hours and an almost-broken leg, the truck was freed. It still worked like a charm, and after dropping it back at Blair’s place and leaving the key in the plant on the porch, I received a simple text from Blair with one lone word—thanks.
I tried not to hold it against her. After all, news had gotten around that Sarah and Blair had reunited after all these years over a few bottles of wine. Apparently, after deafening the whole street with their Christmas caroling, decorating the house, and making snow angels, they both passed out. And if Blair still reacts the same to alcohol as she did when she was in her early twenties, then she would have spent the majority of yesterday hungover and feeling sorry for herself. On the other hand, I’m glad she got a chance to hang out with Sarah again. They were tight in high school, and they always brought out the best in each other. Hell, maybe a good solid friendship might just be something that could convince her to stay . . . if only for a little while longer.
Shit. There I go getting all hopeful again.
The rest of my day was spent lying on my cold driveway beneath the engine of my truck after Frank so kindly towed it back to my place, but just as I thought, my old truck—along with the memories it holds—isn’t out for the count yet. She’ll live to see another day.
Continuing down the street, I pull into the parking lot of Hardin’s Hardware and make my way inside. This time of year, I haven’t got much to work on . . . at least until after Christmas. Right now, people are spending all their hard-earned cash on Christmas presents, but as soon as Christmas is done and everyone is stuck at home with nothing to do, they’ll turn to home renovations. That’s when my phone will start blowing up.
Walking through the door of Hardin’s Hardware, I find John crouched behind the counter, searching through a bunch of old receipts and looking scrambled. “What have you got for me?” I ask, referring to the message I got last night and bracing a hand against the counter, looking over the mess he’s making.
John shakes his head, not able to focus on so many things at the same time. Eventually he looks up from the receipts and glances at me as if only now just realizing I’m standing right in front of him. “Oh, Nick. How’re you doing today?”
A grin cuts across my face. “I’m good. What about you? Need a hand?”
“Oh no. Just misplaced some paperwork,” he says, reaching for his appointment book. “I’m sure it’ll show up eventually.”
“No doubt,” I agree, despite knowing it’s a lost cause. John has been misplacing paperwork since the day he was handed the keys to the castle.
He fumbles around with the appointment book, trying to find today’s page. “A young woman was in yesterday,” he starts. “Said something about renovating her nana’s house.”
My stomach drops. Don’t fucking tell me he’s scheduled me to work for Blair today.
“Ahh, here it is,” he says, flipping to the right page. “The backdoor isn’t locking properly and the kitchen window is getting jammed. She wanted to fix them herself and needed some guidance on how to do it, but I said not to worry, that I’ll send someone out to help her.”
“Oh great.”
“Wonderful,” he says, scanning through his notes. “Now, she’s down on—”
“I got it,” I mutter. “The old Wilder residence.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” he chuffs. “We got to chatting. She’s Olivia and Roy’s granddaughter back in town for Christmas, and she’s fixing up the place to sell in the new year. Looks like she’ll be needing quite a bit of help over the next few weeks.”
Just fucking great.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I run my hand back through my hair and consider just how hard it would be to build a rocket and shoot my ass out of here, but then the thought of leaving Blair with an unlockable backdoor and a jammed window makes me sweat. While the crime rate in Blushing is low, it’s not exactly zero, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her because I’d avoided making her home safe.
“Alright, I’ll head over there now,” I tell him, knowing he’s waiting for some kind of confirmation that I’ll take the job, otherwise, he would have trudged out there after he closed up this afternoon.
“Very good,” he says, watching me as I stride back out of the shop. I get to the door, and just as I go to push my way out, his voice cuts through the silence. “Oh, and Nick?” he calls out. “She’s a pretty young thing. Might be worth getting to know the girl while she’s in town.”
Fucking hell.
