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My heart thumps rapidly in my chest, and I have to wipe the sweat off my palms on my black athletic shorts as I pick up my pace the closer and closer I get to my destination, but my happiness right now far outweighs my nerves. As soon as I stepped off the ferry and back onto Summersweet Island, it was almost like a huge weight was lifted off my chest, and I felt like I could breathe again. I hadn’t felt that way since the last time I’d been here a few weeks ago, but my trip was too short for it to have much of an impact. Now that I’m here again, now that all my suitcases and half of my belongings have been delivered to the cottage I’m renting until I decide on a permanent place and the rest has gone into storage, I want to jump up and down and scream like a little kid, knowing I never have to leave again if I don’t want to.
I’m happy, because this is the first step to a new and hopefully much less lonely future.
I’m happy, because living here means living closer to my family, and I’ll be able to see them all the time now instead of just a handful of times a year.
I’m happy, because I can walk down the street and not be hounded for pictures, and autographs, and pieces of myself. The only thing people want from me on Summersweet Island is to genuinely know how I am.
I’m happy, because I can throw on a pair of tennis shoes, athletic shorts, and a white Adidas hoodie with a hat and not worry that a paparazzo is going to snap a picture of me from the bushes, where TMZ will say Shepherd Oliver looks lazy and like he’s given up on life, when it’s the exact opposite.
Hopefully my life is right inside the building I’m now standing in front of, and I’m going to make it damn clear I will never give up on her again.
My smile almost hurts my cheeks as I stand here on the sidewalk in front of the Dip and Twist. I forgot how much I missed this old-school place I used to work at in high school, where Laura Bennett taught me the value of a hard day’s work as well as taking pride in it.
It was also where the boss’s oldest daughter taught me about “hardness” in a different way every time she bent over into the freezer. I learned that strategically placing a gallon of ice cream over my crotch would help me with that problem by immediately deflating my cock, because that shit is fucking cold.
Just like your standard, old-school ice cream stand, the Dip and Twist building is around eight hundred square feet with a brick façade on the bottom half, and from the waist-high counter and up, it’s nothing but windows. Those windows are covered in advertisements for all the cold treats Dip and Twist has to offer, and I can just make out some movement inside through a few of the posters as I make my way around to the back of the building and the door to get inside. My happy-go-lucky, bouncing footsteps come to an abrupt halt when I get to the back of the building and I’m standing in front of the propped-open door that leads into the Dip and Twist, the bright florescent lighting from inside spilling out into the darkness.
I was a man on a mission as soon as I made sure all my boxes and shit made it to where they were supposed to. I didn’t unpack anything. I didn’t move anything out of the way. I just climbed over boxes and haphazardly placed furniture the movers put wherever they wanted and jogged all the way into town, too excited to even think about going back down to the ferry dock to rent a golf cart. That could wait. I didn’t want to waste one more second not talking to Wren, and I headed right here without even thinking this might be a bad idea.
Am I really going to barge in here late at night and chance scaring the hell out of her if she’s here alone? Is it really a good idea to surprise her like this after dropping her without an explanation and ignoring her for a year?
She’ll probably kick me in the nuts. She’ll definitely punch me in the face.
“…fucking Shepherd Oliver. That’s your problem right there!”
A muffled female voice coming from inside the building has my mouth stretching into a wide smile and my nerves disappearing like one of my homeruns into the stands. I’d know that voice anywhere, even after a year. I’ve seen enough videos of her son playing ball where she was yelling, cheering, and chanting in the background to recognize that sweet, delicate timbre with the mouth of a sailor when she’s super pissed anywhere. The fact that news must have traveled faster than I expected around Summersweet since I got here an hour ago, Wren knows I’m here, and I’m the reason she’s super pissed only makes me smile wider as I take a step into the building, not even caring that my element of surprise is gone.
