“I only thought it for a second . . .”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Really. I don’t think you’re that kind of person. Not really.”
“Good to know,” I reply tersely. I’m a little irritated that she could think so little of me, even for a second.
When the silence stretches on, she speaks. “Well, when will you be home?”
For the space of a few accelerated heartbeats, I feel a wave of panic suffocate me. Hearing her say it that way—“When will you be home?”—makes it sound like I’m answerable to her. Like I’m in a relationship. Responsible for not breaking her heart. Or hurting her. Like I’m something to her that I could never be.
But then it’s gone. It ebbs once I remind myself that we aren’t playing house, and she’s not mine to care for. I remind myself that there’s no obligation. She’s staying in my home for a reason, one that has nothing to do with me.
“I’m not sure. I guess you’ll know when I show up,” I say nonchalantly, hoping to subtly drive my point home. To her as much as to myself.
She doesn’t react.
“I guess so,” she agrees quietly. “I hope it, uh, goes well then. And safe. Luckily there aren’t a lot of fires in Greenfield.”
“Yeah, but that makes for an incredibly boring shift.”
“Probably still better than hanging around here, though. I’m sure I’m terrible company.” Her tone is full of melancholy.
This is undoubtedly a bad time for me to be leaving. I mean, she did just have a big-ass fight with her dad. In public, no less. And partly over me. If it were me, I’d want to be alone. But with Laney, I bet she’d rather not be. She wouldn’t want too much time to think, I bet.
“You could always come and visit. Break up the monotony. I could show you around the station. You know, they’re pretty impressive places. Second only to the International Space Station.”
She grins. “Oh, I’m sure. All that mind-boggling technology, like . . . water hoses and big red trucks.”
“Don’t underestimate. Getting things wet is one of my favorite pastimes.”
Her cheeks pinken and she looks away, although I can see her lips twitch. She seems to be getting a little less defensive with every comment I make. And I like that she’s loosening up. It just further assures me that I’ll have her right where I want her in no time.
“Well, the offer stands if you get cabin fever being stuck out here. When I get back, I’ll take you out into the orchard. Didn’t you say you needed to tour the property?”
“Yes. It’ll be formally surveyed and appraised, but I need to get a lay of the land to put in my final report.”
“Oh, I can give you a lay of the land.”
Her cheeks flame a little brighter, making me feel very proud of myself for some reason. It’s fascinating to see how she reacts to me. Although I could see where it could be habit-forming—teasing her—I’m not worried. I’m not the kind of guy to get wrapped up in a chick that way. I’ve lived without love for too long to go back now. I like things just the way they are.
But still, I can see how it could happen . . .
To someone else . . .
Someone better suited to loving and being loved.
But not me.
Definitely not me.
“I’ll plan for it then.”
“For me to give you the lay of the land?” I ask, quirking one brow suggestively. She’s so much fun to taunt.
“Well, not that kind of lay,” she replies, making me raise my other brow.
“Very nice! Well done. Maybe you’ve got some potential after all.”
At my words, her expression slowly falls into one that’s sullen and pensive. Her sigh is deep and long. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think whoever loves me will just have to love me the way I am. Whatever way that is.”
In an uncharacteristic moment of empathy, I feel bad for Laney. I know what it’s like to worry about being loved. I did it for years. Until I learned to stop. Until I learned to stop caring and stop trying. But for Laney, I don’t think she ever will. It’s obviously part of who she is.
As gently as I can, I tweak her chin and reply. “And someone will, Laney. Someone will.”
Her smile is small and a little sad.
“I’ll have my cell with me. Call if you need anything. Not that I can really do anything about it, but if you’re burning the house down, I’ll know which truck to bring.”
She laughs. It’s a good note to leave things on.
THIRTEEN: Laney
My phone rings. It’s Tori. Again. For a few seconds, I hover over the green button to answer the call. But after a crystal clear image of her in bed with Shane flashes through my mind, I go straight toward the red decline button.
I get up and move away from the dining room table. With Jake gone, it’s lonely around the house. Not that I’m used to him being there or anything. But I’m liking his company more and more as time goes on. Besides, with Tori and I on the outs, and my parents and I on the outs, it’s a pretty lonely world right now. I could use the companionship I’ve found in Jake.
You can tell yourself that’s all it is all day long, but you know there’s more to it.
I push aside that voice. More than ever, I don’t want to think too much, to overanalyze things. I just want to have some fun. To forget about life and pain and trouble and responsibility as much as I can. I’m here to do a job, but there’s nothing that says I can’t have a little fun on the side.
If I’m even capable of doing something like having a little fun.
Frustrated, I walk to the fridge. My eyes move over the peach preserves and the butter, and the milk and the pack of ham, but nothing strikes my interest.
Until I see the peach wine.
It’s Saturday night. There would be nothing wrong with me having a glass of peach wine. Nothing at all. But thoughts of having one alone make it much less appealing.
I glance out the kitchen window, the sun now barely visible on the horizon. It’ll be dark soon. Another night alone. Another night without Jake.
Everything in me pauses on a gasp, it seems.
Unless I pay him a visit.
As soon as the thought enters my head, I instantly think of at least ten reasons why I should not go visit him. But, still wrestling with getting rid of the girl I’ve always been, I stand in front of the open fridge until the bottle of peach wine and my desire to test the flames of attraction overwhelm my reservations and mute them into silence.
Impulsively, before I can change my mind, I take the stairs two at a time. When I walk into Jake’s room, I think absently about how I probably should’ve moved into another room already. But rather than exploring the reasons why I haven’t, I focus on picking out a change of clothes instead. That’s much more fun and much less stressful.
I’m glad I hadn’t unpacked at my parents’ house yet. My exit the night they dropped Shane on me would’ve been much less dramatic if I’d had to spend half an hour packing up in my room. But as it was, I just tossed a few things in my smaller bag, zipped all my belongings into my bigger one, and took off. At least I have everything I need and no reason that I have to go back if I don’t want to. Because I don’t. At least not yet.
Speeding through a quick shower, I slather on some scented lotion and slip into a little white, summery skirt and a peach-colored top with spaghetti straps. After I slide my feet into white platforms that make me look taller and my legs look longer, I step back to appraise myself.
My hair is still in a messy updo from the shower, something that actually goes quite well with this particular outfit. My makeup could use some freshening, so after a quick swipe here and there, I’m ready to go.