Page 11 of Don't Fall for a Grump

5

Bree

He can actually laugh. I have to admit, I was beginning to wonder. But as I stand here at Sharon Springs summer fair, looking in every direction but at Jackson as he hugs Sylvie, Jackson Scott actually chuckles. I’m waiting for a heralding trumpet call or a heavenly chorus, but no such luck. Just the rowdy chatter, laughter, and delighted screams from the crowd that surrounds us.

By their conversation, Sylvie and Jackson seem to know each other very well. No surprise there. It makes perfect sense given that Jackson grew up here. At the store the other day, Mr. Shilliday had greeted him with fondness and familiarity. And, while Ben hasn’t specifically said so, it’s clear that the home he now lives in is where both the Scott boys were raised in. Evidently, Jackson knows everyone in this small town. And by what I’ve seen so far, everybody knows him, including the rather pretty Sylvie. Even though she is a bit young for him.

You’re jealous!

I am not! Well, OK. Maybe a little. Maybe I’m also a little peeved that he can talk to Sylvie so freely, and can barely look me in the eye. Perhaps she’s part of a secret club. A special group of people that have the privilege of speaking with and being spoken to by Jackson Almighty. I’ll bet there’s a special hand shake and everything.

Now you’re just being silly.

Yes, I know. And childish to boot. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be this snarky. It’s just that I’m feeling a little sore at how he has treated me so far. I’m an outsider, I get it. But he has snubbed me twice now. I refuse to let him do it again. Which is the reason I am making a point of paying absolutely no attention to him at this very moment. Two can play that game, Mr. Scott.

Of course, I could not have foreseen this happening when I decided to call Sylvie up just the day before. While the idea of calling her had come to me like a flash of inspiration, I suddenly had second thoughts when I realized, I hardly knew anything about her. And by that, I mean, whether she had a boyfriend she might prefer to spend her Friday night with. She had told me to call her at any time, but I can see that being said very flippantly in a town this small. People still had lives.

You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.

That’s my sister in my head with her inspirational Instagram posts. On this occasion, she probably isn’t wrong.

“Oh, Bree,” Sylvie had cried with delight when she answered. “I didn’t know if you were ever going to call, or if you just thought I was being nice.”

I’ve only been here three weeks. Geesh. Maybe that’s a lifetime of not speaking in these parts. Given her job, Sylvie likely doesn’t go more than a few hours without talking.

“I’ve been super busy,” I replied, feeling a need to defend myself.

“Oh, tell me about it. We’ve barely had any down time at the shop.”

I have to wonder, in a town so small, if Sylvie’s interpretation of busy is anywhere near the same as mine. My job used to entail twelve-hour days, sometimes longer if I had to wine and dine a client. There are less than six hundred people in this town, how busy can one beautician get? Of course, I wisely keep this to myself. If Sylvie says she hasn’t had any down time, then I ought to believe her. I really need to exorcise this cynicism I seem to have adopted. I wasn’t always the kind of girl who questioned everything that came out of a person’s mouth. I suppose I have both of my exes to thank for that.

“I was just calling up,” I continued, “to see if you had plans for tomorrow night. If you’re busy, we can take a rain check.”

“Busy?” Sylvie cried. “In this town? Are you kidding me?”

If I’m honest, I didn’t quite know how to answer that, and for fear of offending her, I kept my mouth closed.

“So, what did you have in mind?” she asked, as soon as she realized I wasn’t going to speak again.

“I thought maybe we could go to the fair together.”

“Oh, I’d love to go to the fair,” she gushed with the same delightful tone.

At this point, my cynicism returned, and I’ll explain why. I have my good days and my bad days, just like everybody else. But every time Sylvie spoke to me, she sounded like we had been lifelong friends, and I had rung her after not speaking to her for five years. The gushing delight and energy was difficult to take. Maybe because I’m just not used to it.

Living in New York my whole life, I seem to have adopted the general narkiness of the city. Everyone’s always rushing, no one’s willing to just stop and chat, and when they do, they certainly do not sound like a woman straight out of a hallmark Christmas movie. Which is exactly how Sylvie sounded every time she spoke.

I thought you were curbing your cynicism?

I’m working on it.

“Great,” I replied, now trying too hard to sound just as delighted. Or was it that I actually was delighted? It’s just been so long since I’ve felt the emotion, I’ve forgotten what it feels like.

That sounds nearer to the truth, even though I don’t particularly want to admit it to myself. I had lost my entire sense of self in my last relationship, and one of the main reasons for moving to this small town was to rediscover who I really was. Who knows, I might even find parts of me I didn’t know existed. Even though it took some effort, I relaxed and allowed myself to feel happy that Sylvie actually wanted to go to the fair with me. It was a warm feeling, like walking out into the sunshine on a beautiful day. When I finally hung up, I realized I was smiling.

“Have you been on the rides yet?” I hear Daniel say.

There’s something in his voice—an invitation of sorts. A strong feeling of discomfort rises in my stomach because I know exactly where this is going.

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