Page 39 of Homesick

“Wow. That’s . . . a lot.”

“I know. I have no idea how things got messed up so quickly. It’s like one moment, I think we can be friends and the next, that all goes out the window.”

“Hypothetically, would you want to start things back up again and see where they go? Your break-up was abrupt, so it’s not crazy to feel that way.”

Our break-up was sudden. Blake was my entire world for most of my life until he wasn’t. I had lost more than just a boyfriend. I had lost a friend, a neighbor, and most of my childhood. I was angry at him for so long but being here now makes that anger feel like something more.

“I don’t know. Part of me wants to see where things could go, but I don’t know if I can handle going through that pain again.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I hated seeing you like that.”

“Yeah,” I say, my mind trailing off to the past yet again.

“Oh! Before I forget. What are you doing for the fourth this weekend?”

“I’m not sure. I think I might have to work on Saturday.”

“Jesus Christ, Wren. You’re supposed to be the single, fun one in this group and I’m supposed to live vicariously through you,” Emma declares playfully through the phone.

“Hey! I thought the kissing my ex-thing was pretty juicy. Damn, your standards are high.”

Laughter travels through the other end of the phone as I lean against the porch railing. When Emma finally comes up for air, she says, “okay. I’m having a little picnic at my place Sunday so feel free to stop by.”

* * *

“It’s packed in here,” I yell to the other bartender over the live band happening outside. “I’m going to go grab some more vodka before we run out.”

I’ve spent the last week promoting the Rustic Inn’s Fourth of July party on social and it paid off. There’s not a person in here that isn’t bumping shoulders with someone. This is one of the first times I’ve stepped out from behind the bar since earlier this afternoon. My shift is just about over, but I will probably stay a while longer to help out.

My entire week had consisted of prepping for today’s event and going home to do chores when I had free time. I hadn’t seen Blake once this week and even though I should be relieved, I feel weird. It’s like I missed the thrill of looking out for him around every corner of the farm. It’s almost like I missed him.

I let the rogue thought roll off the back of my mind and continue my journey to the storeroom for more liquor. If I’m being honest, things have shifted between Blake and me. At the beginning of the summer, the sight of him irritated me, but now, I’m begging for moments like we had at the pond that one night after haying.

My blood runs hot at the thought of him with nothing but his underwear on, but again, I shake it off.

When I turn the corner to enter into the storeroom, I hear frantic whispers. I stop dead in my tracks when I realize who it is.

“I thought you said you were going to take things easy tonight,” Blake snaps at his mother. “You’ve been running around here like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“I’m fine, Blake. You worry too much.”

My mind is racing a million miles a minute to figure out what they’re talking about. I had spent a majority of the summer with Sheila, and nothing came to mind.

“I know, Mom. It’s just the last time you overworked yourself, we found out . . .”

Just as Blake is about to finish his sentence, my hip accidentally bumps the shelf I’m beside and all of the glasses begin to clink together. The commotion instantly gives me away.

In order to save myself a little grace, I take a deep breath and barrel into the room. I head straight for the shelf of vodka, but right before I pick it up, I turn my head toward the mother and son duo and form a surprised O with my mouth.

“Oh shit, you two scared me! Sorry, it’s crazy out there. Need to restock on the vodka!”

Before either one of them can question me, I make a break for the door and pray my little performance was enough to convince them I wasn’t eavesdropping.

My heart begins to thump against my ribcage when I make it back to the bar. It takes me a second to regain my footing, but once I start making drinks again, all thoughts of Blake Fisher fall to the wayside.

Two hours later, the bar begins to thin out and I can finally breathe. There are still a lot of people here, but most of them are too preoccupied with the band to order another drink.

When I set another ice-cold beer down, I feel his green orbs on me from the other end of the bar. Shivers travel up and down my spine under his penetrating gaze.

---