Page 2 of Autumn Leaves and Pumpkins Please

“That I do. You can’t function without it.” She moves behind the counter making my caramel cinnamon latte. I look at all the baked things she has this morning, and my stomach decides it wants a maple pumpkin scone with praline pecans. Warbee slides the coffee towards me. “See anything else you’d like?”

“You know it. My mouth is basically watering at the scones.” Warbee wraps me a couple of the scones up and slips them into one of the new mint-colored boxes with a black and white bow on top. “I just love these little boxes we got, but you didn’t have to waste one on me.”

Warbee beams. “They’re awesome, right. Teaganne found them and I knew we had to have them.”

Teaganne is Warbee’s best friend. She’s a fashion designer turned interior designer as well as event planner. Warbee and Teaganne own BeeTeag Planning which has been great for the bakery. “Y’all do make a pretty good team.”

“We do, don’t we?” Warbee smiles. “Now, get out of here and enjoy your day off.”

I laugh. “You’re one to talk. You’re here every day. “

Warbee leans over the counter next to the register. “When Rocker isn’t at home, the bakery feels more like home than any other place I could be.”

My heart tugs. Rocker is Warbee’s fiancé, really soon to be husband. They are one of those ridiculously cute couples that could make you believe in love. They’ve put me to the test plenty of times, but my heart is as cold as ice when it comes to the thought. One too many bad decisions with men who were even worse. Although, I do envy what Rocker and Warbee share. “That makes sense. I guess I’m going to run into Atlanta and pick out a new hair color.” I’m not sure why I constantly change my hair color. I often think that it’s because it’s the one thing I can control in my crazy messed up world.

“I can’t wait to see what you pick. You know I live vicariously through you.”

I smile and head out of the bakery. I recognize the coco-colored truck that Jayse drives. It’s sitting at the red light. As I climb into my Sonic, I can feel his eyes on me. My heart speeds up, but I hold my breath in a desperate attempt to calm it. I can’t afford to let it start doing the thinking again.

TWO

Jayse

Smoke coils around me, wrapping around my body like the devil’s hands. Attempting to drag me to hell, but he doesn’t realize I’m already there. Blistering heat is felt all around me, even my gear can’t protect me from the scorching heat of the flames as they close in around me. Glass shatters from the heat, and I watch in horror as the picture frame hanging beside me on the hallway wall slips down, until it lands on the ashen floor. The faces already warped from the destruction of the fire.

Panic coils in my body and without thinking, I blindly charge into the thick smoke. I can’t see anything in front of me, but I know there are two people that need to be rescued. A child and a mother and I’ll do anything I can to get to them. My life doesn’t matter. Just theirs. All the doors in the hallway are wide open except for one. The master bedroom is closed. I rush forward, but the door is blocked. Taking a few steps back I kick and kick until finally the wood begins to give.

I sit up straight in my bed. Sweat soaks me and the sheets I’m tangled up in. My breath comes in tight gasps. Eyes water from the panic I can still feel as if I’m still stuck in the burning house. Sweat drenched hair clings around my neck where it has escaped from the hair tie it was in. The dark locks cling to the angry ridges that mar my skin. The constant reminder of a nightmare I can’t escape, a failure I will never be able to live with. Angrily, I kick the sheet I’m tangled in out of the way and climb out of the bed on wobbly legs. The house is pitch black, but I know my way around as I make my way to the kitchen. When I pull the fridge door open, I’m blasted with the ice-cold air. It cools my heated skin, drying the sweat. The fridge is stocked, but there is nothing to take away the images that are so vividly etched into my mind. I quit drinking alcohol a few years ago so I grab the gallon of water sitting inside, pull the lid off, and chug it until the taste of ash no longer lingers on my tongue.

When the fridge door shuts, I slide down until my ass hits the floor, bury my head in my hands, and try to remember the deep breathing exercises my therapist told me about. Panic still courses through my veins, eating me from the inside out. This is exactly why I left the fire station. There’s no way I could ever face it again. I’d just end up becoming another person they’d have to rescue.

Now, I just go around town and fix anything and everything they need. If something breaks, they all call me. I’m fine with that. The money keeps my bills paid and food on my table. There’s only one problem. Blue Ridge is small, and everyone knows every damn thing about my life. My failures sit in the forefront of their mind so when they see me the sympathy in their eyes makes me nauseous. Heads fall to the side in a tilt to remind me of everything I’ve lost. The blatant reminder of how far I’ve fallen in their eyes since my golden boy status of Blue Ridge.

Eventually, the anger raging in my bones chases the panic from my blood and I feel like I’m back on level ground again. The sun will be rising in a bit so there’s no point in going back to bed. As I stand up, I stretch my achy muscles and head back to the bedroom. Yanking the sheets from the bed, I march out the back door to one of the two small house-like sheds. One is for my tools and equipment I need for my job. The other is the laundry room. Every time I relive that nightmare, I have to wash the sheets. Once they are in the washer, I head back inside. I stop to open all the blinds in the small house that I call home. It’s not much, but I don’t need a lot.

When I purchased the home, it was a small two bedroom. It was one of the older homes in the area, but it still had a lot of life left in it. All it really needed was someone that could fix it up. A year later, and it was exactly how I wanted. It transformed into more of an open floor plan with new hardwood floors instead of the original carpet. The wood paneling on the walls is gone now, too. Most of the work was painting everything and the kitchen. The kitchen got gutted and was completely redone as well as the bathroom.

When I reach my bedroom, I head straight for the bathroom where I start the shower. While it’s warming up, I go back to the kitchen and start the coffee maker. I feel like I’m running around in circles today, but I’m usually like this when that memory rears its ugly head. From my kitchen window, I notice movement from across the alley. Capri Owens is my first thought but it’s not her. It’s the neighbor that shares the building she lives in. Ella Mae who owns the Spins Dance Studio. Capri’s blinds are closed, but I can see them moving which means she probably left her windows cracked again. I’ve noticed it seems to be a habit of hers. Eventually, I head back to the bathroom to find the steam is building. For a moment, that panic ebbs its way back up my throat until I close my eyes and count to ten, reminding myself it’s just steam and not smoke. Once my breathing calms, I strip down and climb under the scalding hot water.

By the time I get out of the shower, my skin is screaming in protest. Wiping the fog from the mirror, I grimace at the bags under my eyes. Sleep has not been a friend of mine lately and it’s starting to show. I comb through my brown shoulder length hair before tying it back in a ponytail. After I slip on a pair of jeans and my work boots, I stop to make my coffee, black and bitter, just how I like it and head outside. The sun is up now, but the town is still quiet. I grab the wood for my next project and start measuring the pieces.

Halfway through, I notice movement from Capri’s apartment. When I look up, she ducks away from the window. She is one hell of a mystery. She is also the last thing I need but I can’t help but look every time I see her. The girl is so damn gorgeous, and she doesn’t even know it, but something about how skittish she is, tells me she hasn’t had the easiest life. Her seafoam green eyes are enough to knock the air right out of your lungs. She’s unique with her ever changing hair color, huge false eyelashes, nose ring that often matches whatever color of oversized glasses she’s wearing that day, and a wardrobe that consists mostly of skinny jeans, band and horror t-shirts, and Vans or Converse. I know she’s creative because I’ve watched from the shadows of my porch as she stands in front of her window and moves a brush over a canvas. The canvas sits off to the side, so I can never see what she creates, but something tells me it’s stunning just like her profile while she creates the painting. Capri is quiet and closed off except for when she’s around Warbee and her group of friends. A few weeks ago, I did a revamp on Bee’s Batter, Warbee’s bakery, and that was the most I had seen of Capri since living here. Around all of them she laughed, joked, and had a great time. Her voice is sweet like maple syrup.

I don’t see Capri again until I’m coming back out of the house and she’s slipping into her car. All I catch is a glimpse of her fading purple hair, before she disappears behind the dark tint of the windows. Even though I can’t see her, it doesn’t stop me from trying to. She peels down the alley and I watch as she goes. Why do I want to know her story so damn much?

THREE

Capri

These Days by Foo Fighters blare through the speakers of my car as I sing loudly and off key to the lyrics. There’s always been something about the lyrics in the Foo Fighters songs that really hit me. My car is loaded down. I managed to squeeze four blank canvases into my tiny backseat. Everything else is crammed into my small trunk. I used to order the canvases online because they were cheaper, but a lot of the time they would come in damaged or get damaged from the weather when they were delivered to my apartment while I was at work. Plus, knowing that I get to help a small, home owned business makes me feel better about the money I’m spending.

As I pulled back into Blue Ridge I decided to stop by Bee’s Batter. I could really use a decaf sleepy time tea. I feel incredibly wired from my excitement with the art supplies I bought today. Instead of fighting to go to sleep, I could just swing by and grab something to help me unwind. I’m shocked to see the bakery is still pretty packed for it to be almost closing time. Once I find a parking place across the street, I stand by and wait for a chance to dart across. The older, blue Ford truck that Jayse uses for his handyman business comes into view. My foolish heart stutters in my chest. As he approaches, I notice his eyes squinting in my direction. He studies me and I hold my breath. When he gets closer, he comes to a full stop. Talk about a deer in the headlights. I stand there, completely frozen. Eventually, Jayse notices the headlights approaching behind him and motions for me to cross the street. Something inside me clicks and I jog as fast as I can while trying not to look silly.

When I reach the door of the bakery, I look back over my shoulder, trying to be discreet, but to my disappointment Jayse is already gone. The bell above the door rings throughout the bakery. Warbee looks up from where she’s wiping the counter. “Capri, it’s your day off and you still show up here.” Warbee, the owner of Bee’s Batter and my boss, laughs from behind the counter. She’s a fiery redhead with hazel eyes and fair skin. She normally has large, oversized glasses and dresses pretty simple.

“You’re one to talk,” I tease her back. We have the same conversation every time we see each other in the bakery on a day off. Just this we had this same conversation.

Warbee shrugs her slim shoulders. “I own the place. What’s your excuse?”

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