Page 17 of Pour Decisions
“Coffee?” JD says, opening the cabinet and grabbing a mug. His already deep voice is rough from sleep.
“Please.”
Instead of handing me the mug, he pours me a cup and grabs the creamer I bought on my mostly unplanned grocery run last night. Then, he lets me add as much as I want, watching me like he’ll be tested on it.
“What are you up to today?” he asks, still looking half-awake. I’m surprised he’s chatting with me, but maybe he’s too tired to have his guard up.
“I’m checking out the farmers’ market with a friend,” I say, sipping my coffee and managing to not ogle his bare chest. “Maybe getting something fun to eat so I actually remember to pack and eat my lunch. What about you?”
He grunts in response, energy slowly coming onto his face as he takes a long drink.
“Work.” He shrugs, then throws back his coffee like it’s iced and not hot with a little bit of milk. “See you around.”
He abruptly leaves me standing there. I guess he needed the coffee to hit in order to remember what our dynamic should be.
I take my time with my coffee and getting dressed. Today is going to be my day to actually unwind and do something that isn’t related to surviving or managing my life.
I drive downtown to Jepsen’s Saturday farmers' market, which is tucked into a large field. It’s much bigger than I anticipated, but not so big that I can’t find Perrie, and her baby, Edie, standing near the entrance.
Then again, Perrie is hard to miss. She’s about my height, but her big, curly blonde hair stands out, even in this Southern town. It’s her signature look, along with her adorable Southern accent. On the surface we couldn’t be more different, but we clicked right away when we first became roommates the semester after everything fell apart with JD.
“This is so damn—dang—cute,” I say, glancing at Edie. “Sorry. Innocent ears.”
“She just discovered she has feet, like, a week ago,” Perrie says, hiking Edie up in her baby carrier. “You don’t have to be super anal about cursing in front of her yet. Plus this placeispretty damn cute.”
Ten years ago, there wouldn’t have even been something like this around here. None of the booths are in any particular order, from what I can tell. Booths selling baked goods are right next to ones selling soaps and small crafts. The weather is bordering on a little too warm, but with the breeze, it’s just right.
I needed this. Before I got my new job and moved to Jepsen, in the last dying days of my marriage, I spent most weekends trying to plan something to get my ex-husband Mitchell to give a shit about me and our relationship. It never worked, and usually whatever I planned wasn’t something I wanted to do anyway.
Now I can explore all the new stuff Jepsen has to offer whenever I want to. Plus, Perrie’s always down to get out of the house now that the baby is a little older.
“Remember when we tried to learn how to knit for some reason?” I ask as we pass by a booth selling knit goods.
“Yeah, and we just ended up with one long scarf?” Perrie snorts. “We aren’t crafty girlies.”
“But it was fun.”
I miss those days. We were both dance majors and spent an absurd amount of time together, through all the BS that was thrown our way those years. Both of us were fresh off of breakups and dealing with family stuff. She was there for me after I wrecked my knee in a dance workshop and had to get surgery, too.
I wander over to the booth next to it. Packages of incense are stacked up in neat bundles, and it smells pleasantly herbaceous.
“Hello!” The woman behind the booth stands and smiles at us. She’s older, maybe in her late fifties, and one hundred percent looks like someone who sells incense and crystals. “Let me know if you want to smell anything or if you have any questions.”
“Thank you.” I pick up a bundle of incense labeledLuck. “This smells good. And I could always use some luck.”
“I love burning those when I’m about to embark on something new,” the woman says. “Or just any time since it smells so nice.”
I hold it up to Perrie for her to sniff too. It’s nice and light, but a little spicy as well. My ex hated most scents besides lemon cleaning products. They’re nice and all, and I like lemon, but I also like variety.
“I don’t know if JD is cool with incense,” I say, putting them down. “I’m staying in his room and incense tends to linger.”
He definitely doesn’t use candles or anything, but it still has a distinctly JD scent everywhere. A bit clean and woodsy. Did I sniff the shampoo and soaps that he left in his bathroom? Absolutely. And do I huff the air every morning when I take a shower after him? Totally.
They’re almost as good as how those scents smell on him. Something about his body itself makes everything smell even better, some intangible JD-ness that I wish I could ignore.
“The scent isn’t too heavy when it’s burning, if that makes you feel better,” the woman says.
“Hm…” I sniff the bundle again. Fuck it. I like it, and it’s been a while since I’ve treated myself to anything. “I’ll take these.”
