Page 12 of Secrets That Bind Us
“On the contrary, Dean. I think you like the image you’ve made for yourself. I don’t think that’s who you are at all. But you don’t have to prove to me that you aren’t. I know you’re smart. I know you’re kind and funny. I believe that you have all of this potential,allof the potential, actually. You just misplace it.”
My heart ripples. I take a step closer to her. She steps back until her back hits the bookshelf. I lift an arm and brace it over her, bracketing her with my body, and she gasps. It sends chills scattering through me. Ilikethat noise when it comes from her pretty lips. “So then don’t keep me from finding all the potential you see in me.” I take my finger and lift her chin to meet my gaze. “Please, Ver?” I whisper.
She shivers. “O…okay.”
I step away and smirk when she follows. “Great. I’ll be at your house after practice. You can give me the details then.”
Chapter Seven
Verity
Present day
“Well, what do you think?” Zoey asks– but it sounds like‘wudayathank’ stretching out her arms in front of the corner shop with a twirl. It is not magnificent, nor is it luxurious. The shop is just two doors down from old Mrs. Townsend’s boutique, which I’ve just learned her daughter, Meredith, is running now. The times have changed, but not completely.
I sigh, gripping the cup of coffee I made at the hotel before meeting her here. The heat is already rising, but all of my shit is still packed away, and well– I didn’t have time to stop for an iced coffee twenty minutes away. Gotta love small towns. I take a sip of the coffee in my cup that may as well be motor oil and purse my lips. Honestly, I’ve had worse. I just really miss my Keurig. The building itself has good bones– white stone brick walls, a faded green awning, and large storefront windows. I bend, peeking inside the old place that used to be a café.
“Zo, I don’t even know if I’ll stick around. My life isn’t here anymore.” The words feel weird in my mouth. I don’t want to admit it, but the last three weeks have felt… oddly… right. Even though we’ve been staying in the hotel, they broke ground on the pool the day after contractors were stomping in and out of my mother’s home. The more we’ve roamed around town, the more nostalgic I’ve gotten… the more I can see my kids growing up here, making their own memories, leaving their own footprints over mine.
“Even if you leave, you could always keep it running from afar.” She says hopefully, her eyes shining as a gentle summer breeze blows her teal locks away from her face. I’ve always been jealous of her curls. Sure, my hair has lazy waves, but her natural tight curls are beautiful. Crazy. Familiar.They’re my favorite.
We hear a car door slam shut, then the sound of heels on the concrete sidewalk. We both turn to see Emory Santos, in a hot pink pantsuit- Tiffany Myers’ old bestie.
Just fucking great.
Her gait is still the same. Her brown hair still flows in a straight waterfall, sleek and brilliant in the early June sun. In a way, the cliché of an old Queen Bee becoming a small-town real estate agent is almost too good. Just more fodder for my upcoming book, if I can have enough time to sit down and start typing again.
“Good morning, ladies.” She smiles in greeting– that same killer megawatt smile, except her brown eyes crinkle at the sides now.
“Morning.” Zoey and I grumble.
Emory shoves a key into the lock and opens the door, stepping inside to turn on the lights. The bulbs reflect in the deep brown hardwood flooring as we follow behind her, stepping inside to yet another place full of distant memories. Memories of Zoey and me gossiping, doing our homework by the windows where an oversized burnt orange sofa used to be. We thought we were so grown up, drinking coffee in funky ceramic mugs. Like we belonged on the set ofFriends.
I smile at the memory.
“As you can see,” Emory walks the wide, open space, flips on the lights, then leans against the long counter where we used to gaze up at the chalkboard menu, trying a new item every week. “Some renovations would be required.”
Zoey nods and lets out a dreamy sigh. “Look at it, Ver. Put in some shelves along the walls-“
“A reading nook along the left wall…” I shake my head. “It’s too small. To have the café, create a section for book club eventsandbookshelves… It’s too small, Zo.”
Emory’s eyes shine. “The space next door is available.”
Oh, she’s seeing dollar bills.
“Can we see it?” Zoey asks, before I can get any further in my reasoning fornotdoing this. I don’t need another reason to stay longer in Adelaide than I promised the kids.
Emory leads us, opens the door to the old restaurant where we’d have dinner on Friday nights when it was empty because everyone else was at football games. But it’s special to me for a different matter altogether. Before thoughts of blue eyes and freckles can take me away again, Zoey gasps. “Oh, Verity!”
I will say– her excitement is contagious.But that’s always gotten me in trouble.
She starts, “If you knock down the wall… keep the counter from The Olde Café-“
“Rip out this counter, the booths,” that feels like a crime, “put in new flooring, tint the windows… I like the light fixtures. Those could stay.”
“The patio is also available for outdoor seating.” Emory states.
Zoey clasps her hands together and brings them to her chin, visions dancing in her head. I know she’s imagining it the same way I am– the way we’ve always talked about. A canopy garden with patio furniture and maybe a bar. To open after hours. Small, elegant.Quiet. A place for adults to hang out without the kids. To read or schmooze. Two drink maximum.
