Page 19 of All This Time (Blossom Peak #1)

Laney

Present Day

Onions, Lemons, and Crumbling Walls

I light the lemon-scented candle…and immediately blow it out.

Candlelight would send the wrong message, wouldn’t it?

This isn’t a date. Hell, this little meeting wouldn’t even be happening if it were up to me, but Fletcher stressed that his role in Elliot’s wedding is important to him, so I’m trying to be level-headed as I wait for him to arrive. I remind myself that I am in control over what happens tonight.

After Fletcher’s visit to the salon yesterday, a part of me felt guilty and slightly embarrassed that my employees revealed my nickname for him.

I can’t deny that hearing it from someone else made it seem so much more childish than when I instituted the rule years ago. But in my defense, I was just trying to protect my mental peace in the business that I built, wanting some sort of control over how present he was in my life.

He never truly left my thoughts completely, though.

But then yesterday, he hovered over me while I ate after my glucose monitor went off, acting all protective when he has no right to, and suggested that he intends to wear me down and make me tell him why I hate him during our meeting tonight.

The truth is, I don’t hate him. Believe me, I think my feelings toward him would be so much easier to manage if that were true.

I just hate the way he makes me feel.

And no matter how hard I’ve tried to convince myself over the years that I’ve moved past the things that happened between us, the past few days have proven otherwise.

Having him back in town and no longer at a distance that I can control is only fueling this loop in my life of me feeling like I’m living in the past, unable to move on from him and all of the other instances that have shaped me into the woman I am today because Fletcher is like a tether, holding me there.

At thirty, I thought I’d be in a much different place than I am, and letting go of that disappointment feels like trying to swim in quicksand—virtually impossible.

I light the candle again and keep it lit this time. The scent does help calm me, and my house smells like onions from the dip I made earlier.

Jesus, I even made dip and put out chips after I told him not to bring food.

The whiplash happening between my head, heart, and vagina right now makes me feel like I’m on one of those state fair rides that basically throws you in a blender as you spin around in the air while you hope not to die.

That’s what having Fletcher back in town and in my space is doing to me, and the sad part is, I didn’t even feel this unsettled after my breakup with Spencer.

The knock on the door signals that my time to freak out is over. Bracing myself for the impact of seeing him, I take a deep breath as I open the front door.

Fuck. I can’t do this.

Fletcher is freshly showered, his head void of the hat that he’s worn since he got back in town, and his body is covered in a simple black shirt and khaki shorts, his feet in black sneakers.

He looks effortlessly handsome, which makes me even less confident in my ability to keep a level head tonight.

He looks like the boy who captured my heart at fifteen and never gave it back.

“Laney.”

“Fletcher.”

Shutting the door behind him, I watch him as he walks further inside, looking around the space.

“Wow. So this is your house…”

“It is.”

He chuckles as he walks around, taking in my wall art and pictures.

My house isn’t big, however, I wanted this space to feel like my parents’ house—warm and cozy, yet also my own.

Everything is in shades of gray and cornflower blue.

I have several plants around the living room for that pop of green, and the furniture is dark walnut.

Two shelves flank the television on a far wall that hold my books and various pictures, and the only light in the living room comes from two floor lamps flanking the couch.

Fletcher walks up to the shelves, picking up a frame and staring at it. “This is a great picture of them.”

I don’t even have to look to know which one he’s referring to. “I know. That was my—”

“Sixteenth birthday,” he finishes for me, looking up to find me staring at him. “I remember.”

My heart feels like it’s in my throat. Shaking off the moment, I head toward the kitchen. “Are you thirsty?”

“Sure. Water would be great.”

“That’s all I have besides wine.”

“No wine for me, thanks.”

I momentarily debate having some myself, just to take the edge off. But losing my composure around Fletcher is the last thing I need right now.

Taking two glasses of water over to the dining room table, I signal for Fletcher to follow me. He takes his glass and downs half of it. “Thanks.”

“Of course. I also made some dip.” I point to the chips and dip on the table.

Fletcher smirks. “I thought you said no food.”

“I’m a snacker. But if you don’t want any, that’s fine. More to get stuck to my thighs.”

His eyes dip down to my legs. “Your thighs look perfect to me.” I don’t bother responding because what the hell am I supposed to say to that?

Is Fletcher flirting with me?

He takes a chip, scoops it into the caramelized onion dip, and pops it in his mouth. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” I take a taste for myself. “I saw this recipe online and I’ve made it three times in the last two weeks.”

“Is this why it smells like onions and lemons in here?” he asks as he pops another dip-filled chip in his mouth.

“The onions are from the dip. The lemons are from the candle.” I point to where the candle rests on the kitchen counter.

His lips lift in that signature grin, his dimple appearing just slightly as he arches a brow. “Are you trying to seduce me, angel?”

Angel.

There’s that nickname again.

I choose to ignore it, even though my heart is hammering from hearing it. Unfortunately, it always reacts that way at hearing that term of endearment. “In your dreams, Fletcher.”

“If you only knew,” he mumbles before taking a seat at the table and assessing the supplies I gathered. “Uh, why do we need tape?” he asks, picking up the plastic holder and examining it.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure what we were going to need.

I figured we could complete the favors tonight since that’s easy enough,” I say as I reach for the organza bags, placing them on the table beside me.

Next, I grab the bags of monogrammed M&M’s and toss them on the surface as well.

But when I turn back to Fletcher, an unattractive snort leaves my lips. “What on earth?”

“What?” he asks, his voice more nasally than before. He’s taped the tip of his nose to his forehead, lifting his nose entirely so I can practically see up into his brain.

“Fletcher, you’re ridiculous,” I say through a laugh.

“I’m just making good use of the supplies you took the time to provide.”

Shaking my head, I take the organza bags out and start separating them. “That was not what I had in mind. But apparently your listening skills haven’t improved over the years, so now I know to be clearer.”

He rips the tape off of his face, balling it up and tossing it into the cardboard box. “At least I got you to smile, which is a far cry from the snarl you’ve had on your face since I got here.”

I gasp. “I don’t snarl.”

“You do at me, angel.”

I drop my eyes back down to the table. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Why not? That was always my nickname for you.”

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago, Fletcher.”

He scoots closer to me in his chair, grabbing one of the bags of M&M’s and tearing off the corner with his teeth. I hate the way I watch his forearms flex as he does. “Believe me, I’m very much aware of how things have changed since then.”

“Exactly. I’m not the same girl I was back then, and you aren’t the same guy, so I think we should just leave the past behind us.”

“Doesn’t mean that we can’t still be friends…” he says, trailing off. “But I think in order for that to happen, I can’t be Lucifer anymore.”

Laughter bubbles out of me. “Oh God.” Face-palming my forehead, I take in a deep breath. “I’m sorry you had to hear about that.”

He pulls my hand from my face as I turn toward him. “Honestly, I thought it was creative, though a little scary.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes people don’t handle their emotions in a healthy way.”

“And what kind of emotions were you trying to handle, Laney?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply as I reach for another bag, avoiding his eyes even though I can feel him watching me.

“It does to me,” he counters before reaching for my forearm and pulling my hand into his.

“Please just drop it, Fletcher,” I whisper, hating how I can already feel my throat growing tight with emotion.

He releases my hand and throws his hands up in the air dramatically. “Fine. I guess I just have to put the tape back on my face so you’ll keep talking to me.”

He reaches for the roll of scotch tape, but I grab it before he can. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to waste any more of my tape.”

“Oh, it’s just tape.”

“But if you use it all, the next time I need tape I won’t have any, and then I’ll remember that you’re the reason it’s all gone, and it’s just going to put me in a bad mood.”

His head falls back as he laughs. “Okay then. Point made. No more scary faces with the tape.”

“Good.” I push the bags and M&M’s toward him. “Let’s get to work on the favors then, shall we? This shouldn’t take very long.”

“How many people are coming to this wedding anyway?” Fletcher asks, grabbing a handful of bags.

“You saw the guest list.”

“Just briefly. You snatched the paper away from me, remember?”

I roll my eyes, but don’t argue with him. “About a hundred. A lot of people are from town, people we’ve known for years. But there are several guests coming from out of town that know Elliot’s parents through the court system.”

Fletcher nods in understanding. “Naturally.”

“Tori’s parents live in Florida now, and they’re coming, but she doesn’t have a lot of other family. A few of her coworkers from Nashville are attending, but other than that it’s mostly people that Elliot knows.”