Page 50

Chapter 50

Fleur

Another three weeks later…

B en and Jerry’s Milk and Cookies … check. I cross out the ice cream from my grocery list and move the cart down the aisle, seeing if anything else looks like a good binge. So far, my cart consists of eggs and ice cream.

Doing great, Fleur.

I open the freezer door and reach for a bag of frozen cherries. I shiver, zipping up the coat I had to wear to the store along with my gloves, hat, and boots. Michigan is cold and I’m grumpy.

Hence the late-night grocery trip.

There’s a ding on my phone, and I fumble in my jacket pocket for the darn thing. When I finally wrestle it out, the notification is an email from my realtor. My heart drops. Standing in the middle of the frozen foods section, I open the email.

Fleur,

Attached you’ll find the final signed paperwork for the sale of the farmhouse property. It was a pleasure working with you.

Regards,

Jemma

It’s done. I sigh, feeling no less upset than I did three weeks ago when I called a local realtor near Ruin and listed the property for sale. It sold the next day for asking price and now, apparently, has closed.

There’s no real reason to hang on to it. I literally have no home there. Saying goodbye to the farmhouse was easier than I thought. I’m a whole other person from when I renovated that thing.

Instead of the insecure, heartbroken runaway searching for a love to fix me, I’m now the fearful loser, who ran away overwhelmed by the love that consumed me.

But I still shudder—what feels like my final connection to Ruin is slipping away.

My mind wanders to Liam. Because while I was able to reach out to a realtor to sell the farmhouse, I couldn’t muster the ability to call the lawyer. I probe around the back pocket of my jeans, pulling out the now torn business card that, quite literally, went through the wash.

I stare at it before tucking it back in my pants.

“The store will be closing in ten minutes.”

I groan at the loudspeaker and look down at my cart. Guess this will have to do.

Turning, I barrel down the aisle. A man up ahead rushes to the only open check-out lane and I freeze.

No , I groan. This isn’t happening to me.

Chris rapidly flings his groceries onto the belt, and I stand there.

I wait for the feeling to run. For the loss of control to bubble up to the surface and the itch to snap my nonexistent bands in place to tether me. It doesn’t come.

Gosh, I’m so stupid. Why did I leave? Liam’s comment about coming to him when I want pain flickers in the dark corners of my mind, and I flush.

I glance down at the horseshoe brand now inked into permanent art and I smile at it. With all I’ve been through, Chris’s affair hurts so much less.

Calmly, I move to the line, standing behind Chris. He’s leaner than I remember and frantic as he places pickles, marshmallows, and frozen chicken tenders on the belt behind his other staples.

He looks up as if to shrug at his odd choices, but his eyes widen.

“Fleur?”

I offer what I can only assume is a timid smile. “Hi, Chris.”

The cashier glances between the two of us and continues to drag item after item across the scanner.

“I-I didn’t know you were still around. Your parents said you left town but wouldn’t tell me where you were.”

“Yeah, I was down in Mississippi for a bit.”

“Really? Would never picture that.”

I nod, placing my items behind his on the newly available belt space.

Chris shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. His face scans mine and moves down my body. Not in an interested way but curious.

“Are you doing all right?” I ask. Because somewhere deep down, despite the hurt and pain he caused me, I want the man I spent nine years with to be okay.

“Yeah, yeah. Going to be a dad actually. Georgia’s pregnant.” He forces a smile and I’m pretty sure he’s panicking inside.

“Ah,” I say, glancing toward the belt. “The pickles with marshmallows make sense now.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, she’s had some pretty funky cravings.”

I smile. I don’t ask who Georgia is, or if she’s the one he cheated on me with. I’m not sure I care. He isn’t the man who occupies my thoughts or curls my toes.

“Well, congratulations,” I offer.

He tilts his head to the side as if he’s confused by my cordial conversation and genuine wish for his happiness. As he turns to swipe his credit card, he asks, “Are, are you seeing anyone?”

I bristle at the question and go to shake my head, before pausing.

“Actually, I’m married.”

Chris looks at my left hand and back up like he doesn’t believe me. Once again, I don’t care. I’m tied to Liam, legally, emotionally, willingly.

A sharp pain in my chest burns and I long for Liam. I need to go back, or at least call and see if he even wants to talk to me since I left.

“Did you get my letter?”

I flinch and distract myself by grabbing a bag of candy from the impulse section that always gets me. Honestly, that letter hasn’t occupied much of my thoughts and guilt creeps in.

“Thank you for sending my camera. Unfortunately, there was a fire, and I didn’t get a chance to read your letter. I’m sorry.”

It’s the truth. I’m not about to feed him some lie.

He nods, eyes widening at the total on the pin pad waiting for his card swipe. He doesn’t seem overly pressed to tell me what was in the letter, and I find I’m uninterested anyway.

“I’m sorry, Fleur.”

I pause, mid-placement of the specialty cookies and cream ice cream I added to my cart last minute. The kind Liam tossed in my cart telling me was the best, and it was. I’ll never be the same. He showed me the potential for greatness. Truly delicious ice cream and I’ll never go back.

I blink, wanting to cry. I want him.

If this is how Chris felt about Georgia, or whoever she was…

“I get it, Chris. I do.”

He swallows and inserts his card, smiling at the cashier as he hands him the receipt. And while I’m overall glad I had this closure with Chris, my thoughts dwell on Liam.

Chris says goodbye and I wish him best of luck. I toss a twenty at the cashier and dart out of the store without my change, past Chris in the parking lot loading his groceries into a bug.

I don’t have time to process that.

When I sling myself into the car, I grab my phone and do a quick search for flights to Mississippi. None for tomorrow.

Damn it. I hit the steering while, eyeing the time. I search Old Hillside, pulling up their number, and my finger hovers over the call button. It’s past 9:00 p.m.

I need to wait until morning. It would be rude to call them this late.

I start my car, and it sputters to life. It’s an older Ford Focus and the only thing I could afford with my savings after coming back home. I crank up the heat and drive home, making plans to get back to Ruin as soon as possible.

The house is dark when I pull into the driveway. The only light left on is the upstairs hallway from what I can tell. Gathering my bag, I head to the front porch.

An elongated, startling shadow moves off the front steps, and I yelp. The bag in my hand drops, and the crack of eggs on the pavement is drowned out by the roar in my ears.

A rough voice that goes straight to my chest and makes my head fuzzy booms, “See, now we have to go get more eggs.”