Page 26

Floppy-Necked

Was it selective perception that I seemed to have short little run-ins with Kyle all over town? Maybe even just coincidence. Or was it more likely that she was consciously keeping an eye out for me?

“I promise I’m not stalking you,” Kyle said when I ran into her at the card and stationery store. Well, that was a semi-answer to my question. She seemed to be perusing the small grouping of journals one aisle over. She wore jeans and a brown leather jacket, an outfit that I refused to give too much attention to. You hear that, brain?

“Well, we do live in a tiny town,” I said around the mountain of heart-shaped pillows that separated us. With Valentine’s Day just days away, the store looked like Cupid had moved in and personally decorated, without parental supervision.

“Are you two finding everything you need?” Sariah Bright asked. The name was fitting because this woman was always smiling, even when it looked like it pained her to do so. She had her long dark hair in a ponytail today that swung to and fro when she walked. Sariah could easily be described as very happy Hallmark. Very much appropriate for this store. However, in my less-than-thrilled-with-life era, she came across as very much annoying.

“I am. Thank you,” I said, applying extra interest to the You’re Doing Great greeting card I perused for Charlie. I placed it back in its holder and selected a second one. A tortoise in a bandage with the line Slow and steady wins the race. Get your rest!

“Fantastic,” Sariah enthused. “Dr. Kyle?” Everyone apparently called her that these days. I couldn’t blame them. It worked. Respectful yet personable. Kyle deserved as much.

“So these are two for one?” Kyle asked, holding up the leather-bound journals in a variety of colors.

“Until close of business tomorrow they are,” Sariah said in a singsongy voice. She had to stop with the happiness bombing. I’d pen a letter to management, but if I remembered correctly, that was also Sariah.

Once she’d swung her ponytail back to the counter, I peered over the hearts at Kyle. “Taking up writing?”

“Yes, in a way.” She came around the corner for a more one-on-one exchange. I had the feeling she didn’t want to broadcast what she was about to say. “After my struggles in the ER, I went back to Zoom sessions with my therapist back home.”

“Oh, yeah?” That was an interesting development. Something adjusted in my chest, and I softened. “Kyle. I think that’s great.”

“It has been. She’s given me some helpful exercises to work through some of those fight or flight instincts.” She held up the short pile in her hands. “I’ve been journaling on my breaks and thought I’d pick up reinforcements.” She flashed a killer grin. “Plus, who doesn’t love a good sale?”

“Sariah certainly agrees.” My attempt at levity. I touched the journals. “This is a good move. I’m”—I was about to say proud of you , but the intimacy attached felt like a step too far, given the barriers I had purposely erected—“thinking that’s a good-looking group of journals, too.”

She looked down. “I like them, too.” She took a step back as if she was about to take off and pay. “How have you been? Good?”

“Me? I’m working a lot.” It was about all I had to offer. I wasn’t good. I was lost in a loop of trying to forge a new path forward while grieving for the things I’d almost had. I kept myself on a short leash when it came to feeling my own feelings and wondered how much journaling a therapist might prescribe me. Maybe I should pick up one of those things while it was on sale.

“Well, I know it’s busy at the store, and the changes are honestly so much fun,” she turned her head to the side, her hair cascading over one shoulder, “but find time for some things that make you happy. Grab some ice cream on the boardwalk. That kind of thing.”

“I broke up with you and you’re still looking out for me?” I had meant that to be an internal thought.

Kyle cradled the journals at her side like a bundle of schoolbooks. “Always. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m not going anywhere.” She met my gaze and held it. “I hope you find the perfect card.”

I looked down at the tortoise candidate in my hand, the pleased grin on his little tortoise face. I allowed myself to enjoy it because just as Kyle had reminded me, it was the little things. Maybe I could make more of those add up. I had a library FaceTime with Jonathan tomorrow. I could maybe even allow myself to look forward to it.

“Someone is dreaming about Valentine’s Day,” Sariah said as she passed behind me. I realized that I, too, was grinning like my tortoise friend. Just to be nice, I didn’t even correct her.

But that certainly wasn’t the last time Kyle and I circled each other in this town. I found myself anticipating when the next encounter might be, my skin prickling with goose bumps whenever I even thought I’d catch sight of her. Our exchanges were always short, low pressure, and actually really nice. We checked in on each other, exchanged smiles across rooms, and Kyle, to her credit, was always entirely respectful of my romantic boundaries and never crossed any lines.

I saw her at least once a week at BeLeaf, often in line for coffee in the morning, sometimes on the sidewalk in the heart of town, and more often than not at Ronnie Roo’s on the night of key sporting events. I now realized the full extent of her interest in, honestly, all sports. It was the early celebration of MJ’s birthday that stretched the limit of our friendly/supportive interactions. MJ, who’d been incredibly understanding when I yet again let her know that romance was not in the cards for us.

“I knew you’d say that,” she said, leaning up against her car in front of BeLeaf. “But those flowers were killer. Were they not?” She popped sunglasses on and grinned.

I wondered what it was like to come with that brand of confidence. MJ just might own the world one day, and I looked forward to watching her conquer it. “They were damn beautiful. You know how to send ’em.”

“Thank you. Come to my birthday gathering at Ronnie’s next week.”

“Yeah? I’d love to.”

“You can buy me a platonic drink.”

“You’re on.”

The gathering, it turned out, was no small affair. The group of MJ celebrators had taken over half the restaurant. After only being in town less than a year, she’d managed to collect a lot of friends. Even Kyle?

“I’m a little surprised to see you here,” I said, forearms on the bar next to hers as we each waited for service.

“Why is that? MJ and I are mature adults. She was pumping gas next to me today and told me to come. I follow orders, especially on my nights off.”

The whole time she was talking, I was captivated by the sound of her voice. I realized I missed it and I wanted nothing more than for her to keep speaking. The easiest way to make that happen was a question. “How are things going at work?”

“A lot better. I’ve found my groove, and use my outlets whenever there’s the slightest hiccup.”

Before I could answer, Sean was in front of us responding to Kyle’s gesture for two. He placed a frosty longneck in front of her and poured a dirty martini from his shaker for me. He knew our orders because of course he did.

“I owe you one,” I said, accepting the drink.

“No, you don’t,” she said over her shoulder with a smile that showed off the dimple that would never not snag my entire focus. As she disappeared with her beer into the throngs, I gave my head a little shake. God, she scared me more than any other human being. She just happened to have a medical degree and my heart. Neither were easy feats.

I spent the rest of the night moving from group to group, chatting my face off. Martinis came and went like celebrity marriages. Time felt strange and so did my balance. I always knew I was drunk because my neck muscles checked out on me. I became floppy-necked and rather ridiculous, which was what was happening to me now.

Elizabeth caught my gaze across the room and crowd-surfed over. “You look worried.”

“Is that code for overserved?” I asked. I blinked to clear my wayward vision. “What does Sean put in these things?”

“How many have you had?”

“Enough to dull the pain that decades of loss have dumped on my plate.”

Her eyes went wide. This was likely more than Elizabeth Draper had planned to handle on one little birthday party evening.

“You can relax. I’m just wallowing. But maybe five? That might be a lifetime record.” All my fault, too. The Kyle feelings and bar conversation had me wishing I was by her side tonight and arguing with myself all over again about why love and lust should be kept separate at all costs, and then to silence that argument, “Another martini, Sean!”

“Would you like to sit down?” Elizabeth asked.

“No. I’d love the love and lust intersection to take a seat, though.”

“The intersection?”

“The double whammy. Those are the ones that get ya.”

The room was too loud. My stomach was too sideways. I needed a murder doc and my PJs with the blue squigglies on the side. “I’m gonna close out and walk home.”

“I’ll walk you,” Elizabeth said without hesitation.

She was, after all, the town do-gooder. She’d likely never gotten drunk in her life. Wait. Not true. I seemed to remember her singing on top of a roof one New Year’s Eve. I was taking back her points.

“I volunteer as tribute,” a calm voice said.

I turned to see Kyle standing next to us. “No, no, no,” I said. “You’re literally a walking intersection and you know it. Just look at you. Where’s the caution tape?” I made a circular gesture. “Wrap her up, Draper.” Whoa, the circle thing left me spinning.

Kyle frowned and Elizabeth squinted at me. “You keep saying intersection. ”

“Don’t worry about it, Elizabeth.” I emphasized her name, unsure why I’d labeled her my enemy but I was running with it. “Only I need to know about intersections.”

“Can I know? Since I am one?” Kyle asked, hand raised.

“No.”

I looked around, weighing my escort options. Elizabeth Draper, my sworn birthday party enemy, or Dr. Soap Opera from the Land of Dimples.

“Sold,” I said and pointed to Kyle. I passed Elizabeth a drunken glare.

“You’re in rare form tonight,” Elizabeth said.

I squinted, trying to filter out the glare from the track lighting above her head. “I can agree.” I swiveled to Kyle. “Ready?”

“I think so?” Kyle said, her look dialed to What am I getting myself into?

We skipped saying goodbye to MJ, who was too busy being regaled by her guests to notice anyway. We hit the sidewalk and began our eight-block journey to my house in silence. That was good. Who knew what I might throw at her? My thoughts were leaping the gate to my mouth as if on their way to a Black Friday sale. Every so often, I would feel Kyle’s hand on the small of my back, steering me back onto the sidewalk. That part was nice.

“Is it?”

“What?” I asked.

“You just said it was nice after I steered you back on course.”

Happened again. “Dammit. You’re not supposed to hear that stuff.”

“I’ll try not to listen.” She attempted to smother her smile, but I saw it anyway.

The walk was actually helpful, the cold air filling my lungs. The cleansing effect was welcome and I felt a little of myself—and my logic—returning to me as we neared my place. Thank God.

“You didn’t have to walk me,” I told Kyle in my driveway.

“Would you have done the same for me?” she asked, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket.

No one could work a jacket like this woman. She had exactly three, all quite similar, a testament to her consistent sense of style. I loved them equally. “Wait. What was the question?” I’d been lost in a leather jacket rabbit hole. “Oh! Right. Yes, I would have walked you.”

“Well, there you go. We, apparently, look out for each other, which I think is a good thing.”

“Can’t argue.”

She watched me a moment, and I wondered what she was thinking. She had an active brain. I knew that much. “Let’s get you inside safely.”

I sighed, sobering by the second—a blessing and a curse. It had been nice to check out of reality for an hour or two, but I was not a fan of rooms that shifted and spun without warning. “Fine. Is this the part where you help me get into my PJs and I fall asleep next to you and wake up surprised when we’re cuddling and cute? I feel like I’ve read that particular book a few times.” I let us inside the house and flipped on the hall light.

She followed me into my living room/kitchen combo. Me without alcohol coursing through my bloodstream would have been embarrassed by the less than organized space. My bunny slippers still sat in front of my couch. Kyle rocked leather jackets, but I was queen of the bunnies. But tonight? I barely blinked at the clutter. “Welcome to my chaos.”

“I’m still caught up on falling asleep and cuddling. It does sound nice, but again, I’m not ever going to infringe upon your space or your comfort level.”

“Right. The whole I’m here for you but from a distance .”

“Does that upset you?”

I scoffed at the question. Good and scoffed . Why did she always have to be so calm and in control? Her emergency training was a little unnerving about now. “No.” Something flared in my chest that demanded I be entirely honest. “But it’s only a matter of time before that gets old and you’re outta here. Everyone always is. You can set a fucking clock.” I heard the hard edge in my voice. I was a jaded, bitter person these days.

Apparently, I’d been wrong about the calm thing because I watched as annoyance flared behind her blue eyes. “You’re never going to get old to me, and eventually you’re going to see that. I’m not going anywhere. I will keep showing up, and no matter what happens between us, or doesn’t for that matter, dammit, my feelings for you won’t change.”

Her voice was louder than I was used to hearing it, and she was holding one of her arms out to the side to drive home her point. It was honestly a sight to behold. Yet it was her words that struck me the most. I will keep showing up . And you know what? A small part of me believed them.

The room was silent. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t trust myself in that moment not to tell her every last thing I felt for her, because my heart, boarded up or not, had things to impart that maybe my head did not. Instead, I walked to Kyle, held the lapels of her jacket and rested my forehead against her chest. When she placed her arms around me a moment later, tears sprang into my eyes, which meant I had to stay there a few beats longer than was probably wise. The problem was that being held by Kyle in that way was entirely familiar and wonderful. “I’m a mess,” I murmured without lifting my face.

“Me, too,” she said. “I think everyone is. We just each have our own brand.”

I laughed, feeling a tad lighter. “I’m sorry I called you an intersection.”

A beat. “I’ve been called worse.”

More laughter. “I’ve gotta go to bed, and I can’t take you with me.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” She gave my chin the tiniest shake, in a move that felt so natural and loving that I wanted to live in that space, which meant she had to go.

I took a big step back and—oh, look at that. The room lurched, a reminder that the alcohol hadn’t fled the scene just yet. I steadied myself, slid my hands into my back pockets, and nodded once, which seemed official enough. “Thank you for seeing me home.”

“Oh, that’s a dismissal if I’ve ever heard one.”

I winced. “I didn’t mean it to come off that way.”

“But us alone, together is—”

“Daunting. And I’m drunk.”

We stared at each other. There was a lot I wanted to say, and I could see on her face that she, too, was holding in her thoughts. A standoff in my living room. I flashed on the first time we’d met in the hallway of that hotel, my shirt stuck in a door. My heart blossomed with all the excitement, infatuation, and hope meeting Kyle had ushered into my life. I cared more for her now than I ever thought possible. So…how had we landed here? Miles apart from where we should be.

“Well, I’m glad you’re home safe.” She tossed her head in the direction of the door. “I’ll see myself out.” With a final smile, she turned.

“Will I see you soon?” I asked, hanging tight to the hope I’d just recounted.

Kyle didn’t hesitate, which was everything. “Definitely.”