Page 5 of Old Flames and New Fortunes (A Moonville Novel #1)

Chapter Five

FERN:

You have deprived me of your heart and left mine a wilderness.

Alex King is here.

Because of course he is. Alex King’s mom is getting married to Trevor’s dad. This coming Sunday. If I am given any more surprise information today, I will fade into the wind like a leaf.

His voice has aged like deep, oaky mead, with a laugh that rumbles just beneath. In my memory, Alex’s timbre is frozen at eighteen years old. Still cracking when he got nervous, then a rough scrape when it was just us alone, hands on skin. It was amusing then, to see how quick I could spin him from bright-eyed boy to feverish, flushed, raspy, pupils devouring all light.

He is preternaturally still, absorbing every speck of me in so thorough a visual inspection that it’s astonishing I don’t start voluntarily stripping my clothes off to make it easier for him. Wonder flashes through me, hot and luminous. But when it burns away, all that is left behind is pain. No matter how bad it hurts, though, I can’t rip my eyes from that gaze, just as striking as I remember—beautiful blue with sun flares of green-yellow around the pupil. A million brilliant thoughts spinning behind them like a many-colored pinwheel.

His power to reach into my throat and halt its functions is still fully operational. “You have to stop staring at me like that,” I finally say, unnerved.

He looks faint. “You have flowers in your hair.”

I pat it gingerly. “Yes.”

“Your hair is white.”

“It is.”

He indicates, swallowing. “You have tattoos.”

“I do.”

Three on my left upper arm: a pink carnation, a fern frond, and lily of the valley. The outfit is likely throwing him, as well. I used to not give much thought to my wardrobe, wearing whatever hand-me-downs were at the top of the drawer. I’m dressed in an olive prairie dress with burgundy tights and soft faux leather ankle boots, and four or five beaded necklaces of varying length. My brown ponytail is gone. I’m more comfortable in my skin than I’ve ever been, but he wasn’t around to witness the evolution, so this version of me is a total stranger to him. I’m floored that he recognized me straightaway.

“You have flowers in your hair,” he repeats.

“For luck.” I bite my lip, unbearably shy all of a sudden. Distantly, I’m aware that people are watching and listening but can’t bring myself to care. “Your hair’s different, too.”

He touches the top of his shorn head, blunt fingernails teasing along the bristles where silken rings used to hug my fingers; oh, how I’d loved it. The zing of electricity as I realized my influence over him, how my movement could accelerate his heart, pulling his chest out and pushing it back down in irregular breathing affected by my mouth, my exploring fingers. How my hands became defibrillators wherever they pressed.

It’s disorienting to see Alex this close again. The truth that years have passed in which I have no idea (designedly so) where he’s been, what he’s done, who he has become, is glaring. Every change is fascinating. Every similarity is an ache.

He rounds a table and moves toward me, expression unreadable while I’m positive mine is bleeding alarm, and before I know what’s happening he’s wrapping his arms around me. My soul knocks backward out of my body, through the floor—we are sixteen and he’s giving me my first kiss, his hands a little shaky and unsure; we’re seventeen, lying on the trampoline in his backyard with my head on his stomach, gazing at the stars; we’re eighteen, and he’s in my rearview mirror, watching me back out of my driveway with my car packed full of cardboard boxes, his eyes stricken with heartbreak so naked and ruinous that I felt it following me for days, months, years. But he broke us, too. No other relationship will ever come close to destroying me like ours did, which is saying a lot.

Alex lets me go.

Everything around him is vaporous, colors of the wall swirling into colors of the light fixtures, people watching curiously smearing into diagonal streaks. I have never been slammed so far beyond my own control with such quickness, grappling to school my features, project calm normalcy. The hug was brief. Friendly. It’s been eleven years. I should not be this affected.

I’m not, I’m not , I lie to myself.

We can’t stop staring at each other. The biggest distraction in my mind is how substantial he’s gotten. He takes up more room, he’s taller and harder, filled out in ways that make me feel strangely weak. My peripheral vision has constricted to black circles, narrowing and widening to the beat of a fluttering in my chest.

“You are,” he manages. “So—”

“You’re so tan ,” I interrupt, a blush staining my ears, my neck, and wish I hadn’t. How was he going to finish that sentence? You are so different , probably. Or you are so awful . You are so unwanted here . “You get a lot of sun for a doctor.”

A tiny frown develops between his eyebrows, then disappears.

“Are you seriously marrying this lady?” Trevor asks Mr. Yoon, gesturing at Kristin. “For real?”

Mr. Yoon nods. His expression is solemn, but there’s a quiet happiness about him. Unlike Trevor, Mr. Yoon doesn’t seem like the type who’d ever jump up and down enthusiastically. “Yes. I’m glad for you to finally meet.”

Trevor stares at Kristin, agog. “Well, damn! Bring it in!” He dives forward and embraces her. She gasps as she’s lifted off the ground, but then starts laughing. “When did y’all get engaged? You said you had a girlfriend, but you never told me anything about a fiancée . You should’ve brought her around.”

“Oh, it’s not his fault,” Kristin rushes to say. “It’s been a real whirlwind—we only met for the first time in person four months ago! Online dating. He’s in Philadelphia, I’m in Sandusky, and neither of us could believe that we’d both lived in Moonville years before, at the same time, but never crossed paths. We decided last week that we want to get married. I thought it’d be fun to just do a wedding right away and not draw it out long enough that I’d go into stress mode. Surprising everybody was my idea.”

Pragmatic, even-keeled Kristin King, throwing a surprise spontaneous wedding? Unfathomable.

“I know,” Alex says, and I glance up to see him watching me. “I found out about half an hour ago.” His focus switches to Trevor. “I think I remember you. Did you go to school here?”

“From eighth grade onward. Moved around before that.”

“He’s a few years younger,” I tell Alex. We didn’t have any classes with Trevor, and he ran in different circles. Hanging out with the golden boy senior and his girlfriend (who wasn’t so golden, but was trying to be) wouldn’t have held his interest.

Alex’s frown deepens. “Didn’t you spray-paint dicks through all the letter Os in the stop signs?”

Trevor brightens. “Yes! It’s nice to know my work is remembered.”

Mr. Yoon sighs to himself, looking away.

“How’re your folks?” Alex is addressing me again. “Your sisters?”

“They’re good. I see Luna every day, and Zelda lives in Virginia now, but we’re trying to talk her into coming home.”

“And the baby? Well, I guess she wouldn’t be a baby anymore, would she.”

“Aisling’ll be twelve in August.”

He’s blown away. “That’s... how can she be eleven already?”

“Right? In my mind, she just started kindergarten.”

“And how’re your folks?”

I don’t think he realizes he’s already asked that.

“They’re fine.” I pause. “I mean, they got divorced, so now they’re fine.”

He nods as though he expected this news, and it’s a struggle to shove down the memory of us in my childhood bedroom, late at night, after he snuck in through the window. How he’d hold me, speaking quietly in my ear about our wonderful future far away while my parents rattled the walls with their yelling and slamming doors. The steady rhythm of his heart, warm arms banding around me to keep all my loose pieces together, his eyes glinting in the dark.

“Mom’s living in Dayton with her new husband. Still a divorce attorney,” I tell him. “Dad remarried, too—Dawn’s a folk singer. They live in California with her teenage kids.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a smile, the too-rare sort of smile you see on somebody and think, Oh, they truly mean that all the way down to the bottom .

“And you?” I ask, cringing at my own eagerness. “I can’t believe you’re going to have a stepdad!” Alex’s father died when he was little. Kristin never dated the whole time I knew her, still went by Mrs. King , still wore her wedding band. “What have you been up to?”

“You running your own daycare yet?” He leans forward just a fraction as if he actually hopes to hear I’ve done exactly what I used to say I would. The rest of the room begins to fill with voices that my ears register only as a low drone, life resumed.

“Ah.” My voice hitches. “No. I used to work at one but not anymore.”

“I can’t get over your hair.” Rough fingers pass through the white strands, briefly grazing my cheek, before shrinking back. He used to twirl my brown ponytail where it splayed across the headrest in his truck, seats reclined, other hand burrowed into the pocket of my hoodie to rest over mine. Fiddling with his class ring that I wore, with masking tape wrapped around the base so it would fit.

He slides the offending hand into the pocket of his jeans.

“Oh, yeah.” All my words are getting stuck to my tongue. It’s too warm in here. “I bleach it.”

“She fries it because she uses box dye at home instead of getting it done by a professional,” Trevor inserts.

“Is that any way to talk about your better half?”

We all turn to Allison, who’s materialized from thin air.

Trevor blinks at her. “What.”

“Hey, guys!” Another woman joins us—it’s so crowded in our huddle that we have to move some chairs around.

Trevor’s body language transforms immediately; he straightens up, dropping my hand. “Teyonna,” he says.

I hold in a gasp. Teyonna! I’ve never met the legendary woman who bent Trevor’s heart into a pretzel. I think she lives in Ingham, close by.

She smiles at him, a dimple popping. She’s about my height, with deep brown skin, hair pulled back tight in a curly black puff. She’s wearing flip-flops, silk basketball shorts, and a neon green shirt that reads ZANESVILLE VARSITY VOLLEYBALL 2014.

“Wow.” Trevor exhales. “Hi. I mean, hey.” His words are piling up on top of each other. “So, you still like volleyball?”

Teyonna cups a palm under her chin, knuckles against her mouth. Her liquid gaze darts from Trevor to me, a hint of a smile still hidden behind her hand. “Yeah?”

“Cool.” He tries to lean against the table, but his hand misses and he flails, righting himself on somebody’s plate of steak and fries. “That’s cool.” He wipes ketchup from his hand onto the back of my dress. I pinch the scruff of his neck like a mother cat handling her unruly kitten.

Teyonna laughs. “You’re such a dork, Trevor.”

He flashes a lopsided grin, as if being called a dork is the highlight of his day. “You are.”

“Teyonna, have you met Trevor’s newest girlfriend?” Allison announces loudly, gesturing to me.

Multiple sets of eyes swerve to mine, and my ears turn hot. Alex pales, then reddens. Kristin claps a hand over her mouth. At one time, Kristin and I were as close as mother and daughter. It takes a lot to throw her, and this particular expression is a DeLorean back to her kitchen in another time and place, her son pacing circles around the table while I stood with my back against the closed laundry room door. I still dream about that house sometimes. I hear an echo of her voice from long ago: You want to WHAT?

“The two of you are dating?” she utters. “Small world!”

Trevor recovers faster than I do. He’s sizing up Teyonna’s reaction and seems to be bolstered by the faint notes of disappointment stirring above her head. “Guess you’re not the only couple with shocking news,” he says to his father, a bit haughtily. He’s definitely taking it personally that he wasn’t warned about this wedding. He squeezes me against his side. “Must be that Moonville magic at work. Love in the air, and all that shit.”

Alex doesn’t move but in a blink he seems to have traveled to the other side of a wall. A furrow in his brow deepens as he studies Trevor and me. Trevor’s casual drop of the word love echoes on and on: I watch the letters of love stretch out, l-o-v-e , vibrating, forming circles that ripple outward.

“She works with me at the store that I own,” Trevor informs everyone, pleased that he’s captured so many people’s attention.

“Which store is that?” Alex asks quickly.

“The Magick Happens.”

“Your grandmother’s?” A question burns from Alex’s eyes right through my skin. I physically cannot bear to look at him, but focusing anywhere else when he’s right in front of me is impossible.

“We lost the store,” I explain, trying to keep my expression neutral. For a long time, I couldn’t say those words without bursting into tears. “Trevor bought it a while back, and...” The sudden glower that crosses Mr. Yoon’s face temporarily knocks me out of place. “And, um, we branched out from just being a candle shop into selling fantasy books and flora fortunes, too. As a matter of fact, we’ve recently purchased more property to expand onto, and we’re seeking an investor...” I look to Trevor for a segue, remembering the reason we came here in the first place, but he’s too brain-scrambled to throw out a life preserver. This isn’t going at all the way we’d anticipated.

“What are flora fortunes?” Kristin asks, right as Alex asks, “So Trevor’s your boss?” He lances Trevor with an accusing look but wipes it away when he notices me watching. Trevor nuzzles my temple with his nose; it requires all of my will not to break into strange, pealing laughter.

Alex pivots stiffly. “Excuse me.”

“Trevor isn’t my boss,” I tell Kristin and Mr. Yoon, forcing myself not to watch Alex go. “He’s the legal owner, but it’s a team effort. No one’s in charge of anybody.”

Trevor makes a noise of disagreement under his breath. I know he’s thinking about Luna’s officiousness. She isn’t at ease unless she’s running the show, so in a way, she kind of is the de facto boss.

Kristin begins her quest to get to know her new stepson. First, she apologizes that this news was sprung on him out of the blue and assures him she’s heard so many wonderful things about him. Trevor responds, “Like what?” and suddenly Kristin pretends to hear somebody calling her name.

Before she drifts away, she pats my shoulder. “You’ll come to the wedding, of course?”

“Um.”

“We’ve got fun activities planned for this week,” she goes on. “We rented out all the rooms in the inn”—she points at the ceiling—“and Daniel and I are getting married on the riverbank right outside. Even though I haven’t visited Moonville in years, when Daniel and I were discussing a wedding venue, all I could think of was Half Moon Mill. I always knew that if I ever got remarried, I’d want it to take place right here. Such a beautiful location, with the wooden waterwheel and all the pretty trees. You’ll come to the bachelorette party, right?”

I am so astonished that I cannot possibly articulate my horror at the prospect of attending my ex-boyfriend’s mother’s bachelorette party. Before I can respond, she rushes on: “I’ll send you the itinerary. We have so much to catch up on! What a wonderful coincidence, that you used to date my son, and now you’re dating my future stepson...” I watch her try to wrap her mind around it. “We need to sit down so you can fill me in on everything that’s gone on in your life. I’ve missed you so much.” She kisses me, then Trevor. Pauses, studying me carefully. “It is really good to see you again, honey.” And then she’s gone.

Trevor and I lock eyes.

“Crap,” we say at the same time.