Page 9 of Coming Up Roses

Cash

Goddamn,it’s been a long day. It’d be one thing if I had been doing actual work, but I spent the day in the workshop office, hunched over my desk, sending invoices and emailing potential clients. My legs and back ache, and all I want to do is head home, shower, and call it a night. That’s not in the cards though—it’s Family Dinner Night.

"Crap, that was the street," I gripe as I hit the brakes and pull a U-turn. These back roads can be downright tricky at night. I haven't lived in Dogwood since my dad's job brought us here when Jake was thirteen and I was three, so it's for sure been an adjustment.

We were only down here for two years, but Jake always remembered it and loved it. A couple of years ago, he was offered a job in the area, and that was the catalyst for our mom finally leaving our piece-of-shit dad. She’d stuck it out for so long because she didn’t feel like she had any options. But when Jake announced that he and his wife and their twin boys were moving, she was all about it. She hired a lawyer, packed her shit, and moved with them before the ink on the papers was even dry.

After everything went to shit with Kayla, I asked Jake and my lifelong friend, Drake, to put out some feelers on some work in the area, and the response was fan-fucking-tastic. I packed up and moved down here just shy of four months ago, but already, it’s quite possibly the best decision I’ve ever made. My business is taking off, and Carson’s Custom is quickly becoming the first choice for contractors in the area for woodworking.

I’m pulling into the Piggly Wiggly parking lot when my phone vibrates against the cup holder, rattling the loose change lying at the bottom. Grabbing it, I swipe my thumb across the screen to answer my brother’s call. “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Mom wanted me to make sure you remembered to bring a bag of ice,” he tells me in a bored tone. This is a common occurrence. We all have to bring something to Family Dinner Night, and I always bring a bag of ice.

With an eye roll, I reply, “Yeah, Jake, tell her I’m at the store now. You might as well ask her if she needs anything else while I’m here.” I hear him set the phone down and call out to our mom, but I can’t quite make out her muffled reply.

“Hey, Mom says to grab a bag of croutons, too.”

“Ten-four, see you soon.” I end the call and slide my phone into the pocket of my jeans.

Real talk? I missed Family Dinner Night, and I am so damn glad to be back where my family is. They’re amazing, and it saves me from cooking every once in a while—a double win for me.

I’m wandering through the store, looking for the crouton aisle, when someone rams into me with their shopping cart. What the hell?

My cart-rammer starts to apologize, and I turn sharply at the sound of her voice, all soft and southern. She’s a tiny thing, at least a foot shorter than me.

I inspect her from head to toe. Long hair, the color of mahogany with lighter streaks swirled through it. Big, brown doe eyes. The kind you can get lost in. Other than a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, her skin is flawless, smooth, and pale. Her petite figure is full of lush curves. I zero in on her slightly flared hips. I can’t form words. I just stare.

I can’t explain it, but I’m so drawn to her—like a moth to a flame. I’m itching to reach out and touch her, to feel her skin. I fist my hands at my side. Then, mercifully, she teeters, gracing me with the opportunity to give in to my urges. I bring my hands down on her shoulders to steady her, and goddamn. It’s like electricity is pumping from her and into me.

After what feels like an eternity, she speaks, finishing her forgotten apology, freeing me from the spell she’s cast. “No, ma’am.” My voice is thick. “I’m just fine. You have a nice evening, yeah?” I drag my eyes down her body once more before turning and walking away. My reaction to this girl is visceral—one look, one touch, and I’m damn near ready to offer her the world. Fucking insanity.

I smile to myself as I hear her call out to me once more before I’m out of earshot.

* * *

She consumesmy thoughts the entire drive to my mom’s house, which is about as dumb as the day is long. I don’t even know the girl. I probably won’t ever know her. A random encounter with a lasting impression . . . nothing more.

I park behind my brother in the driveway and try to shake Grocery Store Girl from my brain. The last thing I need is for the hounds behind that front door to get a whiff of my slight interest in a woman.

They have been relentless about my moving forward, incessant in their Not all girls are like Kayla tirade. Logically, I get that. I know not all girls are lying, cheating, heartless bitches. But nothing about love is logical.

I missed the signs with Kayla. I mean, I knew our relationship wasn’t perfect, but damn. I thought she wanted a deeper commitment, a ring. I never thought she’d cheat. We all know how that turned out.

Who cares if Grocery Store Girl is hot? I have eyes, but that doesn’t mean I want cards and flowers and all the other romance bullshit. Fuck that. Even if her smile made my heart feel like it was going to beat right out of my chest, I don’t make the same mistakes twice.

Do I sound bitter? A bit jaded? Yeah, well, I am. I’m just gonna do me and worry about growing my business and bettering myself.

“MOM!” I call out as I walk through the front door. “Dinner smells amazing!” It really does. And if I’m right, she made my favorite.

“It’s chicken-n-dumplings, baby.” She greets me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Hot damn, I was right. My favorite.

“Thanks, Mom, sounds good after a long day,” I call out over my shoulder as I walk into the kitchen with the bag of ice and the croutons.

I’m standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, bracing for my nephews to plow into me, when Jake tells me, “You might as well have a seat. Preston and Lucas are at home with Paige. Both boys have ear infections.” I nod my head and take a seat at the table, disappointed.

Dinner is delicious, and I thoroughly enjoy catching up with my family. I miss my nephews, but I get a kick out of hearing about them. Mom asks about my business and tells everyone about this new recipe she wants to try for our next dinner. And throughout all of it, I can’t stop smiling.

All in all, it was a great night—good food, good conversation—but I’m beat and ready for bed. “Mom, you need any help with the dishes?” I ask as I stand to carry my plate to the kitchen.

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