Page 40 of Karma's Kiss

“Okay, what do y’all think?!”

Marge and Queenie turn around to survey the progress I’ve made at the Wildflower Weddings offices. It’s Friday afternoon—a week since I returned to town—and I’ve been on an organizing mission for the last few days. I’ve spent something like fifty hours toiling away, and in all that time I’ve only managed to clear a single corner.

“I don’t see a difference,” Marge says, lifting up her heavy glasses and squinting as if that might clear up the confusion for her.

“What?! I unpacked like fifteen boxes that were stacked all the way up to the ceiling! There were travel agency posters hanging here too, remember?” I tap the wall. “And remember that world map? That thing had fused to the paint, and I only managed to rip it off in little strips.” Half of it is still up there, taunting me. I frown at it like I’m hoping the rest will shrivel up and fall off. “We’ll just have to hang a picture over it or something.”

“Looks really nice, Madison. Good work.” Queenie claps. “Place feels brand new.”

This is an extreme hyperbole. I’ve focused on this one corner, but the rest of the office looks about the same as when I started. Actually, Queenie’s desk is somehow even messier. As if to prove the futility of my task, a bell chimes over the door as a FedEx driver arrives with a stack of five boxes loaded on a dolly.

“Where do you want ’em, Queenie?”

“Hey, Mitch. Go ahead and stack them right over in that corner.”

MY CORNER!

He rolls them my way, dumps the boxes unceremoniously, tips an imaginary hat in my direction, and whistles a little tune on his way out. All the while, my eye twitches. If I look back, I’m sure the world map will have miraculously regenerated on the wall.

“Those are probably new linen samples. I ordered some a few weeks back.” Queenie waves her hand to dismiss the thought. “We’ll get to them on Monday. Ladies, it’s quitting time. It’s a rare non-wedding weekend for us. Marge, how about we treat Madison to a lethal mojito down at Armando’s?”

“Oh all right,” Marge begrudgingly agrees, “but last time I let you talk me into happy hour on a Friday, I found my underwear in my purse the next day.”

MARGE.

Queenie cackles. “If it was just your underwear and not the rest of your clothes, that’s a win in my book.”

Before I agree to join, I check my phone, surprised to find I don’t have a text or missed call from Sawyer waiting for me. Wednesday night, he and I sat on Queenie’s back porch talking for an hour before he led me down to the creek. We skipped pebbles and waded into the water up to our knees; it was hard to keep our footing on the slippery rocks, but Sawyer kept a tight hold on my hand. I told him, “That way at least we’ll go down together.”

He kissed me in the middle of the stream, tugging me close until I had to tilt my head back to look at him with only the dim light from the back porch illuminating his face. He gripped my waist and held me steady. The frogs and cicadas watched on as his hands moved up my sides, dipping shyly beneath my shirt as I tugged him even closer to me. I liked the feel of his warm calloused hands on my skin, manly in a way that made me burn for more.

We kissed until I thought my mouth might bruise, until every part of me felt like a live wire, too awake, too keen. I wanted to beg him to lay me down on the moist grass and cover me with his body. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have him touch me in places that ached.

That was before I slipped in the water and—just like I’d promised—took us both down. We walked back up to the house soaking wet and laughing.

Queenie met us at the back door with towels.

I eyed her skeptically. “How’d you know we fell into the creek?”

“Darlin’, hate to break it to you, but it’s a straight shot from the living room down to that creek. If you thought these ladies weren’t spying on y’all that whole time, you’re dead wrong.Sawyer, your grandma’s ready for you to take her home, waiting by the front door.”

Sawyer laughed and shook his head, bending to kiss my cheek and toss me a wink before he went to find Lolly.

Thursday, I expected to hear from him. It’s just become a pattern with us. Since I’ve been back in town, Sawyer has found a way to see me just about every day. Then yesterday, nothing, and today’s been the same.

I’ve tried to tell myself it doesn’t matter. I’ve been clear with him that I’m not ready to date, and though my warnings didn’t seem to act as a roadblock for him before Wednesday, since then, it’s been radio silent. I can’t help but feel like something’s off, but I can’t put my finger on what it would be.

“Madison, you in?” Queenie asks, drawing my attention away from my phone as she turns off her computer. “If we don’t leave soon, we won’t get a good table, and half the fun of happy hour at Armando’s is the people watching.”

I slip my phone back into my purse and shake off the ominous feeling. “Oh all right. Let’s see about these lethal mojitos…”

“I’m telling you, Madison,” Marge says as we walk out together, “whatever you do,keep your underwear on.”

CHAPTER 10

Sawyerand I are on the international space station, fooling around in zero gravity. As far as sexy dreams go, it’s a bit weird, but I can’t complain. We’re sort of aimlessly floating around while Sawyer tries to undo the Velcro straps on the front of my space suit. It’s really stuck together tight; NASA put their greatest minds to work on this damn Velcro.

Is this some repressed fetish of mine?Do I have a thing for astronauts?

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