Page 3 of My First Time Fling

“I’m both embarrassed and highly grateful,” I said, tossing him the oven mitts. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to pay me back,” Brooklyn said. “After all, I do know where you live. And work. You can bet I’ll collect.”

“Well, do it while you can,” I said, leaning back against the counter. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be up here, and it’ll be harder for you to collect if I go back to Miami.”

“Back to Miami? Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?” Brooklyn looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “I knew you were upset but I didn’t know you were seriously considering moving.Areyou seriously considering moving?”

I nodded, and Brooklyn’s face took on a look of horror.

“I just…I mean, what’s the point of me staying up here, really? My house sucks, my love life issomekind of flaming mess, and I’m working two jobs to scrape together money for a building we both know I’ll never buy, to run a bed and breakfast with a business degree I might never finish. I don’t have anything to show for my life up here except a registration number for twenty-six point two miles of torture at the end of July. WhyshouldI stay?”

“Because I’d miss you?”

Brooklyn sounded so sincere, I was taken aback. Since the day we’d met, we’d had a friendly, ribbing relationship. And sure, now that Tanner and I had broken up, Brooklyn was the only friend I had up here. But it wasn’t like I washisonly friend.

After all, Brooklyn had lived in Savannah for years, working on his PhD. He knew people. He belonged here. I’d hoped I might feel that way someday, but it was becoming clear I never would.

“Don’t look so shocked, you martyr.” Brooklyn threw me a disbelieving glance. “Of course I’d miss you if you left. Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’d miss you too,” I said helplessly. “But answer me honestly: would you stay, if you were me?”

I looked him in the eye, and eventually he gave a small shrug.

“Maybe not,” he said with a sigh. “But I refuse to accept this, regardless. I will find a reason for you to stay here, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You just don’t want to go back to doing all the early morning shifts at the cafe,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Speaking of which, it’s about time for me to punch out.”

Brooklyn gave me a hard look. “You’re not going to go do anything stupid when you walk out of here, right?”

“Like pack my bags and be on the next bus out?” I snorted. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’ve got a shift tonight at the Flamingo.”

“Then I’ll see you there,” Brooklyn said. He turned and poured a cup of our house coffee into a to-go cup for me. “And we’ll brainstorm ways to fix your dumpster fire, okay?”

“Whatever you say.” I took the cup from him with a smile of thanks.

“I mean it. We’re going to figure this out.”

“Brooklyn, I know you’re a smart guy, but I think even you might not be able to solve this one. Even without the marathon—which I’mnotrunning, so don’t get any ideas about makingthatbe my new passion—it’d take something pretty amazing to make me want to stay in Savannah now.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to find you something pretty amazing.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that.”

I waved goodbye and shook my head as I walked out the door. My life had never had a surplus ofpretty amazingin it. Much as I might wish otherwise, there was no reason I should expect that to change now.

2

Mark

Theswoosh swooshof the saw cut a steady rhythm through the twilight air as I worked to get as much done as I could before I lost the light. I was in my grandmother’s backyard, prepping wood to repair her back porch tomorrow. I squinted in the darkness, trying to line the blade up correctly, and cursed.

It really was too dark to see, but I didn’t want to go back inside. I didn’t want to stop working. If I stopped working, I was liable to start thinking. And that was something I was avidly trying to avoid.

“Mark, honey, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep working out here in the dark,” my grandmother, Gigi, called from the kitchen door behind me. I set the saw down on the table and turned, the grass tickling my ankles. Gigi was staring at me, arms folded, with a doubtful look on her face. “Why don’t you throw in the towel for the night?”

“I’m almost done,” I said, wiping the sweat off my brow. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll come inside and get to work on the wallpaper in the northwest bedroom.”

“Mark, I wanted you to stop working, not just switch to a new task. Rome wasn’t built in a day; you don’t have to get the entire house fixed in a week. It’s a long to-do list. Don’t wear yourself out.”

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