Page 9 of Aisle Come Back to You

He probably thinks this is my way of punishing him for not choosing me, but in reality, I’m punishing myself. I never should have put him in the situation where he felt like he had to choose. It’d be one thing if we’d actually dated and the feelings were mutual, but one kiss all the way back in high school is not a good enough reason to justify living in the past.

Clearly, I suck at moving on, especially after last night when my body had a visceral reaction to seeing him again. It was impossible to ignore the way my nerves hummed and buzzed with excitement, remembering just how good it felt to be in his presence.

As much as I like to tell myself that I’ve moved on, it became ridiculously clear that I might still be in love with my best friend. I mean, what kind of person gets excited over the news of hearing that their former best friend is going through a divorce? Yep, I’m a terrible person—this is the exact reminder of why I never deserved him in the first place.

I should’ve been the supportive friend he needed and deserved in that moment. What I should’ve done was offer a sympathetic ear and a comforting shoulder to cry on. Instead, I’d closed myself off and distanced myself from him and all the reemerging emotions I was experiencing by drinking way more than I should have. Pretty sure I gave him every reason in the book last night to remember exactly why he’s better off without me. Yet, in typical Ford fashion, he showed up and made sure Ronnie and I made it home safely.

However, today, making things right with Ford is second to making things right with Miles. My first order of business was to stop by his shop with lunch. I even earned myself someadditional brownie points by bringing food for the entire crew. I’m more than aware of how annoyed he was, especially since I’d not only forced him to take care of little ol’ drunk me, but Ronnie as well.

I know that wasn’t the easiest for him, especially since he’s never liked her to begin with. Furthermore, since this is a small town with no Uber drivers, it was him who’d been forced to become her chauffeur and drop her off at her place bright and early so she could make it to work on time.

Fortunately, his love for food has always been a direct path to his heart, and although I still have some work to do, he seemed a little less grumpy afterward. I invited him to join us at tonight’s barbecue at Pete and Ronnie’s new place, but he not-so-politely declined, saying he got more than enough Veronica time last night. For once, he made no arguments and was more than okay with just dropping me off instead.

My next order of business is figuring out how to make it up to Ford, as the guilt over last night and the past few years gnaws at me. My heart races as I make my way up the paved pathway toward Pete West’s stunning wraparound porch. I shouldn’t be this worried, especially since once upon a time, being around Ford was as simple and easy as breathing. Now, a heavy weight of tension consumes every inch of me, making it now feel like work.

Instead, I try to focus on the house in front of me, as it becomes clear why Ronnie has been so eager to show it off. Being the mayor’s daughter, she’s always lived in a big and beautiful cookie-cutter house, but I’m completely taken aback by the sheer extravagance of this place, especially since there isn’t anything else quite like it here in Evergreen.

This house is clearly a custom build, blending some of the more classic elements of Evergreen Grove with a more modern aesthetic. The white siding, black shutters, and black door adda stylish twist, giving it a beautiful contemporary vibe, one that definitely differentiates itself from the rest of the houses here in town.

While adjusting both the fresh veggie and fruit trays I’d picked up from the grocery store, I do my best to lift a hand to the doorbell and press. While I shouldn’t be surprised, instead of a normal doorbell sound, a fun and playful tune can be heard. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long as the giant black door swings open.

“Blair!” Ronnie excitedly shrieks, racing out to grab the veggie tray, making my life a little easier. “What do you think? This place is amazing, right?”

“It is. It really is,” I agree, stepping inside as she gestures for me to follow. Ronnie had mentioned that she had yet to move in and was waiting until after the wedding. However, the decor clearly reflects the influence of a woman, or at least someone with impeccable taste and meticulous attention to detail—even if that person clearly wasn’t my best friend. It’s as if this place was pulled straight out of the pages of a country farmhouse magazine. “Oh, wow. It just gets better,” I add, my eyes widening as I look around.

“You hate it?” she asks, her smile collapsing.

“No, I never said that,” I protest, even though I am a bit taken aback by the sheer extravagance of it all. Yes, this place looks great, but it’s once again not the style of my best friend. Everything here is so…white. Ronnie’s current place is a vibrant explosion of color, with cool and funky pieces adorning every inch.

“We’ve been best friends since kindergarten. You don’t have to say it. I can read you like a book,” she says, her lower lip jutting into a pout.

“I don’t hate it,” I say, reaching for her arm. “It’s just not what I expected, but it’s nice. Gorgeous even,” I add, feelingcompelled to do some damage control. Despite Ronnie’s tough exterior, no one knows quite like I do just how sensitive she can actually be.

Even worse, I hate myself for letting her see my true thoughts. Apparently, it isn’t just Miles and Ford I need to make things up to. I know I didn’t have the best reaction yesterday when it came to her new hair and look, but it was such a shock to see how much has changed since I last saw her, especially since her long brown hair had always been something she prided herself on.

Maybe I’m just overreacting. Yes, we grew up together, and she’s my best friend in the entire world, but it’s not like I can pretend that although I’ve been away, everything here is going to remain the same. That’s not fair to anyone, nor is it how life works, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less to see everything and everyone moving on without me.

Sure, we’ve made a point of staying in contact through daily texts and the occasional video chat whenever we can, and she’s even come to spend time with me while touring, but that still doesn’t mean we know each other in the same way we once did. For all I know, maybe this is all part of her growing up. I just hope I’m not somehow getting left behind in all of this.

Thankfully, she seems to accept my answer, acknowledging it with a slight nod. Although, it’s practically impossible to ignore the way her light diminishes, even with the fake smile plastered on her face.

“Wow,” Ford’s voice interrupts. While I’m no more than five minutes late to our agreed-upon time, it isn’t a surprise to see that Ford arrived earlier. It’s a comfort to know that at least some things have remained the same. He’s always been the perpetual early arriver, and whenever Ronnie and I were running late, he did what he could to push us to hurry it up. “You look great,” he says, his eyes sweeping over me in my midi blackdress dotted with tiny white flowers, which I’ve paired with my favorite leather jacket and black Dr. Martens boots.

While I’m sure he isn’t overthinking it like me, or if he even meant anything with those words, the butterflies in my stomach refuse to remain still. “Why do you sound so surprised?” I ask, my free hand resting on my hip as I tilt my head accusingly.

“If I drank as much as the two of you did last night I’d barely have been able to get out of bed this morning, let alone look so put together,” he explains, his own cheeks warming with color as he attempts some damage control of his own. Yep, of course he didn’t mean it like that.

“Oh, believe me, it took a lot of work for me to look this presentable,” I assure him. “This is definitely not how I looked when I woke up, and the splitting headache didn’t do me any favors either.”

Maybe in the past, I could’ve gotten away with drinking so much and woken up like it was nothing, but as I near my thirties, I’ve definitely noticed a change in my tolerance level. I imagine the one saving grace was that as soon as we walked in his door, Miles pumped Ronnie and me full of water, food, and electrolytes.

“My secret weapon is the makeup. I can assure you it’s doing all the heavy lifting right about now,” Ronnie cuts in.

I nod my head. “That too.”

“Well, either way, you both look great,” Ford assures us, stepping forward to grab the final tray from my hands.

“Of course we do,” Ronnie scoffs, as if it’s all so obvious, knocking her hip into mine before nodding toward the doorway to the kitchen. “Come on. You need to meet Pete…or at least get to know him better since I know you’ve met before, but uh, you know what I mean,” she rambles with a dismissive wave of her hand.

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