Page 84 of I'm Not Yours
I laughed, free and freeing. Grayson turned bright red.
“Your face would have matched your red panties, Grayson.” I laughed again. After today, I would never have to have that man in my life.
That was something to laugh about.
I drove out of Portland in my old truck. The paint was chipping. It was noisy. I was, officially, broke. I’d given Grayson half a house.
I rolled down the windows as I hit the road to the beach. I let the wind blow my hair around and cranked up the country music on the radio. I would get home in time for the sunset.
“Peppermint Lady,” one of my favorite country songs of all time, filled the truck. It was about cowgirl boots, living life with peppermint sticks in your hand, and coming home. It always touched my heart.
It was written by Reece.
I sung along, picturing Reece out on his ranch, under an old oak tree, strumming that guitar in front of fields of wheat, stringing the words together.
I didn’t have any money. I had a house that I rented that would be sold. I would not be able to buy it. I would have to move myself and my business to who knew where. I did have, thankfully, a lot of work and I had June’s Lace and Flounces.
I felt . . . free.
Free and easy. It reminded me of honey and cream and applesauce.
I was going back to the beach. I was going back to watching sea otters, tossing bread to seagulls, and sewing faux pearls to ruffles while rocking in my rocking chair.
I was going back to Reece.
I was going home.
All I needed was the peppermint sticks.
“So, your sister August is getting married.”
“Yes, she is, Reece. She is currently flipping out and hoping she survives the scary in-laws.” I kept ironing a stubborn seam on a blue-black-yellow-white swirly-style bridesmaid dress.
The bride loved van Gogh, so the swirls were reminiscent of the sky in his paintingThe Starry Night,along with a sunflower on the left shoulder, to represent his Sunflower series. The bride herself was in traditional, lacy white, with a bouquet of sunflowers on her shoulder. She was an artist and had studied in Paris.
“What’s the date?”
“July twenty-fourth.”
Reece’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know it was so soon.”
That’s because I didn’t tell you because I don’t think I’m ready for you to meet my tartan-kilt-loving family who are out of this planetarium system in terms of uniqueness.“Yes, it’s coming right up. That’s why you see the lights on over here until the wee hours of the morning.”
I didn’t look up at his hard-jawed face for long, heavy seconds. He was waiting me out, I knew it. I spent hours every day with the man, sewing in the studio, strolling on the beach, dining in restaurants, and I knew him.
“Are you bringing a date to the wedding, June?”
“I don’t have a date.”
“Here’s a date.” He pointed at himself. “Date me.” He leaned back against my red couch, his guitar propped up beside him.
“I don’t think you’d want to be at the wedding.” I knew I was stalling.
“Why not?”
“It’s a typical MacKenzie family affair. It’ll be loud, eccentric, edgy. Relatives will be rollicking around loose, uncaged, unguarded. They’re looney. Looney but loving. There are strange traditions and family dances to be danced. Bagpipes. Possible gunshots. Ouija boards.”
“I like bagpipes. Gunshots, as long as they’re not aimed at me, get the blood pumping, and I find Ouija boards amusing.”
