Page 11 of Walk on the Wilde Side
He chuckles. "No, one of those mermaid bracelets."
I finally lower my shield and glance at the cover to reacquaint myself with the mermaid jewelry. I'm not entirely sure I'm the shell bracelet type, but something tells me, if Zander makes me one, I'll wear it until I die.
"Cool," I say casually and return to my book so I can read the same darn sentence a million times.
six
Nev
Zander dropped me at the sandwich shop. We had a quiet, almost coy goodbye where the two of us couldn't look each other directly in the eye. It was odd considering we spent the whole trip to the shop talking about our childhood. I think it made us both realize just how important we were to each other growing up. We have such a strange relationship, and it's one that I'll never be able to fully puzzle out. Actually … not true. Zander is like this strand or branch of my life that I feel is holding up everything else.
Mona did a decent job with prep for tomorrow, so I sent her home early with pay, a thank you for stepping in for me, and I finished cleaning up.
I step back, resting my hand on my mop like a shepherd's staff, and scan the floor to make sure it's spotless. It was one of the first lessons I learned when I decided, almost on a whim, to open a sandwich shop. Cleanliness is next to godliness, with those gods being the local health inspectors. One burned out lightbulb or unemptied crumb tray can earn you a fine. Considering the day I've had, the shop looks sparkling clean. I'm also, ironically enough, standing in the middle of a sandwich shop, where I can eat anything for free, and hunger is gnawing a hole in my stomach. I never got a lunch break and breakfast, a bowl of oatmeal, was so far in the past I can't even remember eating it. And, not the least bit surprising, the last thing I want is a sandwich.
I put away my cleaning supplies, grab my coat, purse and keys and lock up. Kinsley calls just as I'm getting in my car.
"Hey," I say. "On my way home."
"Holy shit, are you still waiting at the hospital?" she asks.
"What? No. I'm leaving the shop. Zander gave me a ride back from the hospital."
"Oh, very nice," she says in a teasing tone.
"What's up, Kiki? I'm tired and hungry, and I want to get home."
"OK, got Nev the Grump on the phone, I see. Indi told me about Finn. Glad he's going to make it. I wanted to let you know I'm going to be late. Monica couldn't find a dress, so now she wants to drown her disappointment with some drinks."
"That's fine. No more than one cocktail if you're driving," I say. "See you later."
It's one of those days where seeing home, Nana's sweet little cottage with the yellow rose bushes and the creaky front steps, produces a sigh of relief. I pull off my coat and drop it on the hook, then head straight to the kitchen to put a frozen dinner in the oven. It's not exactly what I dreamed of to fill my empty stomach, but I'm tired. After a long day, the last thing I want to do is cook. It's like the painter whose house never gets painted. It's hard to come home and do the work you've done all day.
The house is always quiet without Kinsley. As Nana used to say, "Kiki's always been the wild energy force in the house." I was the quiet, contemplative one, the kid who could keep her head in emergencies, the person you could count on to do the right and responsible thing. In other words, I was the boring kid. Our respective roles haven't changed much.
I walk into my bedroom and decide I've earned a bed flop. I hop up and land flat on my back. I smooth my hands over my worn quilt. Nana sewed it for me, and I can't see ever changing it out for one of those new, fake down comforters. I'm perfectly content with my old quilt. I close my eyes for a second to relax, instead I'm reliving the day. Not the distressing part of the day where Finn Wilde had a heart attack in my shop, not my maiden voyage in an ambulance, not even sitting in the waiting area waiting for word about Finn's health. I'm replaying the ride back to the shop with Zander.
I sit up, slip down from the bed and walk to the closet. My winter coats, sweaters and boots are all there waiting to be liberated for a new cold season. I shuffle through them and reach down to the farthest corner of the closet. My fingers feel the smooth, hard edge of the teakwood box. Nana found it at a yard sale. Someone had carved butterflies into the lid. She knew it was something I would love, and she was right. I pull the box free from the clothes and carry it across to the bed. I flick open the brass lock. It's been years since I last opened it.
I stare down at the clutter of worthless mementos, small objects that are each attached to a memory, trinkets that I couldn't part with, even after reaching adulthood. I rummage past a few concert tickets and the blue ribbons I won for various academic contests. It's there, beneath a tiny pink crocheted pig that I won at the school carnival. I pull gently not wanting it to break. Zander did such a good job that the bracelet was still intact, a strand of fishing string lined with tiny white cowrie shells. I slip it over my hand and admire the bracelet. I wore it often, but it wasn't the most practical piece of jewelry. Zander always grinned from ear to ear when he saw it on my wrist.
My phone rings, and I'm pulled out of my enjoyable moment of nostalgia. It's Dane. We've been seeing each other for a short while, and my mind isn't yet made up about my feelings for him. He's rich and good looking. According to both Kinsley and Mona, those are all the qualifications needed for a perfect boyfriend.
"Hey, Dane," I say, trying to push it out with some enthusiasm.
"Hello, beautiful." I wince at being called beautiful. Anyone who knows me knows I can't stand that kind of flattery. "How was your day?"
I'm far too exhausted to go through the details. Besides that, I've learned that he asks only out of politeness. He doesn't really expect to hear anything more than my usual "it was fine."
"It was fine."
"Great to hear. Good news. I managed to snag reservations at Rochelle's, that expensive restaurant up the coast that I've been telling you about. It's usually booked months in advance, but I pulled a few strings and greased a few palms, as they say—" He pauses. "No idea who says that, but anyway, Saturday night, sweetheart, we're going out in our fancy dress for some Michelin star food."
I smile thinking about my frozen dinner in the oven. Something tells me it'll be far more enjoyable than an odd-looking, mini portion of whatever Rochelle's serves up. "Uh, that's great, Dane."
"Wow, thought you'd be more excited."
"Uh, no, yeah, I'm excited. I'm tired. I just got home from work, and I'm hungry and I smell like red onion and dill pickles."
