Page 33 of Golden Hour

Focusing on Koda and Carrie distracts me from thinking about Jackson.

He swore he was not flirting as he leaned in, touching me before he excused himself from Carrie’s house. Jackson chooses his words carefully and judiciously, his touches rationed out. The Jackson in my car was a completely different person.

When I enter my grandfather’s apartment, I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t see him seated in his usual spot.

“Hey there, girlie,” Papa says from his recliner. His glasses perch on his nose, as he turns the page in the new thriller I passed to him, about two sisters who have a tenuous relationship and then murder is introduced. A small plate full of crumbs and a glass with an inch of watered-down iced tea sits next to him.

“I hope you left some crackers for me.”

“I promise, I restrained myself.” His eyes do not leave the book. “Where were you at?”

“Picking up a dog,” I say, dropping my bag on the side table. I stop when I see what’s there.

“What is that?” I point. There’s an arrangement of my favorite flowers set in a crystal vase—lilies and dahlias, in explosive colors of yellow, and orange, and pink. I love flowers to the core of my being, but my stomach drops because I know who they’re from.

The flap of the card envelope stands erect.

“Did you read my card?” I ask.

“I wanted to make sure they weren’t for me. I’ve been quite the ladies’ man at Bingo.”

I tilt my head down, peering at him. “Are you showing women your Air Force picture again?”

“Nooo,” he says, closing the book and resting it on his lap. “They’re for you.”

My hand jitters as I open the card to the familiar black scrawl of Mark’s handwriting.

Miss you more each day. I hope this break will send you back to me. I love you. xoxo, Mark

I roll my eyes. He refused to say “I love you” to my face but says it the moment I leave. The exact second I stand up for myself, and he deployed those three little words like an ace up his sleeve.

“That boy is gaga for you.”

“Yeah,” I say, throwing the card in the trash. I won’t throw the flowers away; they didn’t ask to be cut for that man.

This does not mean Mark wins. Not even close.

There’s not much to tell, really. The further I get from him, the more embarrassed I am that I got involved with him.

We met as servers at Tuscan Grove, a chain Italian restaurant. When we worked the same shift, we would make each other laugh and find quiet corners at after-work co-worker get-togethers. I fell hard for his sense of humor and general good nature.

I always hoped for a kiss in our private moments, and it felt like it was heading that direction. While Jackson rarely touches anyone, Mark loved to put his hand on my shoulder if I said something funny and he insisted on at least two hugs each shift we worked together.

After months of banter and shoulder touches, I told him I had a crush on him. He told me he had a girlfriend.

“I don’t want to lose your friendship,” he had said. “If things were different, maybe we could try.”

Nothing changed.

He still found me on my shifts, ran out my orders before I could, asked for his daily two hugs. My other friends at Tuscan Grove started to notice, and everyone who didn’t know about his girlfriend thought we were dating.

“I wouldn’t be okay with you if I was his girlfriend,” a co-worker told me after Mark touched my lower back and reached around me for the soda machine.

“Just ignore him. He’s leading you on,” Summer, my sister, had told me as she moved me into the house she rented. I took her advice. I went on blind dates; I adopted my dog Rory from the local shelter; I moved on. After weeks of avoiding his touches and his presence, Mark showed up on my doorstep with flowers, telling me he broke up with his girlfriend and wanted to try. That he missed me and didn’t want to lose me.

It’s why I have a beautiful bouquet on my grandfather’s table. It worked so well last time.

As we dated, I fell harder, “I love you” on my tongue every time we hung out. It was a fairy tale for the first year. Then, it darkened and morphed, until I couldn’t recognize it anymore.

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