Page 14 of Overdue

I guess it was the proverbial straw breaking the camel’s back. She announced, in her way, that she’s done with me. I didn’t even get one of her conciliatory waves when she went inside her house. She’s never missed the wave before, no matter how angry she is.

I’m not giving up on us, though. I can’t. Even if she never feels the same way about me that I do about her, I refuse to let her get away completely. She’s the only woman that makes me laugh, think, question, and want to punch something all at once. I need her in my life. One way or another, I need to get her back.

The first step is learning to keep my damn mouth shut. I can’t just drag her out of a party and get her grounded to keep her out of trouble anymore. She’s no longer the girl who needs to be rescued. She’s an adult, capable of handling herself. It’s time for me to start treating her like it.

“Reed,” Mr. Daily yells from his office. “Can you come in here for a minute?”

Setting down the last of the new plants I’m helping unload from the delivery truck, I wipe my hands on my jeans. The guys hoot at me as I walk into the boss’s office like we’re in elementary school and I’m getting called into the principal's office.

“Mr. Daily?”

“Oh, there you are. How many times do I have to ask you to call me Ron?”

“Sorry, Mr. D— I mean Ron.” I consider the name for a minute. “Just doesn’t feel right.”

Ron laughs. “Anyway, the reason I called you in here is, I’m letting you off early all this week so you can work on the proposal for the city square. Plan on heading out around two every day. That should give you plenty of time to work up the presentation.”

“Yes, sir.” That gives me an idea. I might just be able to kill two birds with one stone. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Paul and I are picking up the new trees in the morning for the Archers. They want the ones the ice storm damaged this winter replaced.”

“That’s right. See you tomorrow.”

I head to my truck as a plan begins to take root in my brain. As soon as I’m home, I run into the house.

“Hey, Gran.”

She and Mel stick their heads out of the kitchen.

“Just grabbing a quick shower, then I have to go back to work.”

Without waiting for a reply, I take the stairs two at a time. Peeling off my sweaty clothes, I quickly jump into the shower. My plan will never work if I show up smelling like a locker room.

I wash my hair and body, shut the water off, and grab a towel. Deodorant, toothbrush, cologne, a clean pair of jeans, a fresh T-shirt with a button-down opened over it, and I’m ready.

“Gran?” I ask as I sit down on the last step to pull on my socks. “Do you have a backpack or anything I can put my books in?” She still hasn’t answered by the time my shoes are tied.

“Nevermind.” Gran rolls into the living room. “I’ll be back to cook dinner.”

“Heaven's sake, Reed.”

I kiss her cheek, and grab up my books, notebook, laptop, and sketch pad. Throwing everything in the front seat, I start the truck. Ten minutes later, I’m walking into the library.

“Hey, Kim.” I have everything balanced precariously as I walk up to the circulation desk. I don’t see Austen, but somehow I know she’s here. “How’s the old man?” Kim and her husband graduated a few years before me.

“You know Bert, same old, same old.” She laughed. Kim had been one of the sweeter cheerleaders in high school. She was already dating Bert when I moved to town.

“Still working on that ever-growing beer gut?” Bert has gone from being one of the biggest linemen on our high school football team to selling insurance. It keeps him sitting behind a desk, and everyone can tell. “Hey, is there somewhere I can spread out and work?”

“Sure, just pick one of the tables.” Let’s see. Which table will give me the best chance of catching a glimpse of Austen? The one closest to the wall should do it. I even score a power outlet. My day’s already looking up.

Quietly, I lay down the books and open my notebook. I pull the top book toward me and begin to study. It’s a book on layouts for small gardens. Some of the designs are amazing. I’m soon completely entrenched in it.

Wham! I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of a book being slammed down in front of me. Looking up, I find Austen shooting daggers out of her eyes.

“This came in today, Mr. Campbell. I hope it helps,” she says. Mr. Campbell? The only time I want to hear her call me that is when I have her bent over one of these tables.

“Thank you, Miss Caraway.” Why does that sound so dirty? “Do you think I could request one on park designs?”

“Yes, Mr. Campbell. I’ll try to find one.” She sashays back toward the front without another word.

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