Page 6 of Second Chance Valentine

“Granny, I need to run some errands. I’ll be back.” I drop the book on the table and rush out the door before anyone can object and the next thing I know, I’m falling toward the glass storefront trying to grab onto something to break my fall. I latch onto a firm bicep and manage to gain my balance, but hot coffee splashes all over my white t-shirt.

I look up into the eyes of the man whose chest I am cradled to and my stomach is filled with butterflies. It’s like there’s a shift in the space-time continuum and I’m sixteen years old again, staring into the same brown eyes that melted my heart back then.

“Ginger.” He just stands there, holding me to his chest and time stands still. Until I notice every single lady in the Beauty Nest is gathered at the window, watching the show. I push him away, shaking coffee off of my hands.

“Your shirt. I’m sorry.” He tries to wipe my shirt with a napkin, but I hold my hands up and take a step back.

“Let me help you.” He reaches for me again and my fight or flight instinct kicks in. I retreat into the beauty shop, but he follows me.

The ladies rush back to their chairs, trying unsuccessfully to act like they weren’t just spying on us. I grab a towel from the shampoo area and duck into the tiny bathroom, but Branson sticks his foot out so the door won’t close. The coffee stains won’t budge as I rub them with a wet towel.

“Can we talk?” he says softly.

“In front of this audience of gossips? No way.”

“We’re not listening!” Marla calls out. Despite my best efforts, laughter bubbles up and Branson catches my eye in the mirror and grins at me. He was always so darn charming. It’s infuriating. I give up on the shirt and push past him through the door, but he grabs my wrist.

“Please,” he says, his eyes now serious. He presses his lips together. “Listen,” he says quietly. “I know I have no right to ask anything of you. But could we talk for just a few minutes? Alone?”

“Come on, Ginger. You ought to at least give the man a few minutes,” Marla chimes in. “Otherwise, he’ll just keep bugging you in town in front of usgossips. You might as well talk to him in private.”

“Granny, aren’t you going to help me out here?”

She shrugs. “She has a point, sugar.”

I hate to admit it, but maybe she’s right. If I let him get this out of his system, it will move him closer to realizing this is a mistake and he’ll go back to trotting the globe.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “Come to my house tonight at 8 and we will talk.” I put up my hand. “For a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” The expression of relief and hope on his face makes me instantly doubt the decision, but it’s too late now.

“Don’t come hungry, because I am not cooking for you. A few minutes. That’s it.”

“He gets the picture, Ginger. You don’t have to beat him over the head with it,” Marla says.

“I’ll see you then. It was good to see you, ladies!” he calls out, grinning as he walks through the door.

“Now, I don’t want to hear another word about it from y’all!” I say to the Golden Girls of Evergreen Mountain. I settle back into my chair and scroll through Pinterest for vintage party decoration ideas, but out of the corner of my eye, I see the knowing smiles the ladies exchange before they pick up the gossip threat of the usual suspects in town. I’m just glad they’ve found something else to talk about besides me.

SIX

Branson

Of all the intense, high-stress situations I’ve been in overseas, you wouldn’t think that showing up at my high school girlfriend’s house would be at the top of the list. But I’ll admit it. I’m nervous, because the stakes are so high. It feels like the rest of our lives start or end tonight. But I have a plan. And if the love we shared was as monumental, as divinely meant to be as I believe it is, then maybe, just maybe there’s a chance that I can make up for the damage I’ve done.

Ginger still lives in the same little white house she grew up in. The flowerbeds are blooming with some winter hardy flowers and the house looks just as cheerful and cared for as ever. As I shuffle the brown grocery sack to one hand so I can knock on the door with the other, I’m struck with the memory of a hundred goodnight kisses on this porch, the light flickering on and off as a sign that Granny thought we’d had enough kissing for the night.

The bay of a dog announces my presence before I can knock and when Ginger opens the door, I’m blown away by herbeauty. In the years since we were together, she’s gotten even more beautiful. Her hair is longer and her curves are curvier, still visible under the oversized flannel she’s wearing. She stands in the doorway with her arms crossed and I quickly move past her to the kitchen, setting the grocery bag on the counter.

“What’s that?” she points.

“Dinner.” I pull out pasta, cream and herbs and her eyes widen with surprise. “Corkscrew?” I ask, holding up the bottle of wine I brought.

She shakes her head. “This is not an occasion for wine, Branson,” she says, taking the bottle out of my hand. “I don’t know what you had planned, but I agreed to talk. That’s all.”

“Ok. No wine.”

A look of angry resignation settles over her features and she bangs around the kitchen, pulling pans and utensils out. I remind myself that I created this distance between us. I destroyed the most important thing in our lives. It’s going to take time to heal and I have to be patient. And I need to start small.

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