Page 26 of Blake Marshall Says He Needs Me

Missy said our meeting again was fate, so I was going to stand back and see what else fate had up its sleeve.

Chapter Sixteen

Blake

Moving party. Saturday. Noon. Us into Shelby’s, and Shelby into Wilder’s.

Wilder had mentioned Missy and Charlie were moving into Shelby’s house this weekend, and apparently they needed help. We were moving Missy and Charlie into Shelby’s and then Shelby into Wilder’s.

Will food be provided? I asked.

Weed lasagna and pizza. Be here.

Good ol’ Missy. No please, just be there. At least she was going to feed us.

I sat on the back porch; the wooden steps cool beneath me as I watched Ba grazing peacefully in the lush pasture close by. The rhythmic sound of his content munching filled the air, creating a tranquil backdrop for the thoughts that occupied my mind.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. Despite the picturesque scene, my thoughts were drawn to the upcoming task of helping Missy, Charlie, and Shelby move. It meant being in close proximity to Shannon, a prospect that stirred a mixture of apprehension and longing within me.

As Ba lazily meandered across the pasture, I thought about the unresolved tension between Shannon and me. The other night still echoed in my memory; the words exchanged, opening wounds that hadn't yet healed. The prospect of encountering her in the midst of the move added an extra layer of complexity to the already charged emotions.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp air tinged with the earthy scent of the pasture. The gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying with it a sense of calm that momentarily eased the turmoil within me. Ba lifted its head, looking at me with those wise eyes as if offering a silent understanding.

“Yeah, Ba, Saturday is going to be chaos,” I sighed.

I leaned back, my gaze fixed on the horizon as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pasture. The anticipation of the encounter with Shannon mingled with slight dread. Wilder had been right when he said I needed to talk to Shannon again.

I should have sought her out sooner, but I was still struggling to find the right words. I mean, the main ones were I didn’t blame her for Sheldon’s death.

Yeah, that was what I was going to start with and then see where things went. I needed to fix things between Shannon and me before I could even start to think about anything else.

Chapter Seventeen

Shannon

My phone buzzed in my hand, interrupting the notes I was entering in patient charts. I glanced down to see a message from Missy. The words on the screen sent a shiver down my spine. Hey Shannon, we need your help moving on Saturday at noon. Be there.

The prospect of helping Missy and Charlie move brought a mix of emotions. On one hand, I wanted to be there for Missy. On the other hand, the mention of helping them move meant Blake was likely to be there, too. I couldn't shake the worry that I might run into Blake, that the wounds from our recent argument would be reopened in the midst of the chaotic moving day.

I took a deep breath, my fingers hovering over the phone. The conflict within me was palpable – the desire to be there for my friends conflicted with the fear of facing Blake. The memory of his accusatory words still lingered, a painful reminder of the rift that was between us.

After a moment's hesitation, I replied. Sure, I'll be there. accompanied by a forced smiley face emoji. I hit send and couldn't escape the knot in my stomach, the anticipation of a potentially awkward encounter with Blake looming over me like a storm cloud.

Normally, Saturdays were my favorite day of the week since I wasn’t typically working unless one of my patients went into labor, but this coming Saturday loomed like doomsday.

Chapter Eighteen

Blake

“Alright, guys, let's turn this into a masterpiece of furniture descent!" Charlie declared, waving his arms theatrically like he was trying to land a plane.

Wilder and I had drawn the short straw to tackle the monumental task of moving Shelby’s heavy dresser down a narrow staircase. Our self-appointed, fearless director, Charlie, stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Wilder glanced at me, and we couldn't help but chuckle at Charlie's crazy dad humor. Clara was barely a month old, and he was already a pro at well-placed dad humor. It was a much-needed break from the weighty seriousness of the situation.

We went down a few steps, and the dresser's bulk presented a challenge that seemed to grow with each step. Charlie, always the joker, quipped, "I swear this thing is auditioning for a role in 'Mission: Impossible.'"

I snorted with laughter, careful not to let it compromise the delicate balance of the dresser. "More like 'Mission: Improbable.'"

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