CHAPTER THREE
MARNIE
“THERE, ALL DONE.” I STAND, press my hands into my back, and stretch. Two pops in my spine tell me I was hunched over for too long. I gaze around at the kitchen in my new townhouse and smile. The granite countertops accent the stainless-steel appliances perfectly, and I love the antiqued white of the cupboards. I glance outside to my small back yard. It’s big enough to hold a picnic table, grill, and probably two chairs. Turning around, I kick the cardboard box that held my dishes and silverware to the back door. The kitchen is still bare, no personality yet, but at least it’s all unpacked.
After starting the dishwasher, I leave the kitchen and sit in front of a big box labeled “living-room.” I gently open it by peeling back the packing tape. I pull out all the bubble wrap, then I reach in and grab a few framed pictures. One is of Ashley and me right after she had J.J. He was so tiny, it took a few threats from Ash before I could hold him. He snuggled right into my arm like he belonged there. With a slight smile, I place the picture on the mantle. The next one in my hand is of J.J. right after I moved back to Chicago. He’s sitting in grass, scowling and lifting his feet up. I don’t think he liked the feeling of grass on his feet, but the scrunched face he made was priceless. I place that one next to the first.
The third one is of the first bouquet of roses I ever received. I had just passed my driving test, and my best friend, at the time, Zayne, tackled me to the ground and shoved them in my face. I had screeched at him, and all he told me was he wanted to make sure I saw they were my favorite flower color, blood orange. The coloring of the flowers was so unique, the tips of the petals blood red, then bleeding into a warm orange. I absently rub my fingers together, remembering the softness of each petal. When I got home, I took a picture of them so their memory was preserved, and so I would remember who gave them to me.
I gently place the old frame on the opposite side of the mantle from the other two. As I pull the leg of the backing down, a small picture falls into my hand. I turn it around, and my breath escapes; it’s a picture of Zayne. He was my high school boyfriend, my best friend, my first love, and well…my first everything. I sigh and sit on the couch. The picture is of Zayne and me at a bonfire. I’m sitting on his lap, and he has both hands wrapped tightly around me. His eyes sparkle from the flash of the camera. His smile is bright and happy.
I move my attention to the younger self in the picture. I remember sitting there and thinking what was I doing with this guy? He was popular, the quarterback; he was everything. I don’t know how I caught his eye, but I did.
Zayne Thompson was your quintessential hunk. He was tall with reddish hair that was unruly when it was long, but he always kept it short. He had the most beautiful, piercing blue eyes; I swear they looked straight into my soul. I felt small when I stood next to him, which was a feat in itself as I stand five foot nine inches. His presence dwarfed me and gave me a sense of safety.
We first met in our senior year. He was failing math and was on track to lose his football scholarship. One day, I was in the library studying, of course, when he came up to me. He asked me—ME—to tutor him to help him keep his college scholarship that was promised to him when he graduated. Over the school year, I tutored him and got to know him. Soon, we were hanging out outside of school. He had a killer sense of humor and enough self-confidence for the both of us. His quiet authority made me feel like I belonged to him. We fell in love and were inseparable.
I smile sadly at the picture; a tiny tear falls to my cheek. “You never would have cheated on me,” I tell the picture as if I’m talking to him. “You would’ve loved me with every breath.” Feeling embarrassed that I’m speaking to a photo, I roll my eyes at my cheesiness, but deep in my heart, I know he would’ve. I walk back to the mantle and carefully replace the picture behind the frame backing. I spend the rest of the day unpacking and cleaning, but I find my eyes tracking back to the picture.
It’s Friday and the end of my first week at my new job. Ready for the day to be over, I sigh as I gently drop into my desk chair. I have been on my feet all day, from greeting clients, to filing reports and dictating emails for my new bosses. I never thought being a secretary for an accounting firm would be exhausting, but I’m hoping a position in the advertising team opens.
“Hi, Marnie.” I glance up to see one of my bosses, Andrew Morton, smiling down at me. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re handling your first week here. It’s a lot to take in at first.”
I nod in agreement; the fast pace of this office is a lot to take in. This is the first time I’ve seen him close. He’s tall and fills out a three-piece suit very nicely. His dark hair is slicked back with an edged-out part line and trimmed eyebrows that outline his warm whiskey eyes. To say he’s handsome would be an understatement.
I give him a gentle smile “Thank you, Mr. Morton, and yes, it’s a lot to take in, but I already feel like I’m getting the flow of it.”
He returns a matching smile. “Please, call me Andrew. I’m not as stuffy as the other owners here are.” I let out a little chuckle and nod. “Well, Marnie, for your first week, you did well. Go home and enjoy your weekend. See you on Monday.” He waves and turns for the front door.
I power down my computer and tidy up my desk before grabbing my mug from this morning’s coffee and heading to the small kitchenette. When I walk in, Tina and another girl I haven’t met yet are gabbing at the sink.
“Excuse me,” I murmur softly. Both of them step back to let me through.
“Hi. Marnie, right?” the other girl asks.
“Yes, I’m Marnie, nice to meet you.” I place my cup into the sink.
“I’m Melissa, and I just started as a CPA here.” Her smile brightens her brown eyes.
I angle my body to her. “I just started here, too.”
“Tina and I were just talking about something to do over the weekend and she enlightened me on a shop called The Meat Market. Have you ever heard of it?”
I shake my head. “No, I haven’t. Is it a new restaurant or something?” I glance to Tina.
“Oh, honey, I think you need to sit down, but first, take these cards.” Tina hands both me and Melissa a card with the name “Jason” on it along with a number.