Chapter One
Taylor
I woke up as normal at precisely 6:01 in the morning. It’s not because I thought I was being a bit different with the extra minute, but the alarm was busted, and I liked the old-time rectangular shape with the clickety-clack numbers. As I slowly opened my eyes, I tried my best to lessen the impact the remnants of my dreams from the night before had on me. The soft kiss on my lips was the way it ended, like it always ended, with a pair of piercing blue eyes staring into my soul and my heart breaking.
I could never tell if those beautiful eyes were mocking or enjoying the kiss and me. But I also knew it was more than a dream. It was an old memory, nine years in the making. I felt the same way when it happened on my eighteenth birthday as I did when I dreamed it repeatedly through the years. When Dalton pulled me into him and gave me my first kiss, that kiss that melted and burned me to this day. There was only ever that one first kiss. I groaned and reached down and pulled the wet underwear away from my skin.
I shook my head, dispersing the rest of the dream and stretched one arm, then the other, before I stood up and cracked my back. Love my morning rituals. For a moment, I thought I needed to tell Pops about the bar’s schedule today, then I remembered. Like a bolt of lightning, the jolting reality.
I have a busy day for myself, so a pity party just won’t do. I picked my Pokémon t-shirt up from where I threw it on the carpet. I preferred to sleep “au natural” or in my underwear, but you never knew who would be up and about. Namely my brother, who would scream and run back into his room and tell me to put on some damn clothes. Shimmying the long yellow t-shirt on, I headed out of my room and into the hall bathroom to start my day.
“Eric,” I called out as I half closed the door behind me.
I did my morning brushing for exactly two minutes, my shower for ten and a half, and headed back into my room, pulling my fractious hair into my signature ponytail, where it would, hopefully, keep my long curly blond hair in place. Wrapping a towel around myself, I headed back to my room.
“Eric!” I yelled as I closed the door. I threw my sweatpants and Lana Del Rey T-shirt on and headed downstairs to get my coffee. Halfway down, I stopped.
“Eric, you better get your ass up!”
Not hearing a response, I bounded back up the stairs and down the hall to my brother’s room. Pushing the door open, I saw the bed was still made, covers on, just like they were yesterday morning when I made the bed. And the morning before that.
“Damn it.”
As I started back downstairs, I noticed the door at the end of the hall was still open, so I pushed it farther open. Seeing my mom’s quilt on the bed, God rest her soul, gave me some peace to think they were together again. I steeled myself, took a deep breath, and quietly closed it before I headed downstairs to get my wake-up juice.
As I passed through the living room, I caught sight of the tobacco pipe on the end table next to Pop’s favorite Lazy Boy. I don’t know why I picked it up, it was as if sensing him nearby, almost like he was touching my shoulder. I raised it to my nose and inhaled the apples and cinnamon aroma Pops was so fond of, even though I’d chided him for years to stop. I cradled it in my hand for a moment or two longer, cherishing the memory before I placed it back on the end table.
Just to make sure, I opened the kitchen door to look over at the carport. My brother’s motorcycle was gone from its post by Pop’s… my… pickup truck. Eric’s sad little Chevy sat there rusting in the early morning light on the far side of the area. Pops, Eric, and my bestie Kris had worked on it together over the years and now it just sat there as it had since Pops got sick. The motorcycle being gone could only mean he hadn’t come home from the bar last night.
“Not again.”
The day felt like it was trying to cheer me up with the perfect scent of maple and hay, the breeze helping me to cope with what was going to be the second saddest day in my life. I closed the door and headed over to the Keurig and got my coffee going. When it stopped grunting and groaning at me, I mixed exactly one teaspoon of sugar with a dollop of whole milk and headed into the cellar.
As I went down the stairs, it never ceased to amaze me at the renovations my father did to the downstairs rec room, renovating it into a brain center for my entire media operation. He spared no expense on communications and computers, so I wouldn’t have to go into Asheville and rent a start-up pad with whatever savings I had left over after college. Trying to grow my social media presence and the company I envisioned building would have to be delayed until I had the money. Pops was having none of it and worked behind my back to get it done.
Though Pop’s didn’t really understand the whole social media aspect of marketing, he did appreciate it when more of the college kids began coming to The Boar and Brew. And it didn’t cost him anything but having his favorite, and only, daughter stay at the house.
“Pops, you got to reach the market,” I told him so often it became a mantra.
I opened the curtains, revealing the cool vibe of French doors that opened the view off the mountain to downtown Asheville in the distance. Not only was it the most beautiful view I think I have ever seen – which Pops showed me when he took me blindfolded downstairs to show off my college graduation present – it was now my view.
No one around for miles and miles. The house was built by my great-great-grandpa. He purchased most of the mountainside for a home and for the view. I enjoyed the seclusion, and it helped me concentrate. No noisy traffic congestion, that’s for sure. Nearest neighbors were at the bottom of the drive three miles away.
With Pops’ passing, I imagined the house would go to Eric and me. My work area and Eric’s flophouse, when he ever came home.
With our dad gone just a few days before, Eric had taken to being at the bar every night, going over the books and trying to make heads or tails of our father’s nonchalant way of handling accounting and the ownership of the fifty-year-old bar. Pops got it right most of the time and over the last year, Eric had taken over the burden of running the front of the bar full time, but the books still scared the hell out of him.
I let the curtain drop and turned back to my domain. The one place where I ruled the world, had my office, and could be me. I had control here, and I liked that. Outside of this room, life was so unpredictable. Here, I was the queen and master of my universe. Nothing could blindside me. Never again.
Everything down here had Pops’ fingerprint on it, from the Felix clock to the burgundy carpet to the furniture. He had spent so much time picking out what he thought I would like, and he just nailed it. It was my sacred space, and thinking of the time he put into it brought tears to my eyes.
I looked at the Felix clock on the wall as it chimed seven.
“Better ring sleepyhead,” I said.
I dialed Eric’s number just to have it roll over to voicemail. So, I left him a very Tayloresque note.
“Service is at noon, graveside is at one, and reception is at three. Make sure you get home in time to at least change your shirt and hopefully, for everyone’s sake, take a shower.” I signed off with my “Tata for now” message and settled into my ergonomic chair.
“Time to make the doughnuts, Lagertha,” I said as I started up my social media empire with a click of the mouse, waking her up. Yes, I called my computer a “her” and I named her Lagertha after one of the most kick-ass historical figures I liked.
It jumped into action and landed me on the page I worked on last night before I headed to bed and dreamed of kissing the man who blew a hole in our family.
Patrick Price, King of the Downtown Scene, reception and celebration of his life at 3 p.m. at The Boar and Brew. His daughter and son, Taylor and Eric, would love if you could join us…
I developed the social media blast I was putting out to give Pops the Irish send off he said he wanted. I was so engrossed, I didn’t hear the bike shredding up my driveway or the knock on the door upstairs. I’d have liked to say it was from being so involved in my work, but that’s a lie. I just couldn’t get a pair of piercing blue eyes out of my mind or stop the wetness between my legs whenever I thought of Dalton and the kiss that seared my lips.