Chapter Five

AMELIA

“Hello, I’m here to see Marvin Santos. I’m his daughter, Amelia.”

“Amelia.” The receptionist at the nursing home brightens. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Darra; we’ve shared many conversations on the phone.”

“Darra, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. Thank you so much for all the help over the last few months. I really appreciate it.”

She waves me off. “Oh, anytime. Your father is such a dear. The entire staff was so upset when he had his fall.” Somberly she adds, “He just hasn’t been the same since.” That’s what I was afraid of. “But now that you’re here, maybe he’ll brighten up again.” She picks up her phone and says, “Let me call Heather. She can give you a mini tour then take you to see your dad.”

“Sounds great, thank you.”

I take a seat in the reception area and place the little bag of Dunkin’ Donuts for my father on the chair next to me. I pull out my phone and instantly feel disappointed when I don’t see a text from Trey. I told him last night about seeing my father today, so I was hoping he would text me some support. I know he’s busy, so I can’t hold it against him. I send him a quick text.

Amelia: About to see my dad. I’m a little nervous. Wish me luck.

I tuck my phone back in my purse and bring my cup of coffee to my mouth, reveling in the heat emitting from the little hole at the top. I need this coffee more than ever today, not just because of seeing my dad, but because I feel emotionally drained.

Aaron Walters.

Why? Why does he have to magically appear in my life? Moving back to Binghamton, I thought about the possibility of maybe running into him, but I thought it unlikely, something that would never really happen.

Boy, was I wrong.

What a sick joke life is playing on me.

Aaron Walters, the boy who broke me into pieces is my neighbor.

I can’t fathom the impact I feel already.

Seeing him in hip-hugging jeans and a tight, plain shirt did a number on me. It kept me up all night as memories of what we used to have flooded my mind.

His voice.

His stature.

The way he used to kiss my neck.

The way I felt so protected in his arms.

Too bad his arms couldn’t protect me from his devastating, heart-breaking self.

And hell, he looked good. Too good.

He’s always been tall with handsome features and a chiseled jaw, but now he’s bulked up to the point that I could see his abs flexing under his shirt, the same shirt that stretched over his biceps.

But it wasn’t his muscles or handsome features that once again made my heart ache, it was those eyes. So bright, so blue, so kind, but still so sad. It reminded me of the first day I met him, of the day he stole my heart from every other man on the market.

Broken, unsure, yet yearning for love. It was all there, and like experiencing a moment of déjà vu, I was transported back into a time when I felt invincible, like I could conquer anything with him at my side.

Once again, I was wrong.

“Amelia?” a voice asks. I look up to find a petite, kind-looking woman approach me, wearing mauve scrubs and white nurse shoes.

“Heather?” I ask as I stand, snagging my belongings.

“Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand to me. “Your father is a favorite around here.”

“That’s great to hear. He’s a favorite in my book as well.”

For the next few minutes, Heather takes me around the nursing home, introducing me to some of the other nurses as well as residents. Unfortunately, when my father switched nursing homes, I wasn’t here to help him. My sister aided in his transfer, so this is the first time I’m seeing it. The guilt I’ve been harboring eases slightly knowing he’s staying in such a lovely place.

My parents had my sister, Beth, at a very young age, so she’s actually twenty years older than I am. I was an oopsie in their late forties, an oopsie that rocked their world, but needless to say, they raised me as if they were in their twenties, never once skipping out on anything in my childhood. My mom passed away six years ago from breast cancer, and my dad hasn’t been the same since.

“Your father is on the third floor and has a great view of the river. He spends many hours looking out his window.”

“Does he interact with any of the other residents?” I ask, feeling a little nervous.

“Not really.” Heather gives me a solemn look. “I think he avoids being with the rest of the residents because he gets confused very easily. We find he’s happiest when he’s in his own environment.”

And that breaks me. He’s so alone. The outgoing man I used to know doesn’t exist anymore; it’s almost as if his body is living but his affectionate and easygoing soul is not.

She knocks on the door and enters, talking loudly and clear. “Mr. Santos. We have a special visitor for you today.”

With a heavy heart I step into my father’s room, and I’m immediately transported to my childhood home. Pictures of my sister and me hang on his wall as well as pictures of my mother. He has a small flower patch and his trusty gardening tools by the window. On his bed, draped lengthwise, is the same exact afghan he would curl up under and watch movies when I was growing up, the maroon color now faded. And off to the side, his Crosley record player looks just as fine as it did back in the day.

Same man, but oh so different.

My dad doesn’t turn around so I pat Heather on the arm and say, “I can take it from here. Thank you for the tour.”

She gives me a sad smile and shuts the door behind me.

I take off my jacket and purse and rest them on his bed. With donuts in hand, I say, “Dad, it’s Amelia.” As I walk toward him, he turns in his chair and looks me up and down. His eyes are weathered, his skin pale, and the laugh lines I’ve always loved, look more like frown lines now.

Taking me in, he shifts in his chair and faces the window again, making my heart drop to the floor. He doesn’t recognize me.

My throat closes in on me and I try not to cry when his raspy voice breaks through the silence. “Got a strawberry-frosted donut with rainbow sprinkles in there for me, Bedelia?”

Bedelia, my nickname. He does remember.

I can’t help it, tears fill my eyes as I laugh-cry and walk over to him. “Of course, Daddy.”

He holds out his hand, and as he takes mine, he squeezes me tightly. Still looking out the window, he says, “What took you so long?”

“I had some things to work out, but I’m here now.”

“For how long?”

“I moved back home, Daddy.”

Now he turns toward me, tears in his eyes. “My Bedelia is back?”

I nod, my lips sealed together, trying to hold back the tears pressing to fall. Hearing my dad call me Bedelia makes me believe that he’s not completely lost . . . yet.

“Yes. I’m renting a place not too far away. I can visit you much more often.”

“Do you have a job?”

I chuckle and nod. He’s always been concerned about our stability. “I have a job at Hillcrest High School as a counselor. I start tomorrow.”

He smiles and looks back out the window. “That’s cause for celebration, shall we have a donut?”

“I think we shall.”

I pull the donuts out of the bag and hand him one, but before he takes a bite, I lean over and kiss him gently on his bald head. How have I gone a year since seeing this man? He’s always been such an amazing dad, and yet somehow, when he needed me, I haven’t been here. This was the right decision to make, to move back. He is the right reason. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, Amelia Bedelia.”

***

I open the trunk to my SUV and sigh. I might have gone overboard.

Mrs. Ferguson’s furniture is very nice, solid actually, but it needs a bit of updating, so I spent the last few hours shopping around town, making sure to stop in Target, Pier One, Kohl’s, and Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I bought throw pillows, blankets, bedding, kitchen accessories, dish towels, bathroom accessories, rugs, curtains, and lamps. Before I went to see my dad this morning, I assessed everything I wanted to get and made a list. I then packed up Mrs. Ferguson’s things and took them to the basement, so I can start fresh when I’m home.

And now I’m looking at all the bags in my SUV, thinking I may have spent a little too much. Looks like Nirchi’s Pizza is going to have to take a backseat for the next few weeks.

“Only one way to get all these bags into the house.” I start to unpack, being careful to not spill any breakable items.

I put my first haul on the couch and head back outside just in time to see a giant black pickup pull into the shared driveway connecting with mine.

Aaron.

I try to avoid looking at him, but curiosity wins out. His truck matches his size—large and powerful. His Yankees hat matches his eyes—blue and mysterious. And the rectangular pizza box he’s carrying in his arms matches . . .

Wait, that doesn’t match anything. Scratch that, it matches the growling noises in my stomach. I know that box from anywhere. It’s Nirchi’s pizza. Damn him.

Damn him!

“Hey Amelia,” he calls out, holding the box to his side. Is he going to eat all of that?

Most likely, he’s a giant. That entire box is probably just an appetizer.

“Amelia?” he asks, scrunching down to catch my eyes.

I shake off my pizza trance and awkwardly wave while saying, “Have a nice day.”

Eck, I didn’t mean to brush him off so brusquely, but he makes me nervous . . . and angry, and nervous.

“Oh, uh, okay. You too,” he says as I round my SUV and sit in the back of it, trying to catch my breath. Have a nice day? Not even a hello? Come on, it’s bad enough I have to see him, do I have to be incredibly awkward as well?

“I blame the pizza,” I say to myself, staring at my shoes and trying to control myself. Seeing your ex-love is never easy.

“What are you blaming the pizza for?” Aaron startles me off the edge of my car, causing me to fall ass first onto the pavement of the driveway with a thump. “Shit,” Aaron murmurs as he attempts to help me back up. His attempt falls short as he manhandles me with his strong hands and arms by awkwardly grabbing the collar of my jacket and lifting me up. It’s not the most graceful “rescue” and it only makes things that much more uncomfortable. “Uh, sorry about that.” He cringes, trying to pat my jacket down at the shoulders. “I didn’t mean to help you up like that.” He laughs nervously. “That was kind of awkward.”

I straighten my jacket and brush off my butt while stepping away. I need space from him . . . at all times. “Just a little.” I eye him and ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

Sheepishly, he nods at the trunk of my car. “I was actually going to ask you if you needed help; seems like you did a little shopping.”

“Just needed a few things.” Do not look him in the eyes. Don’t even think about looking at him. End this conversation immediately because it can only end up hurting you. “I’m good. You can go eat your pizza, I don’t want it to get cold.”

“Are you sure? There’s a lot in here. I don’t mind, Amelia.”

“Well, I mind,” I snap, causing him to take a step back, a pained look spreading on his face. I let out a long, frustrated breath. “Stop being nice to me, okay? I can’t take it.”

He nods and pulls on the back of his neck. “Okay, so be a dick.”

“Yes, be a dick.” I roll my eyes, needing him to take his large, muscular body and panty-melting cologne somewhere else.

From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “I can do that.” Looking at my trunk, he reaches in and pulls a bag out only to toss it on the ground. “Teal is a shit color, you should have gone with green.”

A little shocked, I look at him trying to see humor in his eyes, but there’s none. Instead, his jaw looks tense, rigid, his eyes dark and narrowed, and his brows are pinched together.

Reaching in again, he finds a box of mini muffins. Opening the box, he snags a pack and tears it open. With one large swoop, he shoves a few in his mouth and then tosses the wrapper back in my trunk. What the hell? That’s so rude.

“Hey!”

He cuts off my protest when he spits out half-chewed up mini-muffin in the grass . . . spits MY mini muffin on the ground and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Those are trash muffins.” His voice is gruff, curt, so not the Aaron I once knew so well.

“I don’t think—”

Reaching in again, he buries his body in my trunk and starts rifling through my bags. He pulls out a box of tampons and tosses it to me as my face flushes. “Not interested in those . . . ah, but this toaster is nice.” He stands from his position and tucks my new red toaster under his arm. With a nod, he turns and walks toward his house where he picks his pizza up from the hood of his truck and heads for his front door.

What the hell?

“Hey!” I chase after him and poke his back when I catch up. “You can’t just take my toaster.”

“Watch me.” He doesn’t bother to turn around to face me.

Furious, I grab his arm, my hands wrapping around his amazingly thick bicep, and pull. He barely budges. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Give me my toaster.”

“What am I doing?” He spins on his heel. “Being a dick. You don’t want me to be nice to you so I’m doing the opposite. It’s what you asked for.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t mean it literally.”

Aaron hands me my toaster and sighs, conceding in our little battle. “Listen up, Amelia. I get it, okay? I broke your heart. I know you’re angry, and I’m the last person you want to see living next to you, but that’s the card you’ve drawn. And I understand your need to distance yourself. Does it hurt? Yeah, but I get it. I won’t harass you, or ask you to come over, or even hang out because I know I’m the last person you want to spend a Friday night with. But if for one second you think I’m going to stop being nice to you, stop being the gentleman I’ve always been around you, you’re sorely mistaken.” He steps closer, and my breath catches in my chest from his presence. It’s all too familiar, those eyes, his scent, the way his mouth curves when he smirks. In a matter of seconds, my body heats. It doesn’t help that memories of those lips pressed against every part of my body assault me too. He takes another step forward. “No matter what you think, I care about you, and if I see that you need help, I’m going to offer it.” He pauses and then says seriously, “And I sure as hell hope you can set your pride aside to let me.”

I twist my lips and think about what he’s asking me. From the moment I met Aaron, when we were young and naïve, he was always the first person to lend a hand. He would run ahead to open doors for people, spend his weekends helping his neighbors, or offer a hand whenever my dad needed help around the yard. This isn’t something he can just switch off, no matter how much I don’t want him to. He’s right. I have to accept that he’s living next to me now and his helping hand isn’t going to stop because we have a history I don’t want to relive.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I know you’re just trying to help.” Wanting to give him a little bit of truth, I say, “It’s hard for me. I haven’t forgotten about you. Getting over you was hard, Aaron, and I need to keep my distance.”

“I understand. Maybe”—he bites his bottom lip—“we can be cordial to each other. You know, neighbors that wave hi when we pass each other in our cars. We don’t have to be the borrow-an-egg neighbor, but we can at least acknowledge each other.”

“That’s fair.” I run the tip of my foot over a rock on the ground. “We can be cordial.”

“Good.” He shifts and clears his throat. “I know we aren’t borrowing-egg neighbors, but I’m feeling pretty shitty about spitting one of your muffins out, especially since it was fucking good. Think I can offer you a few slices of my pizza for your muffin loss?”

Well, I mean . . . how can I deny Nirchi’s?

“If you must,” I say exasperated. “Only crust pieces.” I point my finger at him, causing him to laugh. And fuck me, that deep, rumbly sound surges through my veins; my toes tingle and my body ignites. That’s all it took back then, and that’s all it takes now.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Why don’t I help you with your bags, and you can grab a plate so I can plop two slices on it for you.”

“Three, I counter.”

Smirking, he says, “It was one mini-muffin.”

“And it was traumatic for me to see such waste. You have to pony up for emotional damages as well.”

He shakes his head with a smile on his face as he walks toward my car. “Deal. Always such a schemer.”

When it comes to Nirchi’s pizza, I’ll do just about anything for a slice . . . or three.