Aubrey
It’s amazing how getting a brick thrown through your window is the only way to get people in this town to actually know you exist. Even with the one window still boarded up, I show up to work Wednesday morning, fifteen minutes late, to see a line of people waiting outside for me to open. It’s by far the busiest day I’ve ever had, and by lunchtime, I’ve sold more product than I normally do in two weeks.
After yesterday at the Preston house, I wasn’t sure if Mr. Preston would still let Lachlan come around. I spend most of the afternoon watching the door, excitement then disappointment filling me every time the person entering isn’t him.
Two hours after school lets out, Lachlan arrives, his eyes wide in surprise that people are actually in the store. “So, the rumors are true, huh?”
“What rumors?” I ask, clearing his desk for him.
“That some fudge nugget threw something through your window and Logan beat his face in? I heard my family whispering something, and I know Logan’s on lockdown, but I didn’t know why. Dad told me he did something stupid. When I got to school, everyone was talking about it.”
I cringe. “I’m sorry you had to hear about it. People shouldn’t gossip, though. It’s not right, especially when they know who you are and—”
His shrug cuts me off. “Gossip is the only way this town runs. You’ll figure it out soon, Miss Red,” he says, removing his backpack and hanging it off the back of the chair. He unzips the top, reaches in, and pulls out a scrunched-up piece of paper. With a grin that splits his face in two, he hands it to me, says, “Logan paid me a hundred dollars to give this to you.”
“A hundred dollars!” I gasp.
Lachlan giggles. “He must really want you to read it.”
I narrow my eyes at him, playfully, and wonder what he could possibly have to say that’s worth a Benjamin. “Wait,” I say, eyeing the paper and then him. “You didn’t read this, did you?”
Lachlan smirks. “Why? You think it’s a dirty letter? I’ve read some of the stuff in Lucy’s books. Trust me. I’ve seen dirty.”
Pocketing the letter, I leave him with his sketches and attend to the customers in the store, my mind racing, dazed, all thoughts focused on Logan’s letter. As soon as Cameron comes to collect Lachlan, I close up the store, sit in the office with the words that set my pulse, my heart, my world ablaze:
Sigh. My Pillows smell like you.
I can’t ask you to stay, Red. Because asking you to stay would mean asking you to stay for me, and I can’t do that. I won’t. What if I fail you?
* * *
The next day, I plead with Cameron to pass on my reply to Logan. When he refuses, not wanting to go against his father-in-law, I turn to Lucy. “Please, Lucy. You're a sucker for romance, right?”
She sighs.
I beg some more.
Nodding, she silently takes the letter from me with the only four words I could think to write in response:
What if we try?
* * *
The following day, the twins come to my shop. They've never been here before, so I'm already smiling by the time Liam pulls the same letter from his back pocket. “How much did he pay you?” I joke.
They laugh. “One fifty each.”
That makes a total of $450 Logan’s spent just to communicate with me.
The boy’s an idiot.
My idiot.
I don't wait for them to leave before reading it.
What if that was all I could promise you?
* * *
At home, I pace the living room, holding the letter to my heart. Hopefulness tears at my insides, and I try to push it away. To ignore it. But it’s there. Every breath, every pulse is dedicated to that one feeling. I sit down at my coffee table and imagine him doing the same at his desk in his room. I wonder if he struggles to come up with words as badly as I do.
This time, I write down one extra word than the time before.
* * *
By Saturday, I’ve folded and unfolded and reread the letter more times than I want to admit. By lunchtime, I start to lose patience. Then Leo Preston appears. “Home for the weekend?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, as if seeing him doesn’t fill the hope bubble building in my heart.
Leo chuckles, just like the twins did. “For three hundred dollars, wouldn’t you?”
“Jesus,” I murmur.
Leo clucks his tongue. “Damn, girl. I don’t think Logan’s ever spent a cent on anyone before. He’s fallen for ya, Aubrey. And he’s fallen hard. Tomorrow, hell might freeze over.”
I offer him the letter, and he takes it. “Have you spoken to him? Is he… is he okay?”
Leo smiles. “He’s…” He breaks off on another chuckle. “Dad says he’s been a pain in the ass. I’m just glad I’m not home to have to deal with him.”
He leaves the store with my words of hope shoved deep in his pocket:
What if that was enough?
* * *
The rest of the afternoon is crazy busy. It seems like everyone and their dog come through those doors. Literally, their dogs.
At 4:55, just as who I assume is the last customer for the day leaves the store, Mr. Preston walks in, fisting the letter Logan and I have been passing back and forth. “I think this belongs to you, young lady.”
Blood drains from my face, my entire body. “I’m sorry, Mr. Preston,” I plead. “I just couldn’t… couldn’t…” I trail off. I couldn’t keep away from your son.
He sighs. “I think you can start calling me Tom, Miss Red.”
“Okay…. Tom?”
“Besides, it’s better than Silver Fox.”
My body flames with embarrassment, and he chuckles, hands me the letter.
I hold it to my chest.
He asks, “Well, are you going to read it?”
“Have—have you read it?”
“Should I?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow.
I don’t respond, simply unfold the paper:
I can’t ask you to stay, Red… but please don’t leave.
- Logan.