Nancy had given us directions to the train. Said it would likely be packed with sugar-hyped kids and baskets galore.
She wasn’t exaggerating, I think. Except in my head, exaggerating sounded like eggsaggerating, and now I hate myself because she’s rubbed off on me.
We were lucky enough to get two of the last four open-air car tickets. It’s fairly warm out, but still chilly enough that I hug myself. Little girls in dresses, and boys in Polo shirts bounce, fidget, whine, and generally make it look like the Easter Bunny binged on Skittles and shit out 1,000 pastel pellets.
I’m nervous as the train begins moving. Anxiety over this being my first train ride takes over. I imagine it derailing, all the cars sliding off the hills, bloody bodies scattered about.
“You cold?” Brooks asks.
“A little,” I answer honestly.
Magically, oh so magically, his arm is on me, pulling me closer, caressing my forearm, however briefly. My nipples weren’t hard from the breeze, but they harden with his touch, and suddenly I feel wet.
“Good save back there, by the way,” he says.
“What?”
“Lindsey.”
“Oh. Yeah, I figured it would be good to play the part, since I’m a secret.” Unintentionally, I spit the last word out like a rusty nail.
“I know the closet situation was weird at best, but Deacon can’t know we have had any kind of contact with each other.”
Trees sway in a gust of wind as a fisherman waves at children on the train. The gentle tug back and forth along the rails is calming. Comforting, even, if it weren’t for the little girl next to me stomping her white Mary Janes on the train-car floor.
A heaviness fills my throat, but I breathe. Soften my tone. “Of course. It would be a disaster.”
The little girl’s stomping grows faster, louder, the heavy clang of her heels against the metal making me want to leap from the train, leap from this love. Her little face looks at me, milk-white teeth bared in a rose-cheeked smile. She thinks what she’s doing is special—that I’m enjoying the show. Her mother notices me staring, notices the connection between her daughter and me, and she smiles, as if I’m enjoying getting a headache. I glare at her, and she pulls her little angel closer, keeping her safe from the devil she thinks I am.
“Hey, how are y’all doin’ today?” a frizzy redhead asks. She’s holding a camera, invading our personal space. “If I could get you both to stand up right there, I’m going to take your photo.”
Brooks holds his hand up in a halt gesture. “Oh, we don’t need—”
But I stand up before he can finish his sentence, so he stands, too.
She steadies the camera. “Okay, now get a liiiiittle closer together.”
Great. I would be wearing no makeup for this.
Brooks pulls me in close. An unfortunate side hug, but still special. Our first photo together as an adult couple! Melt.
“Smile!” Picture Girl says, then checks the back of the camera. “Fabulous! You’ll get your picture on your return trip.” She moves along to the next passenger group.
“Well, that was awkward,” he says as we sit.
We don’t talk the rest of the way. His hands stay in his lap, and we both stare at our phones. When we unload from the train, he buys a shot glass from a bare-bones gift shop and asks the elderly man behind the counter if Copper Grill is any good.
The old man bags the glass. “Oh, we aren’t supposed to recommend restaurants. Everywhere is good here.”
“Oh … okay,” Brooks says, taking his bag and receipt. “Thanks.”
Outside, a policeman is directing tourist traffic, but what these people are touring, I have no clue. As we cross, Brooks stops short and makes eye contact with the officer.
“Hey, is Copper Grill the best restaurant around here?”
The officer shrugs, his mustache contorting. “They’re all good.”
So odd. What is there, a law in this town that you can’t review a restaurant?
I struggle to keep up with him in my heels, his legs longer, and his shoes flatter. But he’s a gentleman and slows his pace.
The restaurant is very unassuming. From the outside, it appears it may be more upscale for a town like this, with its decorative railing and iron patio tables. But on the inside, it looks like any other random place.
We take a booth in the back corner. I order the only thing that interests me, which is their grilled chicken with cheese and peppers. Brooks orders a Philly.
As we wait for our food, I feel increasingly dismal. I want this to be a date, but I know it isn’t … not for him, anyway … not yet. But I wonder if we’re both thinking the same thing, both pining for each other, him unwilling to do anything about it because of loyalty.
“You look bothered,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
My eyes squint at him. I want to be impulsive. Want to scream at him that I love him, that I know he loves me back if he’d just pull it from his heart and dust it off. But I remember the book. I remember how my plans weren’t working, and how after using it, I’ve ended up here, so I give him a little dose of bitchiness. “I told you I’m fine. What do you want me to say?”
The plates are brought. His lip pulls under his teeth. “Nothing. Never mind.”
His sandwich is gone in less than five minutes, but I savor my food. No wonder Nancy recommended it. It’s unexpectedly exceptional.
“How is it?” he asks.
“Perfect. Juicy.”
I feel like I see a grin hiding behind his eyes—men and their dirty minds.
After chewing the last bite, I push my plate to the side. “So, what do you think of the house? Think you’ll buy it?”
He shrugs. “I loved it, but of course Deacon will need to see it first.”
“You should have dropped me off at home and made him to go with you.”
His head shakes. “I’m glad I brought you.”
A flutter of my heart. “You are?”
“Yeah. Deacon is indecisive with these things.” Heart. Sink. “What did you think?”
I lift a shoulder. “I thought it was really nice. The view is beautiful. It would be a great place to take your kids one day, but then again, the river would make me nervous.”
His head juts back. “Well, I’m not worried about kids. That’s far in the future.”
Far in the future? The man was almost just married a few months ago. “What do you mean? Eliza said before she thought you’d have kids within two years of getting married.” Lie, but whatevs.
“Well, yeah, had we gotten married, that would have been accurate. But we didn’t, and I’m not getting married.”
What. The. Fuck. “Never?”
His head tilts as his eyes drop to the table. “I can’t say never, but at this point in time, I don’t see myself proposing to anyone again.”
It’s in this moment that I’m fully presented with what I’m up against. A man severely damaged, glued to the wrongdoing of his ex. I wish I’d punished Eliza to the extent she deserves, but I’m glad I didn’t. Brooks would have only seen me as vindictive and evil.
“I’m sure you’ll get over that. It was only a few months ago, after all.”
“Unlikely.”
The waitress puts the check on the table without asking us if we’d like dessert, which I’d really like because I want to eat my disappointment until it turns to hope, and smear it all over Brooks until he changes his damn mind.
Oh, yeah. And lick it off.
“Only about a half hour left now,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Stand right there. I’ll get a pic.”
I look to where his hand points—a blue line extending from the corner of a building, the sign above stamped with, “GA/TN Line.”
I oblige, my feet planted on either side while he composes his shot. A couple stroll by, the woman offering to take our picture together. Brooks lingers on hesitation, but then steps behind me. Gosh, two people in one day taking our picture as a couple. It must be fucking with the brain between his ears so good, just like I will fuck with the one between his legs.
The woman laughs. “For goodness sake, put your arms around her or something—look in love!”
My cheeks flush as his arms connect across my chest, the stubble of his jaw resting against my cheek as she snaps several photos. She hands his phone back to him, and he immediately pulls from me as he thanks her.
He leads us around a corner away from the square and toward a bridge. “Saw a sign for coffee on the river.”
“I could use some.”
We enter the indoor strip mall and step into the small coffee shop with an outdoor deck overlooking the water. It’s very tiny, and—like the gift shop—appears to be run by an older couple. They are friendly and cheerful as they help a customer in front of me. Brooks gets a phone call, tells me to order for him, and stands off to the side while I decide what I’d like. Or … try. My eyes dance over the menu, but I’m too focused on trying to figure out what’s on Brooks’s mind that I draw a blank. I tell the woman behind the counter to surprise me, and shift nervously as I wait for Brooks to get off the phone. When our coffee is ready, I step up to get it as an attractive man appears next to me.
“You with her?” the older man behind the counter asks, his hand motioning to me.
Attractive Man gives me a once-over. “Oh … no, we’re separate.”
“Well, she’s very nice,” the older man says, a smile on his face—his words an advertisement tempting the man to buy.
Attractive Man laughs. I laugh, too. “Well, I am single,” he says.
“You never know where you’ll meet The One,” the older man says, handing Attractive Man his change.
Taking full advantage of the situation, I say, “That’s true. You never know,” and smile at Attractive Man.
Brooks is suddenly beside me, closing the space between our bodies. “She’s with me.”