“What’s all this?” she asks and sorts through the basket. She pulls out a bar of soap that August helped me pick out from her family’s store, Soap and Hope. Raine brings it to her nose, inhales the scent, humming in approval, and a grin tugs at my lips.
“That’s handmade lavender goat's milk soap from a little shop downtown.” My free hand finds the back of my neck, giving it a quick squeeze to help release some of the tension I feel.
She smiles brightly while she sorts through more of the items in the basket. I know I should give her some space, but I can’t ignore the pull I’m feeling, so I take the seat across from her.
“This basket is from a store called Preloved Finds. It’s a small thrift shop downtown. The jar of honey is from a locally owned apiary. This tea blend is supposed to help support your sleep. And?—”
“All of these things came from small businesses from town?” she questions, something unknown flickering behind her eyes that I really want to ask questions about. Instead, I nod, my smile falling as I see hers do the same.
“Is it too much?” My voice betrays me, giving away my self-consciousness.
“No, it’s not that. I love this so much. It’s just…” She eyes the items again, picking up a handmade mug from Potter’s Art Studio. “How did you know?”
My brow arches in confusion. “Know what?”
She exhales before looking up at me with a skeptical expression, like she doesn’t believe that I didn’t know whatever it is that she is coming to a conclusion about. After examining me for another second, she shakes her thoughts away.
“Back in Rockdale, I recently suggested to my bosses that we should focus on promoting the small businesses that are in the city. It’s a little passion of mine—discovering the family-owned businesses and supporting them when I can. I saw an opportunity to help the community with my work; however, my bosses turned down my idea, wanting to highlight the bigger popular businesses that bring more tourists there instead. It seems like they are more worried about the dollar signs that it would bring to the company.”
I take another sip of my coffee, allowing her words to sink in, and put the pieces together. “So you enjoy supporting small businesses?”
Her expression lights up. “Absolutely! I made it my mission to try to only shop from locally owned businesses in Rockdale. I love being able to know where my money is going and the opportunity to help support a person’s dream instead of a corporate-owned business with hundreds of employees and locations all over the United States.”
I look down at the cup in my hands, reading the logo for The Groovy Bean, understanding where she is coming from. “There are a million Starbucks. However, there is only one The Groovy Bean. I get it. I'd much rather support a friend.”
She looks at me and a bright, dazzling smile crests over her face like a sunrise, and causes my chest to constrict. I never thought I would feel this way again, and yet, somehow, it’s like my heart has been preserved to react this way only for her.
I nudge her cup toward her. “Try it. It beats Starbucks any day. I hope it’s still warm for you.”
The buzz inside my veins grows as her eyes light up after she takes a sip. I feel a satisfied smile take over my face, knowing how amazing Grayson’s coffee is.
“Oh, wow,” she says and looks at the cup in her hands and studies the logo. “Olivia was telling me about this place, and she wasn’t lying about it being the best coffee she’s ever had.”
“It’sgroovy, right?”
She chuckles softly. “If Jesus had turned water into coffee, I think this is what it would’ve tasted like.” I share a laugh. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do any of this, but I appreciate it. It’s exactly what I needed,” she says softly before taking another sip from her cup.
“You’re welcome.” I feel the swell of pride fill my chest.
She tips her cup back for a third time, and my eyes betray me as they study the way her black dress pants hug her hips and long legs, the loose strands of her hair framing her face, the small coffee stain on her white silk blouse. I notice that her neck is bare, the rainbow necklace no longer there.
There’s a pause, a moment where our eyes lock on each other, the gray flecks bright and welcoming, but there’s a speck of something I don’t recognize. Maybe it’s because as familiar as Raine might feel, she’s a stranger now.
“Wait, I don’t know how I didn’t put this together.” She sets her cup down and places a hand onto her forehead. “You’re the boy.” She waves her hands in the air as the realization hits.
I’m confused. I point to my chest. “Boy? I thought twenty-nine meant I was a man?”
She faces me, and her eyes travel down my face, to my chest, up my arms, until they land back on my face again. I can see from her expression that she’s agreeing with me and is quick to turn her attention back to the basket in front of her. She exhales in defeat and starts bouncing her knee in nervousness.
“Papaw didn’t tell me it is you that’s helping him. He would refer to ‘the boy’ whenever we talked about it. I feel silly for not even thinking of you as an option. My head has been so…” She stumbles over her words, running a hand through her hair, messing up her perfectly pinned-back style. “I need to make a phone call.”
She stands up, cell phone in hand, and walks swiftly toward the stairs past me. I can see the city version of Raine written in the way she walks confidently. It makes me wonder if the Raine from my past is still in there somewhere.
I turn, watching her hips sway for a moment before asking, “Is it a problem that I’m here?”
She twists around to face me. “No,” she stutters, pink tinting her cheeks, and she shifts on her heels. “I just can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”
“And is it an issue?”
