“What are these?” He asks, moving onto the largest bed in the yard.
“Pink Cloud Asters. And they’ll just get taller. I’m going to add some deeper colors in the coming weeks, but those will grow tall pretty quickly and fill in some of the empty spaces.”
Uncle Hudson nods like he knows what I’m talking about, then thrusts a travel mug toward me.
“Here,” he says. “You’ve been out here a while and I thought you might like a cup of coffee. Jules never eats breakfast, but the woman lives for coffee. I hope high test is ok?”
I nod politely and smile, taking a sip and dutifully ignoring the bitter taste. Truthfully, I don’t drink coffee unless it’s drizzled with caramel or covered in whipped cream and chocolate cookie crumbles. But I’m a guest here and my grandmother would probably haunt me for eternity if she ever found out I wasn’t using my best manners, especially around her beloved baby boy.
“It’s good, thanks,” I say, setting the stainless steel tumbler down on a paver.
He gives me a chin tilt in response and wanders around the yard for a few more minutes. It’s not awkward, necessarily, just…odd? It’s not bad, but it’s a far cry from the easy-going banter Viv shares with her aunts and uncles. I know Uncle Hudson is glad I’m here, and the suite Jules made up for me looks like it belongs in a magazine. You don’t do all that for no reason. I know they care about me. I just think they don’t really know what to do with me, either. And that’s fair. I’m not quite sure what to do with them, to be honest. We’re not adversaries, but we’re not a close-knit family. We’re more like polite strangers with an intertwined past. At least that’s how it feels to me.
The back door opens and Jules emerges, lugging two large suitcases behind her. Uncle Hudson springs into action, taking the bags from her and carting them over to her SUV in the driveway.
Jules’s gaze roams over the yard and I brace myself for judgment, though I have to admit my aunt has been nothingbut kind to me. Still, Gam was never Jules’s biggest fan, so I guess it’s just ingrained in my brain that Jules is programmed to find something wrong with me or what I’ve done.
“Oh, I love these,” she says, bending down to get a closer look at the hens and chicks. “My great aunt had pots filled with these when I was a kid. I used to call them her green roses.”
“They’re so easy to grow. They’re really low-maintenance and they thrive in most climates.” I’m rambling about plants and I’m sure I sound like an idiot, so when Uncle Hudson approaches and says they need to hit the road before traffic gets too bad, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Have a good trip,” I say, taking another tiny sip of coffee.
Jules takes a deep breath and smiles. “I’m excited. I was only ever in LA for a few of Hudson’s games. I never got to see much of the city or do any touristy things. I’m not sure what kind of downtime I’ll have, but I’ll take lots of pictures, I promise.”
Uncle Hudson beams next to her. “You’re gonna have a great trip, babe. I wish I could go, but I can’t wait to hear all about it. But don’t go falling in love with the West Coast, ok? I’m telling you, once they see what you can do, they’re not going to want to let you go.”
Jules rolls her eyes as I surreptitiously study the dynamic between them. “Oh, please. It’s just a few spots on some morning talk shows. I’m definitely not running off to Hollywood.”
“You better not be,” he teases, stealing a kiss.
They’re so in love that’s it’s both adorable and sickening all at the same time. They’ve been together for years now, and Jules has always supported my uncle and his passion for hockey. Even Gam couldn’t deny that. But right now, her own career is taking off. She’s a professional organizer. I didn’t even know that was a job, much less a lucrative one, but Jules has a sizable following on social media. She’s so popular thatshe’s making the rounds on talk shows. It sounds like my own personal version of hell—public speaking is not my thing— but it’s clearly in Jules’s wheelhouse.
We wave our goodbyes and I watch my uncle and aunt drive off before I turn my attention back to the bed I was working on.
Time barely registers as I lose myself in the task of making this yard presentable. It’s satisfying work—the kind that makes you forget your worries. Too bad it can’t make me forget Hottie Gym Shorts Guy.
Good. Lord.
It’s been a week, and I can still remember the feel of his thick fingers inside me, the grip of his hand as it braced my waist, and the way his full lips parted when he let go and surrendered to his orgasm.
The way he wrung every drop of pleasure from me, again and again until I was a boneless heap on top of him. The way he cradled my head to his chest. The way he pressed his lips to my forehead as I drifted off to sleep.
Nope, I chastise myself. I will not think about JT or his magic hands. I will not think about the cowardly way I snuck out of there.
And I definitely will not allow myself to think about the way he’s already moved on. Guys like him don’t stay in one place for long. They don’t follow through with the promises they make.
I learned that lesson the hard way and I do not need a refresher.
What I do need is to finish this flower bed, not only because I’m halfway through it, but also because plants make sense in a way that people—especially the ones I gravitate toward—never do. Plants are predictable.
They need what they need and when they don’t get it, or they get too much of it, you can tell by their reaction.
And speaking of needs…what I really need is a little alone time . Just me and my trusty battery-operated boyfriend. I’ve got the house to myself for the next few hours, but, sadly, the self-love sesh will have to wait.
As if my year hasn’t been shitty enough, my vibrator—the one Viv gifted me after The Betrayal— was lost at some point on my cross-country move.
It’s gone. Totally MIA. A whole box of things is missing—tampons, lotion, lube, and my trusty rabbit. It’s either still in the drawer of the nightstand I sold to my neighbor, or it ended up in the lost and found at the airport. It could be worse, I guess— it could be lost somewhere in Uncle Hudson’s house. Yikes.
