16. Lemon

sixteen

lemon

The sunlight streaming through my window would normally make me smile. I roll over and face my closet which doesn't do anything to change the mood I woke up in because I can see Wade's hat sitting there on the shelf, mocking me. Reminding me of what an epic failure my life is right now.

Everything in me says I'm supposed to be pissed because I have to walk to work today and figure out how to get my car to Murphy's Garage. I'm going to have to beg Landon to tow it or go out and change the tire. Assuming he has a tire readily available to swap out for me. And this is if I can even remember where my damn car is.

No, that's not why I'm in a shitty mood. It's because of my actions yesterday, and the way I threw myself at Wade. Not only did I initiate everything, but I didn't seem to give a shit about protection and straddled him like it was business.

He felt so good.

I close my eyes and beg my conscious to think about anything but Wade.

It doesn't.

My fingers touch my lips and then trail down my chest, over my breast and then across my nipple. A shudder moves through me and last night's activities flash in my mind. Having his hands on me, his fingers in me—having sex in the cab of his truck was exhilarating. It was hot, sexy, and dangerous. We'd done it countless times when we were younger, but this seemed different. It was unexpected and wanted.

And yet, it shouldn't have happened. Wade Jenkins is my weakness, and I need to go back to ignoring him. Nothing good can come from being with him or allowing myself to feel any type of attraction to him.

It's time for me to look for another job. To move away from Magnolia Grove and start over. Pining for someone like this isn't healthy and seeing him every day—him and his daughter—will never get easier.

I get out of bed and head right to the shower. I didn't bother washing him off me last night because part of me wanted his scent to linger, to fill my sheets with his musky cologne. But no more. All reminders of him need to go.

I scrub every inch of my body, crying while I do. It's not from the pain I'm inflicting upon my body, but from the memories I'm trying to erase. Even my body betrays me when it comes to Wade.

But no more.

After I get out of the shower, I dry off, lotion up which is also a mistake because my skin is sore from my vigorous washing and wrap myself in my bathrobe.

On my way to the kitchen, my phone rings. Right off I want it to be Wade and then chide myself for thinking about him. Relief washes over me when I see Leslie's name on my screen.

"Hey," I say, answering. I put her on speaker, head to my coffee machine, and put a pod in.

"You made it home?"

"Barely. There was a freak storm, and I ended up with a flat."

"Where?"

I sigh heavily and reach for my cup of coffee, adding cream and sugar. "I honestly don't know. Somewhere between here and Mobile. There was a tree down on the interstate and I thought I knew a shortcut. Turns out, I didn't."

"Where's your car now?"

"Still there."

"Which you don't remember where?"

"Nope." Jesus I'm a mess.

"How'd you get home?"

"Funny story," I say after taking a sip of my coffee. Instead of telling her right away I press the video button so she can see my face when I tell her the unbelievable.

"What's so funny?" Leslie asks as soon as she comes on screen.

"Well, I'm sitting there, waiting for the storm to pass so I can change my tire, and a truck pulls up behind me."

Her mouth drops open. "Don't tell me you hooked up with some random roadside hunk?" Leslie fist pumps the air and grins widely. "I'm so proud of you."

I shake my head slowly.

"Ugh, seriously? Was he creepy and you felt the only way to survive was to run through the woods? Wait, was there any woods?"

"Not exactly. I definitely hooked up with a roadside hunk. It actually reminded me of that song by Heart."

"‘All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You'?"

I nod.

"But that's . . ." Leslie trails off. I wait for her to draw her own conclusion, but she just looks confused.

"It was Wade." I let his name sink in. It takes a second and then her mouth drops open.

"You slept with Wade?"

"In his truck. On the side of the road."

"Lemon!"

I hang my head in shame.

"Go girl!"

My head pops up and I know my eyes are bugging out. Surely, I didn't hear her correctly. "What?"

"Oh, you heard me loud and clear. Go you! Get the man."

"No, Leslie, this is bad. He's bad for me."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"Only in your head is that man bad for you, Lemon. I was there when he groveled. When he begged you for another chance. As far as I know, unless you're lying to me, this man has never lied to you. He's never done anything to you. You live by this notion that because of his daughter, you can't be happy with him. Yet, you purposely took a job in your hometown, knowing your parents don't live there anymore to what—put yourself through the agony of seeing him every day?"

I hate Leslie right now because she's right. Everything she says is fact. I'm the problem. Not Wade. He'd been nothing but honest with me after I broke his heart. When I finally came to my senses and called him, he said he wanted me back, but I needed to know the situation.

Still, to this day, those words haunt me.

"Lemon, I love you and I have for most of my life. This breakup has been hard. So fucking hard, and . . . I have something to tell you."

"Are you with someone else?"

"No, not exactly. But . . . I did spend the night with someone and now she's pregnant."

I hung up on him after those words. Yet, he still called, leaving me message after message, telling me his truth, with his voice, and all I could do in response was text him.

TKTEXTPlease stop calling. Please don't text me. I don't want to see or hear from you again.

Wade: Okay, Lemon. Call me when you're ready to talk.

I won't be. Ever.

Wade: I'm so sorry, Lemon. I truly am.

And then I came back to our hometown, where all our memories are. Back to where I knew he'd be.

Why?

Because I'm a glutton for punishment, apparently.

Leslie sighs heavily, bringing me to the here and now. "Have you spoken to him today?"

I shake my head and walk into my bedroom to get dressed. "I'm sure I will today. Something is bound to be wrong with the garden or sprinkler system. Who knows what I'm walking into at school."

"Literally, walking," Leslie says with a snicker.

After rummaging through my closet, I find a flowy skirt to wear. I don't mind walking, but doing so in one of my power suits isn't easy. Although, I could just carry my suit with me and change at work.

"I don't mind walking. It's better for the environment. My health. Gives me more time to not think about the dumpster fire my life is. It's odd, I can easily give advice, but lord knows I'm shitty at taking it."

"Heed this," Leslie says. "Give him a chance. Give love a chance. You might surprise yourself."

I groan. "I don't want to deal with baby mama drama."

"Who says there are any? Maybe they co-parent really well. You're just looking for another excuse because you're running out of them."

She's probably right.

"You're coming with me to work. I don't want to walk alone."

Leslie agrees then switches the subject and tells me about some drama going on at her job between two married people and how she needs a bucket of popcorn while she's listening to them. Leslie is positive they're having an affair, but she can't be sure and doesn't want to come out and ask them.

"Holy shit."

"What?" Leslie asks. "Turn the camera round so I can see what you see."

"It's . . ." I press the button to flip the camera to show her the parking lot. My car is there, without a flat tire.

"Is that a rose on the windshield?"

I press myself against the railing and lean over to get a better look. "Yes."

"Wade fixed your car, brought it to your apartment, and left you a rose on the windshield?"

"Yes," I say quietly.

"Yeah, he loves you and you love him. Just get back with him already."

"Leslie . . ." I drag her name out.

"Gotta go. I don't suggest hooking up with Wade in your office." She hangs up before I can even reply to her comment. There is no way in hell I'd do anything untold in my office. Especially with Wade.

Except, now that the thought is in my head, all these thoughts filter through my mind of me bent over my desk, of me riding him, and him under my desk.

As much as I'd love to drive, I don't have my keys so I start walking. It's a nice morning and everything seems to sparkle with the sun and morning dew. A horn honks and a student yells out a good morning to me. I wave, determined to make this a great day despite my reservations. And then another car drives by and hits the puddle in front of me, barely missing me. As much as I want to chuck them the bird, I can't.

I'm trying not to think that Wade didn't leave my keys on purpose. Like deep down, I know he's a good guy. Probably the best of the best out there.

So, why can't I see him for what he's worth and stop living in the past?

Because of the curly-haired girl walking into school, with her backpack hanging off one shoulder, smiling with her other classmates.

I don't know how long I stand out there, staring at the spot where Marigold Jenkins was. When the bell rings, I finally make my way into school, late. Not only did I take the week off, but now I'm late coming into school.

"Good morning," Jean says when I step into the office.

"Good morning. Glad to see you survived in my absence . . . oh wait, you didn't. What the hell, Jean?"

She laughs and waves her hand in the air. "I tried. A couple board members got their panties in a twist because they didn't know where you were, and let me tell you, one of those members should worry about his own life before he worries about others."

"I don't even want to know."

"Just spend some time at Mimi's."

"I am not going to loiter at the gas station for gossip."

Jean shrugs and hands me a stack of papers. On the inside, I groan. I want to go back to the beach and just stay lost in the waves, sand, and everything else that comes with being there.

Reluctantly, I head into my office and start responding to emails. It's my intent to leave the school board members emails for last. If they want to fire me, so be it. I needed a break.

By the time the lunch bell rings, I'm in desperate need of more coffee and something to eat. Cafeteria food isn't always my favorite except for days like today when we have pizza.

I enter the cafeteria as most of the younger grades do and place my hand over my stomach to hide the growling. I won't be able to eat until everyone has had their lunch, which I'm fine with. Today, I'm not on my game. Tomorrow, I'll have my snacks and whatnot.

My eyes are drawn to Marigold. After a few weeks here, she's finding her stride. She's sitting with Rosie Davidson, another student who moved here last year. I watch them for a minute, mostly focusing on Marigold. She's a pretty little girl, with a bright smile. She seems happy and while I don't know what brought her to town, she seems well adjusted. It makes me wonder how often Wade saw her outside of the summers because I know she wasn't here on the weekends.

Was that because of me?

Surely, Wade wouldn't care. His daughter is his priority. As she should be.

Across the table from Rosie and Marigold, two boys pick on each other. They're laughing so I let it go, as do my staff. One of us will intervene when necessary. Each time I do a pass over of the area, my eyes land back on Marigold. I can't take my eyes off her, which probably explains how I miss the beginning of a fight.

We rush over as fast as we can to stop the melee between the two boys who had been picking on each other. Before anyone can get there, a fist flies, hitting Marigold in the side of her head. She cries out and to comfort her, I pick her up and hold her like she's my child.

With my hand cradling her head, I tell the other staff to send the boys to my office, and that I'll be there shortly because I have to take Marigold to the nurse's office. She's crying and clinging to me as I rush toward the door.

When I get inside, our school nurse, Ms. Cade, looks at me with bewilderment.

"What's going on, Ms. Walsh?"

"Marigold Jenkins was hit," I tell her. Instead of setting the child down, I sit in the chair and continue to hold her. "Right here." I point to the spot on the side of her head where her temple is red, and no doubt a bruise is forming.

"Does this hurt?" Ms. Cade asks.

"Uh, huh." Marigold sniffs. "Can you call my Daddy?"

"Yes, we'll call him as soon as Ms. Cade says you're okay." For some odd reason, the thought or task of having to call Wade doesn't bother me.

"I'm going to give her an ice pack. She won't need it for long." Ms. Cade pops one of those ice bags full of gel and hands it to Marigold. She takes it and I expect her to get down and walk, but she clings to me. Not wanting to upset her, I carry her to my office and avoid looking at Jean or the two boys waiting for me. I hear one of them mumble about how much trouble they're in.

"Marigold, can I set you down in my chair?"

She nods. I set her down in my chair and walk around it to use my computer to look her dad's number up. My heart jumps wildly as I dial his number.

"Jenkins Landscaping," he says as he answers.

"Hi, it's Lem—Ms. Walsh." I glance quickly at Marigold, who watches me like a hawk. "This isn't an emergency, but Marigold was accidently hit today in the cafeteria."

"Is she okay?"

I look at her and nod. "Yes, I believe she's fine. She's in my office. Would you like to speak with her?"

"Yes."

Holding the phone out for her, I smile. "Your dad would like to talk to you."

Her tiny hand brushes mine and she smiles. "Hi, Daddy. My head hurts. Will you come get me? Okay." She hands the phone back to me. I take a deep breath.

"Hello."

"You're being too professional," he says. "Ms. Walsh."

"It's part of my job."

"I'm going to head there and see how she's doing."

"She'll be in my office."

"Not the nurse's office?"

"No, mine." I hang up and exhale, as if I had held my breath through the entire conversation. "Your dad is coming to make sure you're okay. Would you like to sit over there on my couch?"

Marigold nods.

She follows me over and sits next to me with her ice pack pressed to the side of her head. I'm certain she's okay and I'm the one overreacting.

Before I know what's happening, she's resting her head on my lap. "Would you like me to read you a story, Marigold?"

"Goldie," she says. "My name is Goldie."

Without effort, my hand runs over her soft curls. "Your name matches your personality. You definitely light up the room."

"Thanks," she says as she makes herself more comfortable on my lap, and I pick up a book from the nearby table and start reading.