Chapter 5

five

River

"Lily?" I whisper-shout blinking repeatedly. Lily is home, walking a dog in the park, after midnight.

Reel it in, dude. I need to contain myself. I am thirty years old. Except I'm acting as giddy as I was at fourteen, when she first began watching me play hockey. Shaking my head it hits me, what Lee said earlier when picking up dinner and there being 70/30 odds.

I practically facepalm myself when I put it all together. Of course. Lily would never miss Lee proposing. Not after Stef took her in right away when she left Grant. Lily lived with Stef the first few months before heading to California. Then she was off the grid, the rumor was she worked on a pot farm as a trimmer. She showed back up online in full force one day, decked out in spandex and teaching yoga and fitness classes on lives. She built a following and started to travel as a fitness influencer—I remember her bringing the dog back from a trip to Japan a few years back. Even so, why is she out after midnight?

"Hi, old friend." I smile down at her. My body is noticing things before my brain catches up. My hands are still on her, and I feel how close my chest is to hers. Her breath is softly skimming my shoulder, the light touch creating far more of a reaction than I could have ever imagined.

At the same time, by sniffing and walking, we get lucky that the dog is freeing us. I'm able to step one foot out, and she does the same. My right hand drops from Lily's body, stepping back I offer my palm to the dog to sniff. The tension that was building over the longest sixty seconds of my life ends when she breaks into a giant smile followed by an exuberant giggle because her dog is now humping my calf. I'm trying to hold back my own laughter.

"River, meet Peter Pan, it looks like you have an admirer." She giggles softly.

"I'm sorry, Lily, did you just say you are on an adventure with Peter Pan?" I choke out a guffaw. "Does that mean he's asking me to be one of his lost boys?"

Shaking my leg away from the dog, I scoop her up into a hug, arching my back and her feet rise from the ground, and for one glorious moment, I think I've saved myself from my semi- becoming a full-on boner. Except I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. When her soft curves press firmly against me, I inhale the scent of chamomile tea and lavender on her skin. She smells heavenly. Fuck, this is too much, so slowly I start to recite the lineup of the 1990 NY Giants roster hoping thoughts of Lawrence Taylor will kill any boners.

It is probably wishful thinking on my part, but I think I see a little bit of pink start to creep over her cheeks. Trying to reclaim the days of comfortable companionship, I extend my hand to her, before offering to give her the updated tour.

"Didn't you hear? In the last few years, Mayor Jim Kelly has me taking the midnight shift to protect our town from former residents." I'm leaning my shoulder into her, shoving like a little kid.

"Mayor Jim Kelly? As in…" Lily stammers.

"Yep. The same Jim Kelly who told your mom about the party planned for when she was out of town."

"That bastard!" Her voice gets a bit louder than she wants and she flushes with embarrassment, slapping a hand over her mouth, the leather leash in her hand never falling from her grasp.

"James Kelly retired and put his son on the ticket. Your former high school nemesis is the town vet and mayor. You may want to play nice for Pete's sake."

She groans, and every one of my senses tingles .

"For Pete's sake! Come on, you have to admit that was funny," I tease.

I guide us towards The Featherweight and stop at the front gate. The original iron fencing and archway greet us. "Welcome, to The Featherweight. Owned and Operated by yours truly for two years now." The pride in my chest swells as I sweep my arm to suggest they follow me. This has been a lifelong dream, to be trusted with my birthright: to be the eldest son, given name George, and to run the family business. I can't mess this up, it's too important. We survived prohibition and over a century of on-site whiskey production. If I play my cards right, I'll be an old man with my spouse and watching my own son or daughter take the keys from me.

"I started to dabble with some small batch beer this summer," I'm rambling to Lily as we take the path to the front porch.

"That's exciting, so what's on tap?" she asks.

Everything feels so simple, and easy. We had been best friends since the fateful day that Miss Sainz paired us together for fourth-grade reading/language arts. From there, Lily became a near permanent fixture in my grade school life: she made me quiet down and listen, cheered me on, laughed at my jokes. Our moms became friends, and that was sort of it. Until Grant. Then since Grant, I've always had a pit in my stomach. The secret that eats at me, that I don't want to tell her and ruin tonight. You knew at the bachelor party he was in love with someone else. You didn't stop the wedding. It's your fault this happened to her. My brain is trying to shout at me, but I'm stuffing it down. Hoping to just enjoy this moment here. Now.

"As you recall, six generations of men named George Hendrix were the proprietor of this fine institution." I smile, pointing towards the enormous Queen Anne Victorian estate. Walking along the gray and white pebbled pathway, I put on my best tour guide voice.

"In typical fashion for the era, there's a series of hedges lining the wrought iron fencing. The archway we just passed through is covered with climbing rose bushes, you see their final blooms of the season in soft peach and white tones." I watch her face as we approach the property, giddy to take in her reaction to the transformations. "Here, in the newly added entryway seating is the perfect spot to host your next garden party, day or night. The past alluded to by Edison bulbs strung between posts." We're reaching the end of the path and about to enter the porch to the biggest renovations.

"The exterior was just updated last summer, as you can see the wrap-around porch has been refurbished to allow the wood grains to show through in a vibrant array of browns. The house itself was repainted a crisp white, with each of the intricately carved details along the trim, latticework, and railings boasting the colors of our town's mascot: the peacock. All things in historic Peacock Springs downtown are of course a mix of white, gold, and emerald green, sapphire blue, and deep amethyst purple." I tip an imaginary cap towards her.

Lily's melodic laughter causes my smile to widen, feeling childish glee that she's let herself be here. Maybe before the weekend is over, I'll be able to fix the distance in our friendship and regain the right to call her out of the blue, to be finally able to tell her about the past. No, that's silly—telling her will only hurt her . Focus here, man, focus.

"But of course! What good would this town be with colors like neon, warm colors, or neutrals," she teases back.

"Neutrals? Psha! Look here: a large white porch swing rocks gently in the breeze, and the espresso colored wooden ceiling fan moves slowly in tandem." I sway as if I'm illustrating the point.

"You're wild, River," she chuckles.

"Hey, I am extremely proud of the ambiance I've created and the ways it has been part of the tourist revival around here." I get serious. Not angry. I don't want to confuse anything: I take this success as top priority.

Pausing on the steps, she turns and stares in awe at the grounds, despite the cloak of darkness hiding the true splendor of the gardens in front and river views out back.

"I love what I've done with the place and it's nice to show it off, that's all." I shrug. No need to make this complicated or uncomfortable. "Come, go in." I open the heavy wood door and invite her inside to see the rest.