The woman rolls her eyes. “Bring that attitude here and you’ll be curled up in a sleeping bag on the garage floor,” she threatens.
Snickering, I gesture my chin toward the bathroom door and mouth, “You and Frank?”
My aunt beams bright enough to light up the dark hallway. “He’s the one,” she mouths back. “He’s the one!”
And, oh my gosh, my heart does a somersault at the announcement. Aunt Lucille has been actively searching for love her whole life. She’s kissed a whole lot of frogs. In fact, she’s even married a few of them. So, knowing that she’s finally found the real thing gives me hope for my own situation.
Her eyes water. I pass her a few plies of tissue.
“I’m so happy for you,” I whisper across the distance. “I’m so happy you found your Prince Charming.”
“I know, darling,” she sighs. “He really is great. Now, you just focus on figuring out if Walker is the prince for you.”
The bathroom door opens a crack. Frank sticks his nose out into the hallway. “Um, anybody seen the toilet paper?”
50
Walker
Slouched in the barber’s chair, I flip my phone over in my hand. I slide my thumb across the screen. And I promptly change my mind. Again.
I’ve been going crazy. I need to talk to Penny.
I called and messaged to check in on her when she left the cabin last night. She texted back to assure me that she was safe and sound at her aunt’s house but she asked me for some space to process her feelings. As much as I hate it, I need to respect her request or else I risk having her push me away for good.
Clinton wears an expression of stone as he drapes the styling cape around my shoulders. “Where’s the rest of the gang?” he mumbles in a half-interested tone. Like somebody’s got a gun to his head, forcing him to make conversation.
“I’m solo today.” My dad and brothers will come by some other day this week, I guess.
And that ends the conversation. The barber and I usually don’t exchange words unless we absolutely have to. That’s one of the things I like about him. He’s a kindred fucking spirit.
The truth is, I’m really not in the mood to socialize. Not even with my family. That’s why I didn’t sync up my barbering appointment with theirs this time. All I care about is figuring out what’s happening with me and Penny.
Did I come on too strong last night? Should I have taken a different approach? And more importantly, how the hell am I going to fix it?
I never should have told her I want her. Even if it’s the goddamn truth.
I crossed a line I promised myself I would never cross and I’m terrified of losing her. I’ll take her in my life any way I can get her. Even if it’s just as friends. If I hadn’t opened my mouth, at least she and I could have salvaged our friendship, but now it looks like we may not even have that anymore. The idea of her exiting my life leaves me feeling desperate and hopeless. But I don’t know how we’ll get back to that easy place.
She drew a line in the dirt when she had me sign that document giving up my parental rights. She made it clear that my sperm was all she needed from me. I should have just backed off when she got pregnant. But I kept getting pulled deeper and deeper into her ocean of magic. Now, I’m lost. I’m drowning. And her love is the only thing that can pull me ashore.
I was restless all night. I didn’t get any sleep at all. I spent hours pacing my fancy, redecorated house from wall to wall. And I could feel Penny in every room. In the living room vases. In the bathroom wallpaper. In the plush new teal blue duvet covering my bed. My house is her home. It’s where she belongs. I need her there with me. Fuck—I’m going crazy without her.
Thank god Clinton opens this place up early as hell. Through the storefront windows, I can see the early morning sun climbing the horizon.
I glance at my phone screen again. The temptation to call Penny is so strong. I flip the device over to subdue the desire.
Clinton claps a big hand on my shoulder. He meets me with a furrowed stare in the mirror. “Stop fidgeting, man.”
I mutter an apology and the barber gets back to work. I try to keep my ass from shifting around in my chair, but every few minutes, I swipe through my phone, re-reading her text messages, staring at photos of her baby bump, dialing her number without putting the call through. I’m on edge and even the barber knows it.
The bell chimes when someone opens the barbershop’s front door. I’m so twitchy that I jump in my seat, causing the razor to snip my chin.
“Dude, relax,” the barber chides. “You’re tense as fuck.” He hands me some paper tissues.
“Yeah, sorry,” I grit out, clenching my jaw.
With the napkins pressed to my chin, I glance toward the door where an elegant smiling woman is entering, her happy eyes locked on Clinton. His entire vibe transforms at the sight of her. His shoulders loosen and suddenly, he’s smiling, too.
He forgets all about me and strides off in her direction. “Hey Sunflower.”
“Hey,” she says. She takes a cupcake from the pastry box in her hand and lifts it to his mouth. “French vanilla with whiskey-spiked caramel frosting. What do you think?”
He wraps an arm around her waist and takes a bite. “It’s fucking yummy, baby, just like you.” The couple share a kiss.
Clinton’s wife owns the cupcake
