If I’ve ever had more fun than I’m having right now, then I don’t want to remember because today has been amazing. After the awkward air cleared in the car, Lacey and I went to town, and I mean that in every sense.
The city hub may be modest in size, but it has everything a budding interior decorator needs. Lacey and I hit every shop in the small district. I’m now a VIP member at the local hardware store because I pretty much bled it dry.
We got one of everything, just in case, and before long, our carts were filled to the brim. Reggie, the store manager, couldn’t believe his luck when Lacey rattled off a list of supplies we needed that weren’t in stock. He said he’d order them in and give us a call as soon as they arrived. Lacey smiled as she placed a big red tick of completion against category number one.
The next stop was the furniture store. First and foremost, I needed a bed. I didn’t care what it looked like. As long as it had a comfy mattress and was big enough for me to spread out and sleep like the dead, then I was happy.
I ended up buying a beautiful oak white French provincial queen-size bed. It was completely lavish and over the top with the silk upholstered headboard, but when I flopped onto the mattress, belly first, I fell in love. Lacey twisted my arm—and I use the term twisted lightly—and coaxed me to buy the matching furniture.
Lacey sure has a way with words and people because she somehow managed to organize the delivery of my entire bedroom suite this weekend. I thought we were done for the day, but when Lacey revealed her list, I knew the day had only just begun.
As we shopped for groceries, Lacey let it slip that she was a chef. She worked as head chef at a notable French-inspired restaurant on the waterfront in Myrtle Beach. I had seen the place, simply called Miam, when I walked along the boardwalk. It was always packed, and one never simply walked in without a reservation.
I had asked Stella if we could reserve a table as the smells permeating the air had me champing at the bit, but of course, she declined. She didn’t dine with the common people.
I couldn’t get over the fact that Lacey had been feet away from me countless times, and not once did we bump into one another. Sometimes, the world really is a small place.
All our shopping worked up an appetite, but we were hardly able to finish the burger we shared because our mouths were busy talking instead of eating. We talked about everything; Lacey asked a million and one questions, which I really didn’t mind. We did normal friend stuff, and for the first time in forever, I felt like I was learning how to live in the now and not worrying about remembering.
“Do you like lasagna?”
Lacey’s random question, considering we’re no longer eating and are in the cookware aisle in some retro homewares store, has me pausing from rearranging the supplies in our overfilled cart. “Yes,” I reply suspiciously.
“Good.” The silver spatula-looking apparatus sinks into the cart with its fellow contraptions when she tosses it in.
“Why do I need a spatula for lasagna?” I ask, so lost in translation it’s not even funny.
She feigns horror. “It’s not a spatula. It’s a lasagna turner.”
I burst into laughter but zip my lips shut when I see she’s serious. “Maybe some things are better off forgetting,” I playfully mumble under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear. She snorts so loudly that the couple next to us swiftly reaches for a can opener and exits the aisle in haste.
“Lacey, I don’t think we can fit any more in this cart. Let’s call it a day.” Looking down at my silver wristwatch, I see that we’ve been out all day.
She taps her chin, peering at our loot and then at her list, which is massacred with red ink. “I suppose you’re right. It should do for now.” Shaking my head, I make my way to the registers with Lacey, and we wait in line.
While we’re waiting, I notice Lacey standing on her tippy-toes to look over the heads of the three people in front of us. I too mimic her actions, wondering what exactly she’s looking at. It’s apparent she’s looking out the window at the construction site down the road. Young workmen take advantage of the Southern sun, flashing their bulging muscles and showing off their strength as they carry pieces of wood over their tanned shoulders and move impossibly large building supplies with ease.
There is no shortage of eye candy, so I don’t blame Lacey as she not so discreetly checks out the view. She is single, gorgeous, and absolutely amazing—quite the catch. She didn’t mention a beau, so the world’s her oyster. The thought has me wondering if maybe one day I’ll find someone.
I don’t even know what kind of a guy I’m attracted to. Sure, I’ve seen plenty of good-looking men, but none have given me butterflies or even remotely stirred a flutter. That is, until yesterday.
Cayden, although infuriating and not exactly a social butterfly, did have me emerging from my cocoon. I remember the way I felt in his arms and how he instantly, without a second thought, came to my rescue. I still don’t know if he really likes me or not, but Cayden is someone you can rely on. Look what he did for Lacey. Not once did he abandon her, and she turned out to be so incredibly remarkable because of him.
On cue, a flutter takes flight, and I realize it seems to be the prerequisite whenever my thoughts wander to him.
Lost in a daze, I don’t realize I’m staring until Lacey elbows me in the ribs. Before I have a chance to ask what’s wrong, she gestures with her chin toward the front door and the man who just waltzed through it.
He is exceptionally handsome in a rugged, dirty kind of way. I say dirty because he’s literally covered in dirt. From the state of his muddy clothes, it’s safe to assume he’s come straight from the construction site.
The way Lacey primps her brown hair and quickly reaches into her back pocket for her balm has me guessing she’s sweet on him. I stand quietly by her side, wondering how this will unfold.
The moment his hazel eyes swing her way, they instantly light up, and he does some grooming of his own as he runs a hand through his snarled golden hair. He attempts to brush the dirt and dust from his work shirt but soon gives up that losing battle.
“Hey, Ace.” The way he playfully addresses her has me thinking they’re longtime friends. “Whatcha doing?”
“Just some shopping,” she replies, her voice spiked with something I can’t quite put my finger on. When she flutters her eyelashes, it dawns on me that I’m witnessing that mysterious concept of flirting.
I wouldn’t even know where to start because I can’t even remember how it’s done. The only reason I know what it is, is because I’ve watched far too many reruns of Gossip Girl. It’s beyond disturbing that the things which are foreign to me are innate to most human beings. But for some things, it’s like learning how to walk once again. At the moment, I’m doing a very slow crawl.
“Some shopping?” he quips, examining our loot. “Looks like you bought half the store.”
Lacey’s lips tip into a slanted smile, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “This isn’t for me. I’m just helping out a friend.” The moment she says the word friend, a small part of me cartwheels in excitement while the other wants to check her forehead to ensure she’s not running a fever.
I haven’t exactly been stellar friend material. I come with baggage, a lot of it, but Lacey doesn’t seem to mind.
On cue, she tips her head my way. “Gunn, meet my friend.”
Gunn peers over at me, nodding politely. “Hello, friend.” He extends his hand, which I shake with a small laugh.
“Hello, my name is Peyton.”
“Nice to meet you, Peyton. I’m Gunn.” I wonder if that’s his real name.
Taking a closer look at him, I can see why Lacey finds him attractive. With blond locks bleached by the searing sun, a muscular body, and expressive hazel eyes one could get lost in if they stared for too long, he oozes trouble, and Lacey looks to be reveling in his wickedness.