309 Wildflower Falls Way Read online

  When we’re done, I draw myself out from beneath the sink and give her an appreciative smile.

  “Thanks for the help. I owe you one.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  I stand up, put the cap back on the caulk, and lean against the kitchen counter. “You said your dad taught you stuff like this?”

  “Yep. It kind of comes with the territory when you grow up off the grid.”

  “That’s cool.”

  She shrugs. “It’s just how I grew up.”

  “Do your parents still live off the grid?”

  “It’s just my dad. My mom passed away a long time ago.”

  “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s fine.” She quickly clears her throat. “Anyway, to answer your question, yes. My dad still lives in the mountains and is still as self-reliant as ever.”

  “He’s the one who homeschooled you, then?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sounds like a man of many talents.”

  That gets a smile out of her. “Yeah. My dad is amazing.” After a pause, she asks, “What about you? I remember you mentioned going to school here. Do you still have family around?”

  “I do. My parents live in the Rosewood Ranch Lands. They have a little hobby farm down there. I always insisted on being the one to name the animals when I was a kid, which led to some unfortunate names, as you can probably imagine. I once named one of our chickens ‘Mr. Meaty.’”

  She laughs. “Poor Mr. Meaty.”

  “I swear the chicken held a grudge against me for it, too. Always gave me a death glare.”

  She laughs again, a sound that warms my chest. I move toward the fridge. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Oh, no thanks. I should get going, actually…”

  Is this all we’re ever going to have? A few minutes here and there, and nothing more? I hate the possibility.

  “Right,” I say. “You’ve got that door to paint.”

  “Among other things. There’s always something to take care of at the cafe.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got someone around to help, though, don’t you?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. I do it all myself.”

  “Really? Damn. That’s a lot of work.”

  “It is. But I enjoy it.”

  “That’s awesome. Not everyone enjoys their job.” And then before I can stop myself, I’m asking her the next question that pops into my head. “Is that why you don’t date? You’re too busy with the cafe?”

  She only looks taken aback by the question for a second. Then, smirking, she says, “You said you didn’t date, either. What’s your reason?”

  “I asked first.”

  “Fair enough.” She shifts from one hip to the other. “You guessed right. My life is the cafe. I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship.”

  Something tells me it’s not that simple. But it feels like we’re making good strides, talking about this at all, so I’m not going to push. I just nod, accepting her answer.

  “Your turn,” she says.

  Right. How much to tell her?

  “I went through a bad breakup a couple years back,” I say. “That’s what initially turned me off from wanting to date anymore. But also, as a bartender, I’ve heard more stories of broken hearts than I can count. It’s pretty much a daily reminder that relationships just lead to heartbreak.”

  “Wow. That’s…uh…”

  “Pessimistic? Yeah. I know.”

  “I get it, though,” she says, her voice softening. “I do.”

  Huh. Maybe she secretly feels the same way? I study her, wishing she would open up to me more. But she doesn’t say anything. When she finally speaks, it’s only to ask if she can use my bathroom.

  I nod and gesture toward the small hallway off the kitchen.

  Chapter Five

  ASPEN

  In the bathroom, I rest my hands on the edge of the sink and let out a deep breath. When Wells said that stuff about relationships leading to heartbreak, I couldn’t help but think about my dad and how much my mom’s death has affected him.

  When I told Wells that my mom passed away years ago, there was one difficult detail I left out: my mom died giving birth to me. My dad blamed himself for her death, and has never forgiven himself for it, even though there wasn’t anything he could have done to prevent it.

  In addition to that, he hasn’t been in a relationship since Mom died. It’s been twenty-five years. If that’s not proof of the power of heartbreak, I don’t know what is.

  I turn on the tap and splash a little cold water on my face. I shouldn’t have offered to help Wells. I shouldn’t have come over here.

  No. It was good that you did. You need more of this.

  Okay. Maybe that second voice in my head is right. It probably is good for me to push myself and do things I’m not comfortable with. The truth is, I’m tired of being alone all the time.

  Still, I’m not yet convinced that Wells is the best person to open up to. I mean, he seems like a good person. I’m not questioning that. But there’s…something…between us, some kind of other magnetism, and that’s the part that makes me nervous.

  I dry my hands off, give myself a quick glance in the mirror, and step out of the bathroom to rejoin Wells in the kitchen. He’s still leaning against the counter, but he’s looking out the nearest window, a serious look on his face.

  If only he wasn’t so good-looking.

  Or tall.

  Or fit.

  “Hey,” he says, his eyes shifting over to me. “Everything okay?”

  I nod, and notice his chest relax a little. It inflates again when he takes a deep breath.

  “So…” he says. “We’ve established that neither of us are interested in dating. But what do you think about hanging out as friends?”

  My heart squeezes. “I’m not opposed to friendship.”

  “Cool.” He smiles. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow?”

  I hesitate. In theory, yes, I’d like to be friends with Wells. But will we actually be able to be friends?

  “Define ‘hang out.’”

  He shrugs. “See a movie. Eat some food.”

  “That sounds suspiciously similar to a date.”

  “Mmm.” He rubs a hand over his chin. “You’re right. It does. What if Carter and Miles were there too? Would that help?”

  “You’re asking if I want to hang out with three guys I barely know?”

  “You know me now. And I can vouch for them.”

  Do I really want to get myself into this? It would be a whole lot easier to just say no. It would be simpler to leave our interactions at this.

  “I’m working tomorrow,” I say.

  “Until when?”

  “Until the cafe closes.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Eight.”

  He grabs his phone from the counter and taps the screen a couple times. “Perfect. There’s a special showing of Back to the Future at eight-thirty. Or would you rather see that documentary about the guy who lived in an ice cave?”

  I always tell myself that I’m fine with the way my life currently is. But the truth is, I really could use a friend. So I’d be stupid to turn Wells down…right? I mean, unless he’s extremely smooth and this whole I-don’t-date thing is just his sneaky way of getting me to spend time with him…

  No. He’s genuine. I trust my instinct. It’s never steered me wrong.

  “All right,” I say.

  “Yeah?” His smile widens. “Awesome. I’ll tell the guys.”

  I glance at the clock on his oven. “All right. I really do have to go.”

  He walks with me out of the kitchen, and when we reach his front door, he holds it open for me. I step over the threshold, but then turn back for a moment.

  “Are you sure the guys won’t mind?” I ask.

  “Trust me,” says Wells. “They won’t mind at all.”

  “WANT SOME?” Well
s says under his breath.

  I feel the heat of his body as he leans over and offers the box of malt balls to me in the dark theater. His shoulder doesn’t actually come into contact with mine, but his closeness still makes my breath hitch.

  “Sure,” I whisper back. I hold out a cupped hand and he shakes some of the chocolate balls into my palm. I pop one into my mouth and bite down, sweetness filling my mouth as I draw my eyes back to the huge movie screen.

  I’m glad I ended up accepting Wells’s invitation to hang out. I’m also glad Carter and Miles are here with us. They’re both goofy but fun to be around, and it definitely helps this not feel like a date.

  What I didn’t expect was to feel a little jealousy over the guys’ friendship. Seeing Wells with his friends makes me long to have those kind of relationships myself.

  Wells hands the box of candy over to Carter, who immediately fumbles it, spilling some of its contents onto the floor.

  “Shit,” hisses Carter as a dozen malt balls roll down the slanted movie theater floor. On the other side of him, Miles is barely able to contain his laughter. Meanwhile, a girl a few rows ahead of us looks over her shoulder and glares at us.

  Wells looks over at me with an expression that says, See what I have to deal with?

  I stifle a laugh and pop another malt ball into my mouth.

  After the movie ends, the four of us walk over to Cherry Pie Pizza. It’s pretty busy, but there’s an open table toward the back, which we grab. Soon we’re in a debate about what kind of pizza to order, eventually agreeing on one that’s half Hawaiian and half meat-and-veggie.

  We’re in the middle of a friendly argument about a so-called plot hole in the movie when the waitress brings our pizza over. It practically takes up our entire table, and damn, does it look delicious. When I sink my teeth into the cheesy tip of my first piece, I can’t help but roll my eyes and moan.

  Wells swallows his own first bite and laughs. “Been a while since you’ve had pizza, Aspen?”

  “Yeah. Too long.”

  I lose track of time after that, and before I know it, there’s just one piece of pizza left. Miles catches me looking at it and grins.

  “Arm wrestle you for it,” he says.

  I scoff. “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  I glance at Wells, but he just holds up his hands, his eyes saying, hey, it’s your life. Right. Never thought I’d be challenged to an arm-wrestling contest over pizza, but what the hell…

  “You’re on, Miles,” I say.

  Looking at me, you’d never describe me as ripped, but I actually do have a decent amount of upper body strength, thanks to lugging around all those big containers of food and other supplies at the cafe.

  Carter makes room on the table and Miles and I lock hands.

  “Ready?” Carter asks, splitting a glance between us.

  We both nod.

  “And…go!”

  Our clasped hands waver one way, then the other. Carter hoots and leans back in his chair, getting a huge kick out of it. Wells, on the other hand, has more of a look of quiet amusement plastered on his face.

  I double down, putting every last bit of my strength into it, and slam Miles’s arm down.

  “Damn it,” Miles groans as we both shake out our arms.

  “Now that was impressive,” says Wells, nudging the pizza pan toward me. “Well earned, Aspen.”

  I laugh, rubbing my arm. “Beginner’s luck.” I slide the last slice off the pan and grab a plastic knife to halve it down the middle. When I drop one of the pieces onto Miles’s plate, he looks at me in surprise.

  “What are you doing? You won.”

  “Consider it a conciliatory prize.”

  “Huh. Cool.” He rips off a bite with his teeth and chews and swallows it before looking over at Wells. “She’s actually pretty cool, dude. Nice work.”

  “Yeah. She’s not bad, is she?” Wells says. He’s looking at me when he says it, warmth in his eyes. It’s a warmth that makes me feel included. That makes me feel a part of something.

  Yeah. This is definitely better than sitting at home by myself.

  Later, as we head back to where we parked near the movie theater, I find myself walking beside Wells while Miles and Carter walk ahead of us. A few blocks in, Carter glances back at us, then nudges Miles and says, “Come on, man. Let’s give ’em some space.”

  “Huh?” Miles looks confused for a second, then his expression changes. He grins over his shoulder at Wells. “Oh. Right. Yeah, see you at the truck, Wells. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “You guys don’t have to—” Wells starts to say, but they’re already bolting away from us.

  As the guys run off, I cast Wells a sidelong glance. “You told them we’re just friends, right?”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  “They seem to think otherwise.”

  “Ignore them. They’re idiots. They’re my best friends, but also idiots.”

  I laugh. “Okay. Will do.”

  We maintain a slow, even pace all the way back to the movie theater. As we near my car, I point it out, and we slow to a stop.

  “Thanks for inviting me to hang out,” I say, fishing my keys out of my bag. “This was fun.”

  “Fun enough to make you want to do it again?”

  I rub my thumb along my key fob, considering his question. “Do you mean with Carter and Miles again?”

  “With or without. Whatever you feel comfortable with. I’m cool either way.”

  “Is it okay if I think about it and get back to you?”

  I brace myself for a look of disappointment or annoyance. But Wells just nods with kindness in his eyes. Somehow, even though I haven’t opened up to him much, he understands that this is a big deal for me.

  “Of course, Aspen,” he says, and lightly claps the roof of my car with his palm. “Have a safe drive home.”

  Chapter Six

  WELLS

  It feels like I’m holding my breath the entire time I’m waiting for Aspen to get back to me. When she finally texts me and says she’d like to hang out again, I’m so damn happy that I can’t wipe the grin off my face the rest of the day.

  This time, I invite Aspen over to the arcade. I know, I know. I said before that it’s the perfect place for a date. But it’s also the perfect place to just hang out. Aspen doesn’t specify whether or not she wants Carter and Miles there, but I figure I’ll err on the side of caution and invite them along.

  But Carter texts back saying he can’t make it, and a couple minutes later, a text from Miles comes through:

  bummer, I can’t either. got a bunch of stuff to do. have fun dude.

  Miles has “a bunch of stuff to do”? Yeah, right. I’d bet anything that the two of them had a conversation on the side and decided to both make up excuses, just like they left me to walk alone with Aspen the other night.

  ASPEN LOOKS a little uncomfortable when she first walks into the arcade. This isn’t her comfort zone, I realize that. But I also know she’ll have fun once she gives it a chance.

  “Hey, you,” I say, walking up to meet her.

  “Hey,” she says, smiling but holding onto some of the discomfort in her face.

  “I invited Carter and Miles to hang out, too, but they’re both busy.”

  “Oh. No problem.” She takes in our surroundings, her eyes taking a while to come back to me. “So. What should we play?”

  “You a fan of Pac-Man?” I ask, leading her over to the machine.

  “I’ve never played.”

  “You know what it is, though?”

  She gives me an unamused look. “Yes, Wells. Just because I grew up off the grid, that doesn’t mean I grew up under a rock.”

  I hold up my hands in defense. “Just checking. Hey, fun fact: Pac-Man was originally called Puck Man. But they changed ‘Puck’ because, well…”

  “Immature boys would deface it and change the P to an F?”

  “Exactly.”


  “You’d never do something like that, though, would you?” she asks with a smirk.

  “Never,” I say.

  She laughs, looking more relaxed now. I insert a few tokens into the machine and we take our positions.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “Yep,” she says. “You are so going down.”

  The game begins. We steer our Pac-Men around the maze. We gobble up the dots. We avoid the ghosts. Or, to be more accurate, I avoid the ghosts. Aspen, despite all her effort, keeps losing lives until she’s out of the game.

  “This really isn’t fair, you know,” she says. “You’re here all the time. You probably play these games on every one of your breaks.”

  “Close. It’s more like every other break,” I say, grinning at her. “Okay. Tell you what. There’s one I always do terribly on. But maybe it’ll be your thing?”

  She looks back at the screen, blows air out between her lips, and shrugs. “It’s worth a shot.”

  I lead her across the arcade to the game I suck at. It doesn’t look like it should be that difficult—it’s a typical side-scroller, where the objective is to defeat zombies and other monsters in order to rescue the princess. I know from experience that the first couple of levels are, in fact, pretty easy.

  But after that it becomes nearly impossible to make progress.

  I insert some tokens and we take our places, standing side by side as we set our hands on the controls. Ten minutes later, we’re both cursing at the difficulty of the game, both exasperated at the impossible-to-kill baddies and the infuriating pace of the levels.

  “I don’t see how anyone can beat this stupid level!” she says, jamming the button over and over again.

  “I know,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at the screen in concentration. A second later, a zombie overtakes my player. “Shit.”

  GAME OVER flashes on the screen and we both sigh in defeat. Then, looking over at each other, we have the same realization at the same time—that it’s actually pretty damn funny, getting worked up this much over a stupid arcade game—and we both start laughing. Really laughing. We’re laughing so hard that we get some looks from other people nearby.

  Aspen wipes her eyes and shakes her head. “Okay. I’m never playing that game again…and I suggest that you never set foot over here either, Wells.”