Dare to Love the Guy Next Door by Ellie Hall
Griffin
My wrist hurts, but Paisley, standing in my deconstructed kitchen in her cutoff jeans and a tank top just barely revealing her midriff, distracts me from the pain.
To say this moment is surreal is an understatement. I’d long ago given up on my silly boyhood fantasy of even being able to talk to her. When we hit our teen years, the girls lounged in the sand. The guys surfed or body boarded and every word spoken between males and females took on a new meaning. Most notably, that I didn’t say many.
Funny, how time can change things.
She rubs her hands together. “So, a stove, oven, or anything resembling an appliance would be a good place to start if I’m preparing dinner.”
“I batch prepared my taco ingredients over the weekend, so mostly everything is ready and needs to be warmed up. The fridge is temporarily in the hall until they deliver the new one. The electrician had to replace the wiring.” I show her the way and we return with a few containers.
“Do I get a chef hat or anything? I’d like to be professional.”
I chuckle. Gosh, laughter in this house feels good. During the demo, I got rid of most of the cobwebs, but some less visible ones remain—the ones that have me thinking of the past and what I want for the future.
I do my best to help Paisley one-handed and am glad she’s here as we bump elbows and dance around each other in the disarray that was once a kitchen. Not only for the company and to thank her for helping me out, but I’d noticed she’d become scarce. At first, I thought she’d left town. Then I considered that the construction noise was bothering her, and she spent the day elsewhere to work. But I’d occasionally see a shadow pass behind the window and realize she’d retreated.
When we’ve both tucked away a taco, I say, “I have a confession.”
She sets her napkin down and straightens. “Sounds serious. Don’t tell me this is some kind of mystery meat.”
“Nope. From the farm inland a ways. Pure, American, grass-fed beef.” I take a long sip of water, trying to buy time to figure out how to approach this conversation. “When I ran into you at the hotel, I’d only recently learned that my girlfriend of two years had run off to Venezuela with some clown photographer.”
“Oof. Do you mean he was a clown and a photographer or that he photographed clowns?”
There’s nothing funny about the situation, but Paisley manages to get me to find a smile without meaning to. “I mean, he was a jerk.”
“Oh, I was going to say that’s an awfully unique profession. But I understand. She cheated.”
“Yep. Not even a sorry...”
She winces. “Ouch. But what I meant was I actually understand. For real. Same song, different lyrics.” She swallows hard, maybe at that particular word choice. Lyric.
“Yeah, I saw online that you were engaged. I didn’t want to intrude, so I didn’t say anything.”
“Thanks. The internet has a very biased opinion on the matter and I’m tired of hearing about it from strangers.” She takes a dainty bite of her taco.
“There is the off button option.”
Leaning back in the chair, she withers. “I can’t look away from the train wreck.”
“I’d deleted all the accounts from my phone. Then the other day, in a moment of weakness, I wanted to see if Brianna and the photographer were miserable yet.”
“You’re a stronger man than me.” Her cheek hitches a smile. “Kidding. I’m not a man.”
“Yes, I’m keenly aware,” I reply, feeling my ears heat.
Paisley blinks a few times. “Jason and Devona are currently gallivanting around Paris. We were supposed to go there for our honeymoon. When your resolve weakened, and you checked online, how were things in paradise? Venezuela, was it?”
“You mean with Brianna and the dude? Don’t know. I’m not sure. They didn’t even get fifteen minutes of fame. More like fifteen seconds. Everyone was obsessed with you and Jerkson.”
Paisley freezes mid-bite.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to say that. It was insensitive. It’s what I’ve called him in my head for doing that to you. You do not want me to tell you the name I have for Brianna.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “No offense taken. Jerkson? That’s epic. I have to tell the girls—my best friends are going to be jealous they didn’t come up with that name.”
“Phew. I don’t want to overstep.”
“You are welcome to take all the steps.” Paisley’s lips twitch.
Something in my chest hiccups at what that could mean.
“Hmm. Let me guess, what you call Brianna in your head also starts with the letter B.”
At that, we both burst into laughter. Good, rolling belly laughter. I have to stop because it makes my wrist smart, but gosh, nothing has felt this good in a long time—not even riding the biggest, heaviest waves, not coming in first in the last three competitions, or crushing the invitational last spring.
When we go quiet, Paisley asks, “I’m sorry. I’m the one being insensitive. Did you love her?”
I sit back, not having expected that question. “I’d like to say I had strong feelings. But love? If there ever was any, it dissolved the moment she broke my trust and lost my respect. How about you?”
“Did I love Jason? I’d never met anyone like him that’s for sure. He sort of swept me off my feet, you know?” She lets out a breath and leans in. “But he’s an actor. There were times when I had this squirmy, liquid feeling in my stomach. My hippy mother would call it the pool of my intuition. Sometimes it seemed like he was acting, playing a role in our relationship if that makes any sense. Looking back, about three months after he proposed, he started to pull away. I’d talk to his assistant more than him...” She lets out a long breath.
“Yeah. Same with Brianna and me. I stopped partying. Started taking life and my career more seriously. I guess I wasn’t fun for her anymore.”
“We’re probably better off without them. There’s a rumor going around that Jason only asked me to marry him because I was the poster child for the good girl next door type and he’d needed to do some image rehabilitation after a string of weekends spent partying in Ibiza.”
I snort. “I’ve seen what goes on in Ibiza.”
Paisley’s shoulders drop.
“Let’s say I won’t be going back.”
She exhales a long breath. “I haven’t even told my best friends this, but even now, Jason keeps pestering me with apologies. Oh, the things I know that he likely doesn’t want to get out. They’d set the gossip sites churning...” She laughs darkly. “But seriously, I don’t kiss and tell. I’d just like him to leave me alone. Forget about me.”
“No one could forget about you, Paisley.” Least of all me. First crush. First kiss...the girl next door type is right—one hundred percent.
Her lips part and then twist away from a smile. “Thanks for listening.”
“You too. It felt really good to laugh.”
Her full lips pillow with a smile. “Yeah. It had been a while.” She gazes over at the cottage and her eyes fill with loneliness.
I inhale as if preparing to duck dive under a wave. “I’ve been under construction for a while now and don’t have a TV. There’s a comedy I’ve been wanting to watch. Care to join me?”
“For a movie?”
“Yeah, and for you to keep an eye on your patient. Wouldn’t want to find myself in need of medical attention in the next few hours.”
She tips her head back with another laugh. “I thought I was your personal chef. Now I’m your nurse too. Sheesh, you’re demanding.”
We clean up and go back to Paisley’s place. I bring an old comedy I dug out of my parents’ collection. The scent of a citrus candle in the cottage overpowers the undercurrent of a seaside space that hasn’t been lived in for many seasons.
“Sorry about the, uh, mess.” She hastily shoves some things in drawers out of sight.
“You just saw my place.”
“You have construction. I have no excuse.”
I weigh my hands and then draw my wrist close, pressing an ice pack I brought over against it. “Seems like a breakup counts.”
Her shoulders lift and lower. “Apart from the barrage of nonsense from strangers on the internet, I’m okay. Feel like I dodged a bullet. Can you imagine if we went through with the wedding and then I found out that he was a cheater? It stinks, but Jason wasn’t the guy for me.”
For some reason, this fills me with relief. If it weren’t for gravity, I’d float away.
Paisley fixes the throw pillows on the couch. “My parents aren’t really tech people so it’s a good thing you have the movie on VHS.”
“My parents never graduated to DVDs so they’re in good company.”
Again, Paisley tinkles a laugh. It feels good to see her smile, but her face falls when she sees the cover of the videotape—an eighties classic.
“Have you seen The Breakfast Club?” I ask.
“It was my brother’s favorite.”
“He was a cool guy...and intimidating.” Lyric was a tall figure, built like a linebacker and always the first one in line to jump off the rope swing at the creek, be the last one at the bonfire, and was the biggest daredevil of the group.
I get the sense Paisley doesn’t want to talk about her bro or watch the movie. Instead, we talk... for what turns into hours. She tells me about life as a lawyer in NYC. I talk about traveling and surfing. We dance around summers when we were kids, but that’s okay with me because I worry I might blurt that she was my first crush. My forever crush because the more time we spend together, I realize those feelings never went away. They didn’t even fade. If anything, by the sparkle in her hazel eyes, the sound of her voice, and the curves she’s grown into, the crush has taken on a life of its own.
But now isn’t the right time. Wasn’t before either.
I’m wedged into the corner of one end of a relatively small and uncomfortable couch with my injured arm across the back for elevation. She sits with her legs crisscrossed on the other end. Apart from the gum and splinter removal, this is the closest we’ve been since playing spin the bottle.
After we both yawn, I get up to leave. “I just realized, I’ve never been inside this house. Not in all the years your family visited. I have to admit, it looks a lot like my cottage before demo.”
“You mean filled with knickknacks.”
I press my lips together and nod. “I saved my mom’s Hummel collection and my dad’s baseball hats, but that’s about it.”
“Was it tough, saying goodbye?”
We walk toward the door and she leans against the frame when I step onto the deck.
“Goodbyes are often difficult, but it was time.” A thought boomerangs in my mind. “Actually, in a way, it’s like the past said bye to me. Speaking of that, I should probably head home so you can get some rest.”
“Early plans?” she asks. “Wait, you said so I can get some rest. Truth is, I’ve been having a tough time sleeping. Not like when I was a kid. The salt air here would knock me out.”
I wag my finger between us. “Yup, I meant you. Breakup club for breakfast, first thing.”
“You mean Breakfast Club, like the movie we were going to watch?”
“Nope. You and me, a couple of breakfast tacos, and the big blue—” I gesture to the water.
“Oh, you really want me to be your cook now?” Laughter plays on her lips as she moves in and out of the shadows cast by her porch light and the moon. “Would you like me to walk you home as well, make sure you get there safely? I can provide turndown service, wake-up calls, and recreational facilities for a fee—I think there’s a badminton set in the garage, a volleyball, and perhaps a boogie board. Those things are made of foam and last forever.” She sweeps her hand toward the garage.
“Doesn’t sound half bad.”
Her brow furrows. “I’m joking.”
“I’m not.”
A quizzical expression ripples across her brow. “But you—I don’t understand.”
“Breakup breakfast club because we both recently went through that miserable experience.”
“Right. Me with Jerkson, and you with—” She bites her lip.
Likely, she’s thinking of the non-friendly name for Brianna.
I squeeze her hand, stoking a flame of jittery excitement in me. “Thanks for helping me out. I owe you. I’ll see you at first light.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll be the one needing the wake-up call,” she says.
“I’ll need your number.”
She pulls my phone out of my shirt pocket, flashes it at me to unlock the Face ID, and then types in her number. “I’ve never given my number to a guy before. Not unless you count my dentist.”
I laugh. “Honored to be your first.” As soon as I say those words, a blush creeps up my neck. She was my first kiss. Was I hers? Doubtful.
Her lips press together like she’s fighting off a smile. “Goodnight, Griffin.”
I wink and step into the moonlit path between our cottages. When I reach the sliding door off my back deck, she waves and then disappears inside.
After a quick shower, some over-the-counter pain meds, and another ice pack, I flop into bed. It looks like I’m grounded, no surfing for a while, but the idea I had when chatting with Paisley, doesn’t mean I have to stay out of the water.
Nope. I’m going to help her learn to ride the waves.
Just as I start to drift to sleep, my phone pings with a text.
Paisley: When you mentioned breakfast, you also said something about the ocean. Did I hear you correctly?
Me: Yup.
Paisley: I’m more of a dry land kind of person.
Me: Funny that you ended up in Seaspray.
Paisley: I needed to get out of the city. Lie low for a while.
Me: You came to the right place.
Paisley: But what exactly do you have in mind? A beach walk is fine, but...
Me: Baby steps. I’m patient. Sweet dreams, surfer girl.
Paisley: You too.
Then she texts again.
Paisley: Wait. What? Surfer girl?
Sweet dreams? After spending the evening with Paisley, I am certain they will be.
