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Chapter 3
Lily
“And then I served them that durian fruit tea I got as a prank for my brother.” I’m chatting with my friend Tootsie who works at the library. She called about getting some coffee donated for the library fundraiser—duh, of course—and now I’m giving her the scoop on the new owners. “They left pretty quickly after that.”
“No, you didn’t!” Tootsie exclaims.
I smile wickedly at the memory of Grayson trying the tea. It was a terrible thing to do. Durian fruit has such a bad smell that it’s been banned on public transportation in most Asian countries.
“I did. And I don’t even feel bad about it.” It’s later in the evening. The coffee shop is closed and I’m lounging on my sofa in sweats and a tank top. My phone dings and I look at it. “Hey Toots, my mom is calling. I gotta go.”
“K, see ya.” She hangs up and I switch to the call from my mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, Lily. I just called to check in. How are things with your little shop?” My mom’s in a tough position. When she and my father met, they were both free loving hippies just a couple decades late. But when I was just a few years old my father went full corporate—working eighty hour weeks, supporting us financially but absent physically and emotionally, you know the drill. My parents still love each other, but it definitely puts a strain on our family dynamics.
“It’s great.” I offer my standard, truncated response. It's fair to say that some of that tension is a result of me quitting the corporate world a few years ago. Like so many other young women, I’d been trying to get daddy’s approval by following in his footsteps. It took a while to realize that one, I would never get it, and two, it wouldn’t be worth the misery of living a life that I hated.
My mother tries to balance between the people she loves. She’s still a hippie at heart, but she also appreciates the benefits of being married to a corporate work-a-holic—namely money and plenty of time to shop. I suppose she does the best she can given the situation. But I still get hurt when she says things like, “little shop.”
We chat a little, checking in on everyone in the family, and then she asks, “Did you want to talk to your father?”
“He’s home?” I ask, shocked. When I’m the one who calls, he’s almost never home. My mother knows I try to keep a relationship with him—at least acquaintance level—so when he’s available, she makes sure to let me know.
She tsks. “There’s no need to have an attitude, Lily.”
It wasn’t an attitude. I was legitimately shocked, but whatever. “Actually, yes, I’d like to talk to him.”
A moment later my father gets on the line. “What is it, Lily?” he gruffly asks.
“Remember I told you a few weeks about the Valentine’s Day masquerade here in Fairview? You said you’d be my date, and I just wanted to let you know I got the tickets.”
He sighs into the phone and my body clenches, expecting him to back out. I’m prepared to be disappointed, but instead he confirms he’ll be there.
“Awesome. I can’t wait to see you.” My coffee shop has been open for almost two years, and he still hasn’t been by to see it. I’m pretty sure he thinks of it as a “phase” between corporate jobs. When he comes down for the masquerade, I’ll have a chance to show him my coffee shop since it’s just down the street.
“Here’s your mother.”
He passes the phone back and we quickly finish our call.
I hang up. My head flops back onto the armrest of the sofa, suddenly exhausted. Conversations with my parents, no matter how brief, always call for alcohol. You’d think after a call with family I would feel better, but instead I just feel more lonely. Like I keep trying to make them proud of me. But instead it feels like every step I take toward being happier with myself is actually a step further away from my parents’ approval.
“Ugh,” I groan when I remember I’m out of wine. I debate for a minute—get dressed and get wine, or stay here lounging? This week is already working itself up to be a doozy, with the owner here, my parents coming down next week, and who knows what else will happen.
I’m going to need wine.
Settling on a compromise, I throw on some outdoor slippers and a cardigan over my tank top, crossing my fingers that the double layer will hide the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. I head down the stairs and turn left toward the service station. Box wine works fine for me, and it’s within walking distance. But before I go too far, I notice the lights on in empty space next door. I peek through the window and see a shirtless Grayson.
Uh, yum.
He’s made me speechless in my own damn mind because all I can do is stare, mesmerized at his delectable body. The suit he wore earlier must have hidden the good stuff because the man in front of me is built. He has naturally tan skin with a sprinkling of dark hair on the chiseled muscles of his upper chest. The muscles of his shoulders flex as he does... whatever he’s doing. I literally can’t tear my eyes away from his body to see anything else.
I must make some kind of movement—like wiping the drool from my chin—because I catch his attention through the window. He sees me and waves. It’d be awkward to leave. Straightening, I quickly check to make sure I have full nipple coverage. Damn, I’m not surprised they tightened while I ogled his sexy bod, but a lady’s got to have some secrets. Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait for him to open the door.
“Moon Lily, what are you doing out here?”
“Uh, I was just headed to the corner store to get some wine. I saw the lights and wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Good one. I know how to rationalize in a pinch.
