Yeah, that’s not what I’m gonna do.
I balance four boxes in my hands and take off in the direction of the house. I’m just a few steps away from the porch steps when a pair of sandaled feet enters my field of vision and block my way. Pink glitter toenail polish shimmers back at me.
Jesus, even her toes sparkle?
“What are you doing, Cain? I can take care of this by myself,” she says.
Do I sense a hint of irritation in her voice?
“Oh, I know you can do it on your own, Tink. There’s not a doubt in my mind. I’m just figuring the rental company needs their moving van back within the year.”
I try to move around her, but she blocks me again. I hear her huff, and the only thing I’m sorry about is that I can’t see all of her.
“I can do just fine on my own, thank you very much. And why are you calling me Tink?”
Seeing now that I’m gonna have to face her head-on, I place the boxes on the ground beside me. She’s going for the pissed off vibe, but her jutted-out chin, crossed arms, and cocked hip are too adorable to command me. I reach out and tip her chin. As soon as my fingers hit skin, her arms unlock, falling to her side and her mouth opens slightly in what I hope is awe.
I’ve awed many women in my day, but something tells me this girl won’t be affected so easily. I have a feeling she’d make me work for it.
“I want to help you, for no other reason than I’m a good guy and you look like you could use a hand. Don’t we all need help from time to time?” I ask, hoping to soothe her ego.
She smiles at my question and gives me a small nod as she looks at the ground.
“Good, I’m glad that’s settled,” I say as I lean down and pick up the boxes again. As I walk away, I call out to her over my shoulder. “And I called you Tink because I don’t care what you say, you’ve got to be a fairy. There’s no other explanation.”
I hear her faint giggle as I walk through the front door, and it travels through my ears, down into my gut, right before it takes up permanent residence in my heart. I close my eyes and savor the sound, knowing I’ve never heard anything more beautiful in my life.
“Half Moon” by Blind Pilot
Present Day
“THAT LOOKS TO be the last of it,” I say as I lean against the doorjamb and survey the towers of boxes littering Celia’s new digs. As I look around the room, the linoleum flooring and formica countertops that are standard issue in my rental houses don’t feel quite good enough.
Celia’s hardly noticeable, crouched in the corner of several ripped open boxes, digging out the contents. Her head pops up, and she greets my words with a smile.
“Thanks so much for all of your help, Cain. I think you’re right. I would have been in a bind if you hadn’t stayed.”
I walk over and meet her in the maze of boxes and stoop down to eye level.
“You can go ahead and say it. I’m your hero,” I joke with a lazy wink.
She throws her head back and laughs—a big, full, belly laugh. I love that I can affect her that way. That’s who I’ve always been—the funny guy. The jokester who keeps everyone smiling. It’s where I feel at home.
“I guess there’s no denying it, is there?” she says as she bows her head in concession. “If I’m your fairy, you can be my knight in shining armor.”
“I have been known to save the day.”
I tap my chest, and that earns me a snicker and an eye roll.
“Let’s not get carried away. You didn’t exactly slay dragons today.”
“I did, however, beat down a truck full of boxes,” I say as I reach for a picture frame that’s sitting at the top of the nearest box.
The picture is at least a few years old. Celia’s got the same short, wispy blonde hair, but she’s obviously a bit younger. She’s wrapped in the arms of some guy—a total douchebag, if you ask me—and their gazes are locked. No one else in the world exists outside of their little world, that’s clear.
I have no reason to feel this way, but looking at the two of them makes me jealous. It’s not a niggle this time. It’s irrational, wild-eyed, who-the-fuck-is-this-guy kind of jealousy. I don’t like it.
Before I get a chance to ask the question, the frame is ripped from my hands.
“Don’t touch that. Don’t ever touch that.” Her words come out in a hiss, and it seems I’m not the only irrational one in the room.
I hold my hands up and bow my head in apology.
“Hey, I’m sorry. It was just sitting on top of the box and it caught my eye. No big deal, okay?”
She drops her head and shakes it from side to side, as if she’s emptying it of less-than-pleasant thoughts. When she meets my eyes, hers are swimming in unshed tears.
Fuck me.
“It’s okay. Just, please…”
I’m good with light and easy, but weepy women are my kryptonite. I’m not sure of the significance of the photo, but I’d have to be a moron to miss the signs. I need a subject change, and quick.
“So you never said why you’re moving to Providence. New job? School?” My voice sounds unnaturally cheerful, even to my own ears.
“Um, yeah,” she stammers as she gathers herself and places the frame in her lap. She keeps her head down while using her shirt to wipe smudges from the glass. “I’ve lived in Providence for a while now. I just got my master’s degree in counseling from Northern U. They tend to kick you out of the dorm when you’re no longer a student. I planned to share this house with my best friend, Audrey, but she found an apartment close to her office for a song. So, now it’s just me.” Her voice is gradually getting more light-hearted, and my chest loosens at the sound.
No crying on my watch—that should be my motto.
“And you’ve decided to stick around?”
“My mentor through graduate school runs a clinic here in town called New Horizons Outreach Center. Have you heard of it?” I shake my head in the negative, and she shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah, anyway, I’m going to be volunteering over there while I set up my counseling practice. I’m a therapist for the chronically mentally ill.”
“I can guarantee you’ll have a booming business. Providence has more than its share of nutbags, let me tell you,” I say with a chuckle, thinking of my angry, eccentric grandpa.
“Don’t call them nutbags. They’re people just like you,” she hisses, and her delicate fingers whiten as she grips her beloved picture frame.
I wince at the harsh tone of her voice. Damn, I’m batting a thousand with this girl. I should cut my losses and get the hell out of here before I shove my booted foot any further down my throat.
“They’re not just people, Tink; they’re my people. My family. I don’t mean any disrespect, I can promise you that. This is the South. We parade our crazy down the street and prop it up on the porch every Sunday for a weekly viewing. You won’t find any judgment here.”
“Not everyone feels that way…” she whispers as she studies her painted fingernails. She sounds pensive, and way too close to the edge of sad for my liking.
I wait until she meets my eyes before I slap my hands on my knees and stand up. “On that note, since I’m sure I’ve reached my quota of insults for the day, I’m gonna leave you to it. In my defense, I’m usually quite the charmer. I seem to be off my game today. I’ll blame it on the lack of sleep.”
“Cain, wait, I didn’t mean to make you feel—” She starts to stand, and I stop her movement and words with my raised hand.