A Chance for Sunny Skies (29 page)

I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the wind-painted sky, which held clouds that looked more like whipped cream swiped at by god-like fingers than masses of condensation. The salty air stung in my nose, but I breathed in deep and fierce anyway.

There wasn't any assignment from my newly-started meteorology classes which required me to stand so close to the sea that the ever-driving waves lapped at my sandaled feet. No, we did a whole lot more looking at screens and pressure systems and readings than the actual sky, ironically. Even though I was enjoying the crap out of my schooling so far, I didn't ever want to miss the rawness of looking up and knowing what I was seeing. Or (even better, in my mind) not having a clue what I was seeing, and being in awe. I'd spent the better part of my life (the part when I ran away from weather) not looking up, not noticing the whole-new amazing world that the cosmos held. So even though I could tell a lot more now from the tools I used in school, I swore to never stop tipping my head back and smiling at the bigness above me, closing my eyes in awe of the celestial, and sitting deep in each season as it came and went.

Speaking of seasons, summer was definitely losing its grip on September and the crisp fall air rode fast on the gray-blue waves, boarding the shore and moving inward slowly but most surely. I pulled my sweater tighter around my neck and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. My red hair whipped in front, behind, across, and all over my face, but I didn't care. It felt like I was a part of the weather, a part of something so ancient and always.

I walked all the way to the end of the jetty, something I hadn't done since that stormy day so many months earlier. The big rocks stirred slightly, jolting me forward, sideways, and back as I picked my way out. Just as my mind had been busy, focused on so much else that day I had tripped and almost drowned, my thoughts were not of safety today either (as, let's be honest, they should've been).

Coming to this place without thinking of those seven images would have been like going to Rainy's without drinking a cup of Sunny tea, like Brian suppressing the urge to vacuum a dust bunny, like Burt shaving his half-face-lip-covering facial hair. In other words, wrong, impossible.

I stood at the end, the very end of that jetty, on the last rock I could and pressed my lips together as the wind and memories and gratitude slipped around me.

The fence, Rainy's fence, came first. As always. I couldn't think of my friend without the most intense, warm, love spreading from my chest and out into even the tiniest, frizzed out ends of my hair. She had saved me. I would spend the rest of my days showing her that I was worth it.

Next was the yoga bag that Lizzy had been carrying that first time I met her. I laughed to myself as I realized I was already standing in a perfect mountain pose, with both my inner and outer spirals engaged. Yoga had changed my body, but more importantly my mind.

The green shoe made my laughter stop and my face grow hot even in the biting ocean wind. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back again, but this time, not to appreciate the sky, but to completely lose myself in the yes-the-movies-and-books-all-of-them-are-true feelings of first love.

My eyes remained closed as I thought about the next image, the old woman, Braidy Bags. I hadn't seen her for so long and our encounter had been so quick that it was hard to remember. I hoped beyond anything that she found peace at some point. Heck, maybe she already felt it. I had been so blissfully ignorant in my seclusion and maybe she was, too. Or maybe someday, something or someone would push her (hard, because I knew it took a shove) and she would experience life for once or twice in hers.

The fifth sign, the lightning picture reminded me of oh-how-wrong I had been. I opened my eyes and shook my head. First thinking Spencer was supposed to be my boyfriend, then thinking an on-air weather girl was the same thing as being a meteorologist. Sometimes I thought about what it would have been like if I'd gotten it right that first time. If I had tipped my head after Spencer left and said, "Hmmm, I think I should go research meteorology and the types of jobs available in that field." Of course, I would’ve needed to be thinking clearly (which I definitely wasn't). You know, maybe things would have been easier had I gone a different way, but I wouldn't change a bit of it.

Speaking of not-easier, I shook my head and sighed thinking about that damn dog collar, but (seriously) there weren't any feelings of resentment or letting-down anymore when I thought of my mother. She had chosen her family and now I had mine. End of (that) story.

The pond didn't hold as much symbolic value as I thought it might after that day. The most important thing remained that
I
had been the last image and I made sure to take that girl everywhere I went from that day on instead of hiding her away like I used to, like what got me into the whole mess in the first place. Trusting myself, knowing I was worth it, understanding that nothing would ever be perfect (but that, in a way, that's what made it perfect) were all lessons I would always try to hold tight tight with sure fingers and clench them hard to my chest.

No longer did thoughts of that Most likely to die alone yearbook page make me shrink in on myself with sadness because I knew how false it was now. And I knew for-completely-sure that next time I had anything near-death there would be a whole lot flashing before my eyes.

Because my life was now full of friends. Friends who will run after me when I cry and hold me close with a smile when I need it. It was full of love. Hot, steamy, make-me-feel-like-the-most-beautiful-girl-ever, lip-biting, love. But also curl on the couch love, that wraps its arms around me and smells of cinnamon and forever. Life was full of archery and nerdy boys in black-rimmed glasses bending bows with their strong arms, then pulling me into a long kiss when they hit a bull's eye. It was still full of talking in British accents and watching all of my favorite shows, just not alone anymore (at least, not all the time). It was full of girls who were starting to talk and change thanks to my help, which felt up-in-the-sky wonderful. And it was full of sexy bras, high-pressure systems, and cat sweaters.

I kicked at a small rock and it plopped into the water.

Life was all I had wanted and it was all I got. I exhaled through my nose in a incredulous laugh. I couldn't believe how careless I had been with it before. I couldn't believe I had almost died without experiencing it. Slipping on rocks and falling in? Come on. How lame was I? I shook my head and turned to leave.

That's when my foot slipped on the wet rock I'd been standing on. The sky whirled around me as my eyes opened wide, my body fell back, and my feet kicked up. Not aga --

A hand grabbed my elbow and steadied me. My heart pounded in my ears as my vision focused and my eyes found Brian, holding onto me. His glasses had fallen off in his I'll-save-you dive toward me and his eyes looked wild, like they were desperately trying to hold onto me, too.

Weeks earlier, when I had told him about my visions, I could tell that it had been hard for him to believe, but he did and he'd stood by me ever since. He moved back in and helped me figure this whole school thing out. I put things in more organized places and he only vacuumed every other day. Oh, and he'd said he loved me. I'd said it, too, and meant the crap out of it. I wasn't sure if it was the only love I would experience in my life, but for now, it was amazing and more than I ever thought I could ask for.

"Whoa, you," he said, pulling me toward him. He didn't stop by simply righting me, he tucked me tight to his chest and enclosed me into an archery-armed hug. "Be more careful, Sun. You need to be in one piece for your internship interview."

I closed my eyes and smiled, breathing him in, his arms blocking the wind and smoothing out the goose bumps that had started on my own.

"Sorry. It's slippery out here," I said. Then I (oh-so-reluctantly) peeled myself out of his warmth and bent over to get his glasses from the rocks. I polished off the water and sea-stuff that had scuffed the lenses and placed them back on his face. I leaned back into him, tipping my chin up, and kissing him deep and wild, like the ocean surrounding us.

His eyes blinked lightly as I pulled away and watched him. I loved the every-molecule happiness that softened his face when he looked at me. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pointed us toward the car. Then he squished me closer to him, holding me tight tight tight as we negotiated the uneven rocks back to shore.

⌘

Don’t miss Eryn Scott’s next women’s fiction novel:

In Her Way

Julep Maddox wants one thing: to launch her dental practice.

In her way: a hot-mess of a secretary, a delicious distraction named Andrew, oh, and also… the mob.

Now instead of focusing on her business, she’s doing j-turns in the middle of the night, using dental floss as a weapon, and hiding in a strange bathroom to solve a kidnapping.

What else could possibly go wrong?

1

Minty Blues

I roll the lovely sapphire paint over the last bit of puke yellow and step back. Emma does, too. We did it. We finished painting the first wall of our business. I close my eyes and try to remember everything about this moment. The way --

"I think we need to hire a secretary." Em interrupts my musings.

"What?" I let my roller fall and squish to the ground as my eyes fly open. I curse, pick up the damn thing, then (despite the wacky thing she just said) begrudgingly thank Em in my head for insisting we lay down plastic before painting.

"What? I -- we what?" I stammer.

"I've been thinking about it, Jules, and I really don't think I can do the billing, insurance, AND scheduling, too. I know that a lot of practices our size do it, but I just get stressed out the more I think about it." She's shaking her head, her shoulders are slumped forward, and there’s an edge to her voice I haven’t heard in years.

I breathe, slow and steady. "We're opening in two weeks,” I say. “That's not enough time for us to post an ad, interview, do background checks and fingerprinting, not to mention --"

"But you're going to have Neve and Sarah to help you."

"Yeah. And you should remember how long it took us to find and hire them. Months, almost!"

She makes a particularly elephant-like dramatic throat noise, yells, "I knew you wouldn't get it!", throws her paint brush down, and storms out. The door slams shut behind her.

Our door, missy, my thoughts scold her. That's our door. This is our office. Our business. Our plan. A plan that focuses on opening in two weeks. The fliers are printed and ready to be distributed around town.

I throw my roller into the pan and jump as it clatters against the metal. I want to be mad at her for leaving me here with our dream of opening our own dental practice on time teetering on what-happens-next worries, but I only get weepier the madder I try to be.

I sit on a box and let my head collapse into my hands. Looking up, I try to keep myself from breaking into tears. After a moment or two, I wipe my painty hands on a rag, take out my phone, and (I'm not super proud of this, so don't go spreading it around) call my parents. I know, I know. You're twenty-eight freaking years old, Julep. I know. And, yes, I know that they're not going to be able to do a bit of anything to help. But I also know that sometimes you just need to hear your mama's voice when things are feeling too big.

"Well, hello little darlin'."

Or your daddy's.

"Hey." That's about all I can choke out and even that comes served on a wobbly platter, all shaky and shuttery.

"What's up, Minty Bug?"

Oh, Daddy. His sweet-tea-Mississippi voice smooths over the rough edges brought on by my "non-versation" with Emma and I take in a deep breath. I love my Daddy, let me tell you. My mama, too. A bonafide I-heart-my-parents nerd, I'll admit it. Though, I like the nickname, Minty, about as much as I can't stand my given name, Julep. (Really? A freaking mixed drink? Come on, people!) Still, you gotta love them. Mandy and Earl Maddox are laid-back, kind, good-ole folks. Southern through and through, despite moving up here to Washington years before I was even a whisper of an idea. They, along with my brothers, were our first investors. And even though they never gave me a deadline for paying their money back, it's one of my soul goals to make enough to do that as soon as I can.

"Ugh. Em and I just had a huge fight. She walked out on our painting day and I --" Whup, here comes that wobble again.

"Sorry, darlin'. What about?"

I fill him in.

"Well, why don't you get one of them hygienists to come in and help you paint?" he croons.

"Neve and Sarah are still at their old jobs 'til next week, Daddy." I scrunch my forehead together.

"Oh, oh, oh. Right you are. Right. You. Are." I can picture him rubbing his leathery, I-grew-up-on-a-farm hands over his stubbly chin and through his greying mustache as he thinks.

I sigh. His thinkin' ramblings put a smile on my face, make me wish I was curled up on their worn blue couch with him, my feet tucked under his legs like I've done since I was a little girl.

I hear Mama ask, "Who you talkin' to, Earl? That Julep?" in the background.

"Yeah, Dee, it's our girl. Mints, I'm putting' you on loud-speaker so your mama can chime in here."

I try to say, no, that's fine, I'm okay now, but all I can hear are beeps from him pressing his big worn fingertips onto the phone screen, so I wait.

"Jules, it's Mama," I hear, finally, after a bit of shuffling.

"I know, Mama." I roll my eyes (we'll add electronics to the list of things-my-parents-could-be-better-at) and I wait while Daddy fills her in.

"Well, you know what I always say about trouble."

I nod.
Take a break, step back. Trouble always looks better with a fresh perspective.

"Take a breather, hun. Go down to that little coffee shop you're always raving about."

I feign a smile, even though my momma is in another town and can't see. "Alright, Mama. Will do."

I can hear Daddy take back the phone (even though they're on 'loud-speaker' and shouldn't need to pass it, I know they still are). "Good, darlin'. And if we see any secretaries wantin' work, we'll send 'em on your way, alright?"

I chuckle. "Okay. Thanks for letting me vent. Love you guys." I hang up, place the phone in my lap, and look around.

Despite this set back, the place really is coming together. It was a total surprise, taking over this practice. I had actually been wanting to pull back from work, focus more on my life-that-doesn't-have-to-do-with-dentistry (after eight years in school and two more working my butt off at Gemma's practice, I needed to start focusing on friends, having fun, and relationships), but then we heard about a dentist a few towns over (the only one in said town) who was retiring, selling his practice to one of those big corporations.

It had actually been my boss, Gemma, who had encouraged me, since she knew it was my eventual goal to open my own place. "It's a super small town," she had said. "And they're really into small businesses. They've fended off Walmart for years. Apparently, there's a whole lot of people mad about Dr. Leroy selling out. But his customers are going to have to stick with the same place or drive forty miles to another. If I were you, I'd go start a small, locally owned practice and capitalize on those patients who feel like they're out of options."

So I did, and I couldn't think of anyone better to help me run it than Em.

She'd gone for it, too and we jumped in, moved to the smallest town either of us had ever set foot in, and started renting a building with terrible yellow walls, a place that needed a lot of work to make it dental ready. But Em and I picked ourselves up (we had watched a lot of House Hunters in college and knew that paint color was the easiest thing to change in a room) and picked out the perfect teal paint for the walls with the exception of our sapphire accent wall. We're updating the office with the goal to have it ready to open when Dr. Leroy's place turns over to the new management in a couple weeks.

And so now, even though in the back of my mind I still really want to get to a place where I'm not so focused on work, this is my priority. Making this practice successful, making my family proud, is number one on my list and my dream of having a life has slipped into second. Which is fine.

Em will calm down, too. She always does. Plus, now that I've gotten a little space from our fight, I do see her point. I'm going to have two hygienists to help me in the back. This is Emma's business as much as mine. In the ten years I've known her, she's never asked for anything unless she really needs it.

That doesn't erase the fact that we still don't have much time, but that's not something I'm gonna figure out this second and definitely not without Em by my side. So, taking my mama's advice, I grab my wallet out of my purse, lock up, and walk down the street to the coffee shop on the corner.

Another thing that sold us on this building was the location. It's just outside of downtown enough to not be trafficky, but close enough to be convenient. We've always lived in more spread out towns and kinda loved the idea of being able to get everywhere we needed to during the day by foot. Plus, good coffee is a must for us.

As I walk, the cool summer air replaces the paint fumes I've been breathing and I wonder if my reaction to her request wasn't ninety percent light-headed anger. I pass a couple walking their dogs and smile extra big as I wave at them. They wave and smile back (and this may just be me, but they seem to stare a little, too). I keep walking, brushing it off, thinking that maybe my hair actually looked kinda cute shoved into a messy bun and matched with my old jeans and my Girl's State t-shirt from high school. Sometimes I think looking hang-out-y and messy can be just as cute as dressing up to go out. Who knows, maybe these dog walking people agree.

The Olympic Coffee Company is about the size of my small office, and just as cozy. A warm, roasty, oh-so-wonderful coffee smell wafts at me as I open the door. The sounds of dishes clinking and steamers screaming rush toward me. The walls are a rich golden yellow and the mismatched tables all hold cards and Trivial Pursuit sets. A bell on the door tings as I let it close behind me and step up to a beat up countertop.

I order my usual latte. The barista looks me up and down just like the dog walking couple and I feel my spirits start to rise. After the tangled mess my hair was yesterday, I was almost convinced to chop it all off, but the attention I'm getting today makes me think again. Or could it be my make up? I did go with a more natural look today. Maybe that's something I should do more often.

I pay, smile at the girl, and plop my tired self down in a chair at the nearest two-top while I wait. Absentmindedly, I run my fingertips over the arch of one of my eyebrows and push my lips forward while I get lost in my thoughts, making lists of websites where we can post our ad and thinking of days we can work around deliveries and installments to interview.

Because we have to do this. We have to make this work. Both Em and I have given up so much to get this far. Heck, we've sunk money and hours into this, not to mention losing at least one relationship each over the whole thing (not that those guys were really worth it if they couldn't support our dreams, but, you get it, sacrifice). Plus, payments are due and we really need to start getting some revenue going or we're going to be looking at a lot more trouble than just a few exes.

I release a long sigh and look up to check on my coffee. The girl is still working on it, so I stay put and look around. That's when I notice him. A guy sitting a few tables away. I blink. My brain feels like I Love Lucy in the chocolate factory episode but instead of candies, I have words flying by me, stacking up. Hot, tall, handsome, suit, hot, fit, shoulders, smile, looking at me, hot. Looking. At. Me.

He is. Staring at me. Kind of like the dog walkers and the barista. Maybe it's my t-shirt. I glance down at the faded blue circa-high-school-thing and inwardly scrunch my nose. Okay, so it's not the shirt. As I struggle to think of what the hell I did differently today, I flash him a quick smile anyway. Usually I don't have too hard a time getting dates (thanks to the thick locks and ridiculously long eyelashes I inherited from Mama and the fairly long legs I got from Daddy), but lately, being so focused on the practice, I was sort of worrying that I had lost my mojo. And even though I'm definitely not in a place to be looking, it feels good to know I could get back into it if I wanted to.

Hot suit guy smiles back. He reminds me of that guy that plays Captain America in the movies. What was his name? Anyway, he's like that guy, but you know, like a regular everyday version (there aren't tons of fans following him around or anything). Plus, it must be mentioned that in the months since I've moved to this town, I've not seen more than ten people that are in the same age range as Em and me. So a guy that seems to fit that late-twenties category is a surprise, and a good one.

My toes curl inside my Converse at how his blue eyes are focused on me and the way his mouth pulls into a side-smile. His shortbread-yellow blond hair is swept over in that "good ole' American boy" way and he has one of those nice chiseled jaws.

No dating, I remind myself. You are opening a business.

"Your latte is ready, miss." The barista holds the paper cup toward me from behind the counter.

I jump up to take it from her. Again, she lingers on my face. Does everyone in this place find me super attractive or what? I turn around and hot suit guy is standing right there. He's tall, but not too tall. Like my nose comes up just about to his chin, the perfect height, I've always thought.

"Oh, hi." I fumble my cup a little, surprised at how close he is.

He smells fantastic. Guy scents always seem so hard to describe, though. Girls' perfume? You can tell. Oh, yeah. That's strawberry or vanilla or rose or even lavender. Guys? Good luck. I try to place hot suit guy's smell, but all I come up with is sunset forest spice.

"Hey, um, I thought you might want to know that you have paint on your face." His voice is melty and deep.

I want to sink into it, but instead I tip my head to the side as I realize he didn't actually say, "I saw you from across the room and would like your number" like I thought he would.