Chaos and Control(20)

“What about Coffee Call? Would you ever share your work?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I get that. Will you let me read it someday?”

“No,” he answers, shaking his head.

He gives me no excuse. It stings a little. Just when I think I’ve gotten through that wall he’s built around himself, I’m reminded that Preston only allows me to see pieces of him. I don’t know if he’s scared of being too open or if it’s just a defense mechanism to keep him safe. Either way, I wish he’d let me in.

“So, I got a job at The Haystack,” I say as Preston switches out his plates. “I start tonight.”

“That’s good. Maybe you’ll stop hanging out at Vinyl so much.”

I slap my hand over my heart and mouth “ouch” while he gives me that lopsided smirk.

“I don’t think you mind me hanging out there at all,” I say, calling his bluff. I lick my lips and celebrate internally when his eyes flick down to them.

“I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re so forward, so blunt,” he says in awe, as if he’s offended.

“It’s easy for me. Like breathing. I don’t know any other way to be.”

“It drives me crazy,” Preston says. I open my mouth to respond, but he stops me by holding up one finger. “But I also find it so damn sexy.”

I try to process what he’s said and form a reply, but nothing comes. He watches me, something new in his eyes that drives me wild. I focus on my salad and stab at cherry tomatoes with a little too much force.

“Very interesting, Wren.” The sound of my name sends me into a tailspin, and I hesitantly meet his gaze over a table, salad bowl, and two empty plates.

“What?”

“Looks like you can’t handle a taste of your own medicine.”

I put down my fork and wipe my mouth with a napkin. With both hands on the table’s edge, I lean closer to him. He stays pressed against the back of the booth.

“That may be true. But I think you’d love to find out how good my medicine can be.”

Preston drops his fork. It clatters to the table, flips over the edge, hits the seat, and finally falls to the floor. Without looking away, I motion for the waitress to bring him a new one. He sits quietly as I dig some cash from my pocket and leave it on the table.

“Lunch is on me. See you later, Preston-who-thinks-I’m-so-damn-sexy.”

…

I pace in the front of the store, checking out all the items in the display window. A young couple walks by in a heated argument. Their voices are so loud, I can hear them through the glass. He grips her arm tightly—too tight. Images of Dylan’s hands on me, leaving marks, punishing me, flash through my head. I suck in a deep breath and turn away, pushing down dark memories.

Bennie sits in her usual spot beside the register, her face hidden behind a romance novel. There are stacks of flyers for Coffee Call’s poetry night and a couple of bands playing in Franklin. I read over them and memorize the times and places for lack of anything better to do. Leaning over the front counter, I hover with my lips just above the surface and blow my hot breath onto it. The glass fogs up in a tiny cloud of condensation and disappears just as quickly.

“Just say what you want to say, Wren,” Bennie calls out from behind her book.

“I’m not a tornado.”

She folds the novel closed and shakes her head. “No. You’re not. I didn’t mean that you were destructive. I just meant that you are this swirling mass of energy and life and people get sucked in toward you whether they intend to or not. It’s your magnetic aura.”

I laugh and lean on my elbows. “You are such a hippy.”

“Whatevs. I’m totes down with the kids.”

I roll my eyes, and they land on a tiny photo of our parents tacked up next to the register.

“I’m thinking about going to see Mom and Dad.”

Bennie is quiet for a few seconds and wrings her hands. “Then I suppose I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to. You just saw them Sunday. Plus, I know you don’t like going.”

“No, I want to. I haven’t been to the house in a while. It’s time. Besides, we’re stronger together.”

I nod.

“Preston,” Bennie yells across the store. “We’re stepping out. Be back in about an hour.”

“I got it,” he says to Bennie, but his eyes stay fixed on me. I offer a small wave, and he nods back.

Bennie and I walk in silence at first, our synchronized steps sounding off in a steady rhythm. I give the water tower a glance when we cut through the park. When the yellow neon sign for The Haystack comes into view, I remember that I haven’t told Bennie about my job.

“By the way, you’re looking at the new part-time bartender at The Haystack.”

“Really? Coach gave you a job, huh?”

“It took some convincing,” I answer. “But all I had to do was mention your name. Coach got a little thing for you, Ben?”

“Well, that’s good. Real good,” she says, ignoring my question.

Bennie seems distracted as we near the house on Houston Street. It’s not that warm out, but she’s sweating around her hairline. Her skin is pallid, and she looks nauseous.