A Bird on a Windowsill (18 page)

Chapter Thirty

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

T
he little bell above the door rings just as I’m finishing up a story. I hit
save
and make my way out to the front of the office.

“Hi.”

I hear the voice, and I look up to a man with eyes the shade of coffee, smiling back at me.

“Oh, hi. Jake, right?”

“Right,” he says, bobbing his head.

For the first time, I notice he wears his hair a little longer than most guys around here. And I watch as he forces his hands into his pants pockets and assesses the little office. “The place looks nice.”

I look around. My eye catches on the little old desk in the corner first and then the old clock on the wall and then the same old papers still in their stacks.

“It looks the same,” I say.

He laughs.

“Yeah,” he says. “It looks the same.”

It’s quiet for a second—just long enough for his eyes to amble back to mine.

“Are you doing anything Friday night?”

Immediately, I suck in a breath.

“Um.” My gaze quickly hits the floor. And my first thought is
Eben
. My second thought is
Anna
. My third thought is Eben saying that Jake is a good guy. And my final thought comes from my Uncle Lester:
Don’t let it tie ya down.

“No, actually,” I say, looking back up. “I’m not.”

“Can I take you out?”

An instant smile takes over my face. He looks kind of cute the way he’s standing there, motionless, in his nice black slacks and white, collared shirt—as if all his hopes are hanging on my answer.

“Yeah. Okay.”

It’s only now starting to sound as if maybe it’s a good idea.

“Good,” he says, bobbing his head again. “I’ll pick you up at seven, then?”

“All right,” I agree.

He nods his head once more. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll let you get back to work then.” He turns to leave but then freezes before he gets to the door. “Uh, where should I pick you up exactly?”

I feel my lips twisting into a grin. “That would help, wouldn’t it?”

“It just might,” he agrees.

I laugh softly.

“Do you know where Lester used to live?”

“Yeah, out on Kohl City Road?”

“That’s it. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” he says. “Can’t wait.”

I smile wider, and then he slips through the door.

I haven’t got a clue as to what I’ve just gotten myself into, but I guess it wouldn’t be my first mistake, either.

I rub my eyes and then gather my hair into a ponytail. But I can’t stop thinking. A part of me is excited—excited to meet someone new, excited to start a new life here. Yet, there’s a part of me that still feels stuck—stuck in the past, stuck in someone else’s life, stuck in a dream.

I walk back into my office and fall into my chair. And after a few minutes of my mind wandering here and there, I find myself smiling at the wall, thinking about this new stranger—Jake Buckler. He stood there, in this office, just moments ago, with his beautiful smile and his dark eyes and his commanding self, and he bashfully asked me on a date. It was one of the cutest things I’ve ever witnessed. I would have been crazy to have said
no
. And who knows, just maybe this Jake Buckler can rescue me from the past. ...
Just maybe.

Chapter Thirty-One

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

“H
i.” I open the door to Jake.

“Hi,” he says, finding my eyes. He’s wearing a big smile, and for a moment, I get lost in it.

“Uh.” He shifts his weight to his other leg and drops his stare to his hands. “I wasn’t sure if you liked flowers, but I thought of you when I saw these the other day.”

He holds out a box the size of a big shoebox.

“I noticed them on your office door...and the wall...and the desk...and the phone... And I’m pretty sure I saw a couple on your steering wheel, too. Thought you might be running low.”

I take the box and laugh. “My uncle always said that sticky notes keep you sane. It’s a learned behavior, I guess.” I meet his gaze. “This is sweet of you. Thank you. But how’d you find such a big box?”

“I have my ways,” he says, grinning. “Hopefully, that’ll last you a day or two.”

“Maybe.” I laugh and then set the box onto the table. “Well, come in. I just have to grab my purse.”

I turn and head for the other room.

“You look beautiful.”

His words make me stop. It’s almost as if he had just discovered something new, and he couldn’t wait to tell me.

Slowly, I swivel back around.

“Thank you. You look great, too.”

I stand there for a second, in his eyes. There’s something about him. There’s just something about him that’s so different from most people around here. He’s kind of Hollywood, in a way, with his slightly longer haircut and his perfectly faded jeans. And I’m not really sure why that even matters, but somehow it does because I’m trying my darnedest not to blush.

But then suddenly, I remember my purse.

“I like your place.”

I pause on my way back to him and steal a glance around the room, trying to take in what he’s seeing.

It does look nice, I guess. I hadn’t really stopped to look at it yet. All of Uncle Lester’s papers are gone now. The walls are all freshly painted. My new furniture is mixed with some of Uncle Les’s old pieces, like his little writer’s desk and his antique hall tree. I couldn’t bear to store those in the dusty attic.

“I like the art.”

His eyes are caught on the photo in the entryway.

“I don’t know if it’s art, necessarily,” I say, trying not to laugh. “It’s Sullivan’s Island in South Carolina. And it’s really for just when I miss the ocean.”

He looks into the photo a little bit longer, as if he’s examining every detail, every shade of blue. And then his attention is back on me.

“It’s beautiful.”

I lower my eyes, trying not to look awkward. “Thank you.”

“Did you take it?”

“I did.”

“You’ve got an eye.”

I laugh under my breath, as his eyes linger in mine. I feel as if I should say something to fill the silence, but oddly, I don’t mind existing in his stillness, really. There’s something strangely appealing about being the subject of his interest.

“Well, are you ready, Miss Catesby?”

My face beams, as if it’s a mirror image of his. And I nod. That’s all I do. I’m afraid if I try to speak, nothing will come out of my mouth.

I follow him out of the door and to his car in the driveway. He has a nice, shiny, black sports car. Immediately, I feel bad that by the end of the night, it’ll be a nice, dust-covered, sandy-colored sports car, thanks to the gravel road.

“So, did I hear you right? You’re from here?”

“Born and raised. You?”

“Uh, no,” he says, opening the door for me. “I’m from a little town in Illinois. Chester. Home of Popeye.”

I laugh. “That, I didn’t know.”

“What? The Chester part or the Popeye part?”

I smile. “Both.”

Who knew? Such a beautiful man—from the Home of Popeye.

“Do you work here?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says, after he starts the car. “Well, around here, anyway. I mostly work in Washington. Real estate. Been here for several years now.”

I nod.

“Is that where you were...South Carolina?”

“Yeah, my family moved to Mount Pleasant, right next to Charleston, when I was sixteen.”

“Aah, so how is it being back?”

I take a moment to think about it.

“You know, nobody’s asked me that yet.”
I don’t even think I’ve asked myself that.
“But it’s different, I guess.”

“Different how?”

I look over at him. There’s something about a guy driving a stick shift that makes me feel at home. But there’s something strangely fascinating about a guy who drives a stick shift to a fast car.

“Well, I think I just expected everyone and everything just to freeze when I left,” I say. “But they didn’t.” I smile to myself. “I think I half-expected it all to look exactly the same when I got back. But in the end, everything just kept moving on and growing up without me, I guess. And I think I just lost my place. And now, I’m just trying to figure out where I fit in again.”

He’s nodding when I finish.

“But I do love it here,” I say.

“I can tell.”

He makes a face then, as if a thought gets stuck in his throat.

“What?”

His eyes wander off the road and onto me.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

“No, go for it. I ask people questions all day. I suppose it’s only fair I get asked one every now and then.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that’s fair.”

He makes sure to look into my eyes when he smiles next. And I swear, something in me melts a little.

“Is there something going on with you and Salem Ebenezer?”

Without even thinking, I instantly take in a sharp breath and force my attention outside the passenger’s window. Tree after tree floats by. I’m not sure what I was expecting his question to be, but I’m pretty sure
that
wasn’t even on my radar.

“No,” I say.

He nods, as if he’s weighing my answer.

“Okay, I just had to ask. He was acting strange the other day. I didn’t know.”

“No, I know,” I say. “We grew up together. That’s all.”

I notice his wide smile.

“What?” I’m hesitant to ask, but my curiosity is too much for me sometimes.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says. “I just know how that goes.”

I turn my focus to the side window again for a split-second. “How what goes?”

“Oh, I just grew up with someone, too. A girl. We spent every waking minute together.”

“What happened?”

He clears his throat. “I moved away...for a job, for a change. We gradually lost contact. Last I heard, she was living in Chicago.”

I nod, not really knowing what to say.

“Do you miss her?”

He shrugs. “I miss our friendship sometimes, I guess.” He finds my eyes. “But no, I don’t miss her. I’ve come to learn that letting your past dictate your future is pretty messy business.”

I smile, but I don’t really feel it, as my stare gravitates toward my window again. “You’re probably right about that one,” I agree.

Tree after tree just keeps floating on by. Meanwhile, I’m trying to tell myself his comment
didn’t
sound more like a warning.

“Do you like French?”

“Hmm?”

“Food. I guess I should have asked that earlier.”

“No, it’s fine. I like any food.”

“Good,” he says. “I think you’ll like this place.”