Sutton

I FEEL A FAMILIAR HARD PRESENCE TWITCHING against my lower back as I slowly wake up, and a smile breaks across my face before I remember.

I'm pissed.

I went to bed alone in my own bed last night, and I'm waking up wrapped in Kelly's arms, his excited dick greeting me, as it does most mornings.

Normally, I love this scene, but this morning I'm mad at my boyfriend. How dare he just climb uninvited into my bed, even if I secretly sighed in relief the moment I felt his warm body spoon mine from behind.

It's confusing to be both upset and relieved. But that's where I'm at this morning, folks.

When Kelly nuzzles his face into my neck, I scoot away from him and turn around so I'm facing him, keeping a good foot between us on the bed.

He groans in protest but doesn't reach for me. Blinking his eyes open, he studies my face, probably trying to read the level of how deep of shit he's in.

"I'm mad at you."

"I know."

"You know?" I ask. He knows?  "If you know, then why are you in my bed? It almost feels like a manipulation. Like you can spoon your way out of this."

A look of hurt passes over his face, and I instantly regret my accusation. It's not like I really believed it anyway.

"Kelly," I say softly, brushing my hand up his bare chest to grip lightly around his neck. "I didn't..."

He shushes me with his fingers to my lips. "No, Sutton. Hear me out. I know you're pissed at me. That's ok. You get to be pissed at me. But that doesn't just pause us. You know how people say not to go to bed mad? I don't believe that crap. Sometimes it's better to sleep on it. Let it simmer. Then face it the next day."

He brushes my hair away from my eyes, his hand lingering on my face. "But just because we might be fighting," he continues, "it doesn't pause us. The care for each other is still there. The feelings are still there. We don't just stop liking each other or wanting to be together. So be pissed, but I'm still going to want to care for you through it. That won't ever pause just because we're fighting. And part of caring for you involves this right here."

He demonstrates his point by pulling me back into his arms, tucking my legs between his. He presses a light kiss against my forehead.

"Sutton," he says, pulling back to look into my eyes. "It's not manipulation. It's the most basic care I can give you. Give us. We can go to bed mad and show up for each other at the same time. Then in the morning, you can wake up and tell me off. Go right on being mad and yell at me all you want. Then we can get to making up, where I apologize for being an ass and basically groveling for your forgiveness."

I bury my face in his neck and groan. "How the hell am I supposed to be mad at you now after saying all that sappy, perfect, sweet shit. You suck, Kelly."

He laughs, stroking his hand down my hair. "Just remember how you felt last night at Roxy's. I'm sure it'll all come right back."

I roll onto my back, covering my face with my arm, kicking my feet under the covers as I make this deep, disturbing sound in my throat. When I don't stop after a handful of seconds, he pulls my hand away and covers my body with his, sufficiently stopping my movements.

"Baby girl." The name is a deep command. "Stop. Talk to me."

I glare at him. "Now I'm pissed at you for being so damn perfect and making it hard for me to be pissed at you. Which I have every right to be pissed at you, you giant ass! You can't just come in here and say that nice stuff and completely knock me on my butt when I should be ripping you a new asshole for the way you acted last night."

I can tell he tries but he fails desperately to stop the smile creeping across his face. I'm sure he finds me cute when I'm all riled up, and I roll my eyes at the thought.

I smack his chest before throwing him off me. Sitting up in a huff, the blankets fall around my waist, revealing my hard nipples beneath my thin tank top. His eyes snag there, and I yank the blankets back up to cover my chest.

"Eyes here when I yell at you." I point to my eyes and then direct my index finger at him. "And no smirking at me like I amuse you either."

When he bites his lip as if to hold back another smile, I throw the covers off with an exasperated sigh and crawl out of bed. "I can't with you right now. I'm going to take a shower. That is not an invitation to join me, just to be clear. You keep that body," I pause to circle my finger in the air at him, "far, far away from me."

"Why?" he calls after me as I leave the room. "Are you scared I'll manipulate my way out of this fight by using this body?"

I duck my head into the open doorway and mutter a single word before disappearing again. "Duh."

-

CHARLIE: Say this is the year, siblings. The year we finally fulfill my dream of a family Halloween costume theme.

FINN: Give it up, bro. Ain't happening.

VIVI: Get yourself a girl and go twinsies with her.

CHARLIE: Not the same, sis.

JENSEN: Halloween is weeks away. Who thinks about this shit?

SUTTON: Everyone, J. Everyone.

SULLY: I'm glad to be excluded from this group of people then.

JJ: We all know you're anti-fun, Sully.

CHARLIE: You're all anti-fun. Obviously. Imagine we're all dressed up as Wizard of Oz characters. I'm the lion, naturally. Sully is the scarecrow. Or the Wicked Witch?

SULLY: That's JJ. Obviously. Suits her.

JJ: *middle finger emoji*

I snicker as I read through the sibling group chat, but before I can insert my thoughts on who would be what character, I'm interrupted by the ringing of the phone at The Flower Shop. Setting my cell phone aside, I cross the small building to the cordless phone sitting on the counter by the calendar and other miscellaneous office items.

"The Flower Shop at Anderson Farm. This is Sutton. How can I help you?" I answer the phone cheerily, the greeting automatically rolling off my tongue without thought.

Instead of a voice greeting me back, though, I'm met with the dial tone. I glance at the phone as if it'll clue me in on what happened to the dropped call. Shrugging, I replace the phone on its cradle and lean against the counter.

Only one of the big garage doors is open today, allowing the cool fall air to circulate throughout the nursery. I wrap my chunky cardigan closed around my body to ward off the chill as I stare out at the scene from the open door. The autumn colors have reached their peak, the golds and reds a pretty backdrop to my place of work.

My mind wanders to the weekend when Kelly and I took an evening walk through his neighborhood, playing our game where we make up elaborate and completely inappropriate stories about the houses we pass. When we disagreed whether the residents of a ranch style house at the end of the block were closet swingers or stuck in a religious cult, we resolved it the way any mature, reasonable people would. We had a leaf fight.

I giggle at the memory of the colorful leaves stuck in our hair and the ones I found later tucked into my bra from Kelly shoving a handful down my shirt.

"I know that look," Mary coos as she walks past me with an armful of flowers. "You aren't fooling me, sugar."

I glance at my employee, feigning innocence. The elderly lady is too astute for her own good. I've been avoiding all her digging attempts since I started my secret romance.

"Carry on," I simply say, waving her away with my hand.

When alone again in my corner of the shop, I busy my hands sorting through the clutter of order slips on the counter. Now that the busyness of the summer season has long passed, it's time to tidy up the workspaces as we head into the next busy season with Christmas around the corner.

My thoughts wander, though, getting stuck on the holiday track. I try to ignore the niggling thoughts tiptoeing through my mind, bypass those pesky questions before they have time to take root and blossom as unhealthy doubts. But I've never been very good at avoiding my feelings. I have this annoying habit of sitting in them while they stew and stew and I try to make them make sense.

So, against my better judgment, I allow the tiptoeing thoughts to leap out and the full weight of them forces a whoosh of air out of me. I blink rapidly as the questions bombard me, and I sink against the counter, the order slips falling from my hands. I suck in a gulp of air and let it out slowly, digesting each question one at a time and answering them with uncertainty, allowing the lack of answers to be ok.

Will Kelly and I still be sneaking around during the holiday season? Will we be forced to celebrate it separately or secretly? Will I get to bring him to the craziness of the Anderson Christmas, not as Jensen's friend but as my boyfriend? Or will months have passed and we're still right where we are now?

The answer to all of those is a resounding "I don't know." And right now, that has to be ok.

The phone rings again, startling me out of my thoughts, and I jerk upright. I pluck the phone up, my voice a droll tone as I give my customary greeting. Before I even finish, though, the call ends.

"What the hell?" I ask the phone as if it holds the answer, then replace it on the cradle.

Mary peeks over at me from her workstation, brows raised in question. "Everything all right, sugar?"

I glare at the phone. "I keep getting hangups."

She glances at the dainty watch on her wrist. "Why don't you take your lunch early. Maybe call that secret boy of yours that you're pretending doesn't exist. A booty call will help with that tension."

My mouth opens, the shock surely written on my face. Before I have a chance to respond, she's cackling as she walks away. Did my sixty-something employee just encourage me to have a booty call?

I mean, it's not exactly the worst idea. My body registers the thoughts creeping in, suddenly awake. I note the soreness from a weekend of makeup sex but ignore this as I snatch up my phone and fire off a text.

ME: Nooner?

As I wait for my boyfriend's reply, I grab my purse from the back corner. The shop phone rings again, and I hear Mary's voice answering the call. Instead of a dropped call like all the times before, I hear her taking an order.

I wave at Mary as I head for the door, and she covers the mouthpiece of the phone to whistle at me, her eyebrows dancing mischievously like she knows exactly what text I sent a few minutes ago.

When I still don't hear anything from Kelly by the time I make it to my car, I send him another text.

ME: Taking an early lunch break. You have exactly 30 minutes to claim your reward.

ME: Tick. Tock.

The warmth of my car greets me as I sink into the seat. I turn down the volume on Taylor Swift's 1989 album I was jamming to on the way to work this morning, contemplating whether to drive around searching for the man in question. He's rarely at the office, but maybe I could surprise him at one of the houses he's currently working on. Just as I'm shooting down my own idea—the risk of his employees outing us being the main deterrent—the ding of an incoming text comes in.

KELLY: Fuck, baby girl. How am I supposed to work with this raging hardon?

ME: Tick.

ME: Tock.

KELLY: Brat.

ME: Is that a no? Are you actually turning down a nooner?

KELLY: I'm not turning you down, baby girl. Fuck. I wish I could be naked with you. I'd rather be deep inside you than here in this boring meeting.

ME: Want me to call and fake an emergency?

KELLY: Jesus, yes. More than anything. But I can't today, baby girl. Rain check?

I snap a selfie of my pouty face and send it to him.

ME: Being a grownup sucks.

KELLY: I'll make it up to you. Promise.

I drive the short distance across Lake Hope and pull into Kelly's driveway, letting myself into his house. It feels like I spend most of my time here these days, and I let loose a sigh. Home. It feels like home.

Lexi lazily ambles over to me, stopping midway to stretch her shaggy body, and then greets me with a few happy licks on my hands.

"Hey, girl. How's my pretty girl? Your big, dumb daddy turned me down. Can you believe it? I know, he's so rude."

The dog follows me through the house, her paws clicking over the hardwood behind me. After searching through a few drawers in the kitchen, I locate one of his many junk drawers that houses the Post-it notes. I tap a red pen against the yellow stack of papers as I peer out the kitchen window into his backyard. With a grin, I scribble a note, tear it off the pad and rush up the stairs to the ensuite bathroom.

I stick the note to the mirror and position my phone with just the right angle to get a selfie of my reflection and the sticky paper. I examine the photo quickly before sending it to Kelly.

I get an almost immediate response.

KELLY: Tell me you're joking.

I leave him on read, cackling as I reread my bubbly handwriting on the note: No need for a raincheck. I took matters into my own hands.

-

I'M STILL SMILING SMUGLY WHEN I PULL into the farm parking lot, my phone blowing up with unread messages from my boyfriend. I read them as I walk across the property to The Flower Shop.

KELLY: Sutton.

KELLY: Don't be a brat.

KELLY: What exactly did you do with your own hands?

KELLY: Baby girl, you're just being mean now.

KELLY: You can't just put that picture in my head and then ghost me.

KELLY: Fuck. You're a cruel, cruel woman.

KELLY: You know you'll pay for this, right?

KELLY: Baby girl. You're in trouble.

I thumb a message to the poor, suffering man as I walk through the open door of the shop, stifling a laugh.

ME: What's my punishment?

"What's so funny?"

Mary's question startles me, and I look up from my phone, shaking my head. "Why does messing with someone oh-so-deserving feel so good?"

Her raised eyebrows is her only response.

My phone pings again in my hand and I read the message as I cross the building to the back counter, where I drop my purse in its usual place without looking up from my phone.

KELLY: I know you're gloating. I can see the rays of sunshine shooting out of your ass from all the way over here.

I throw my head back and laugh as another text comes through. I ignore it, though, when my eyes snag on what I missed from being so focused on my phone. A vase of flowers sits on the counter next to a skinny, square box. A white ribbon adorns the box, a scrap of paper with my name scrawled on it with familiar writing tucked underneath it.

I blink at the sight a few times, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. The signature mix and match style of flowers in the vase clues me in on the person responsible for the surprise gift, but I'm struggling to make sense of it. How did this end up here? Did he sneak in while I was away at lunch? Is Mary in cahoots with him? And what the hell is in the box?

Instead of opening the box, I click into my messages again, ignoring the recent one from Kelly to type my own.

KELLY: Are you back to ghosting me?

ME: What'd you do?

I stare at the blinking dots on my screen, holding my breath the entire time it takes him to type a response. I'm not entirely certain why my reaction to the surprise is immediate anxiety, but I'm suddenly antsy, my face flushed, my foot tapping nervously against the cement floor. I bite the inside of my cheek, the mere seconds feeling more like hours.

KELLY: I'm guessing you haven't opened the box yet.

ME: I'm scared.

KELLY: Why?

ME: I thought you were in a meeting. How'd you do this? Are you in cahoots with my employee?

KELLY: Cahoots? What are you, 80?

ME: Shit, are you the rude caller that kept hanging up this morning?

KELLY: Guilty.

ME: What is this?

KELLY: Open it, baby girl. You have no reason to be scared.

ME: Should I just stuff it in my purse and open it with you tonight?

KELLY: No. Do it now.

ME: So there was no meeting? You were concocting this weird plan instead of accepting my offer of lunch sex?

KELLY: Baby girl. Breathe. It's just a present. It's no big deal. Why are you so scared?

ME: I don't know. It's stupid. I know I'm being stupid.

KELLY: Just open it, Sutton.

I finger the ribbon before tugging it off the box and lifting the lid. A folded piece of paper sits atop the white tissue paper. I read it with shaky hands.

S -
I know this isn't the actual necklace, but maybe it'll help you to feel closer to her when you wear it.
- K

I peel the tissue paper aside to reveal a dainty silver chain with a single heart pendant. The heart is tiny, barely the size of the nail of my pinky finger. I run my finger over the textured grooves on the heart, blinking away the moisture in my eyes.

Shit, the thoughtful gesture knocks me off my feet, and I sink onto the nearby stool. The necklace is a near replica of the one my mom wore for years, the one we discovered in the picture from the box in the attic. The picture that Kelly saw exactly one time. The gesture is so sweet and so unexpected that I'm at a loss for words.

I wipe away the stray tears off my cheeks, sniffling the emotion away.

My phone pings and I startle. I bark out a laugh at my own absurdity.

KELLY: You're killing me, baby girl. Have you opened it yet?

ME: Yes. I'm processing. You kind of knocked me on my ass here.

KELLY: Did you put it on? Send me a picture.

Since my hands are still shaking, it takes me a few attempts to secure the clasp. Once the necklace is finally on, I finger the heart dangling between my collar bones. Another text from Kelly spurs me on and I quickly snap a selfie and send it to him.

KELLY: Fucking perfect. I knew it would be.

ME: Shit, Kell. I'm actually speechless.

ME: I think that might be the sweetest damn thing anyone has ever done for me.

KELLY: You're just trying to get out of your punishment from earlier.