The Firefly Effect (31 page)

“I figured you might stop by here first.”

“Next time. I really have to get back.”

“Huh. Well, you don’t exactly sound thrilled about it. Whatsa matter, Mister Grumpypants? You stay up too late last night making up for lost time?”

That’s Leah for you. Most of the time you think she has her head in the clouds, paying no attention to her surroundings, but then she surprises you with her keen perception. Sometimes I wonder if her whole ditzy routine is an act.

When I don’t respond, she persists with, “I’m guessing you’re alone?”

“Who else did you think would be here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A certain cute brunette from high school, maybe?”

“Melanie isn’t with me, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I just thought she might’ve…whatever. So are you gonna tell me what the story is with you two or do I have to call and drag it out of her?”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Why? I was gonna do it anyway. Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Don’t pressure her about this, Leah. Seriously, just…don’t.”

“Then
you
tell me. Are you guys hooking up or are you just friends? What’s the deal?”

“I don’t know what the deal is. I don’t know what to…where to go from…”

Something in her voice suddenly changes, and the playfulness is replaced with quiet concern. “Shane? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just…it’s just…” Shit. What am I supposed to say here? That I’ve never felt this way before in my life and quite honestly, it’s freaking me the fuck out?

“Did something happen?”

“No. Not really.”

“You two have a fight or something?”

“No.”

“She tell you to hit the road? Is that why you’re leaving?”

“No. I just have to get back to work is all.”

I hear the huff of a sigh from her end. “Look, Butthead. You gotta give me something to work with here. I don’t know how to give you advice if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

“What makes you think I want advice?”

“Because you called me. You never do that. You hate talking on the phone. Now are you gonna help me out just a little bit or should I give you the number of a good therapist so you can pay a hundred bucks an hour to say nothing to her too?”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Better a smartass than a dumbass. At least answer me this. Straight up. Are you in love with her? With Melanie?”

I gaze out the window at a colorful billboard as it whizzes past.
Myrtle’s Chicken Shack – Next Exit
. I’ve always wondered about that cartoon rooster. He looks way too happy about being featured on the menu.

“Something like that,” I murmur softly.

“Okay then! Finally, progress. Now we’re getting somewhere. So how does she feel about you?”

“Hell if I know. Sometimes I think…” I hesitate uncertainly. “I don’t know. With her, it’s kinda hard to tell.”

“You want me to find out for you?”

“No! What are you, high? You can’t come right out and ask her something like that!”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t!”

“Oh…okay,
whew
. For a minute there, I was afraid you didn’t have a good reason.”

“Don’t ask her that, Leah.”

“Why? You afraid of what she’ll say?”

My first instinct is to protest, but the argument never leaves my lips. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I
am
afraid of knowing the answer.

“Anyway, I won’t have to ask her outright. I’ll be able to tell just by talking to her.”

“What do you mean?” I ask suspiciously.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be subtle.”

“You? Subtle?”

“Hey, I can be subtle.”

“Like James Bond subtle or Elton John subtle?”

“Oh, ye of little faith…would you just trust me?”

“I trusted you with my tarantula when I left for college. And let’s see…where was Amadeus when I came back? Remind me, because I keep forgetting. Was he still in his tank or was he squashed into the carpet like a spider casserole?”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault the hairy little booger got out and decided to take a trek up Dad’s leg!” A loud snort is followed by unrestrained giggles. “I still say it would’ve been awesome to have that recorded for posterity. I never heard him scream like that before. Who knew he could reach such a high octave?”

“Yeah. Real funny. I’m sure Amadeus was in stitches over it. Why did I even call you?”

“Because you’re an idiot man and men wouldn’t be able to tell their own buttholes from a prairie dog burrow if they didn’t have a diagram of their anatomy. That’s why. Does Melly know you’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs over her? Did you tell her?”

“No, I didn’t tell her.” Not in so many words. I may have strongly hinted, but…

“You want my advice, Shane? This is it. Do exactly what you’re doing. Go back home. Keep yourself occupied with work. Give her some space. You know that saying…if something loves you it comes looking for you or some sentimental crap like that.”

“I’m not sure that’s the saying.”

“Whatever, it’s close enough. I’m telling you, trust me. Give her a week or two and I promise she’ll be ready to reveal her true feelings.”

“But you won’t say anything to her, right?”

“No, not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t. I don’t want you talking to her about me.”

“Okay.” Her voice sounds a little too guileless for my comfort.

“Leah, I mean it. Let it go. She needs to figure this out on her own, without you getting all up in her business.”

“All right.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Not really, no.

“Leah. So help me God–”

“You know what? You shouldn’t even be on the phone when you’re driving. Hang up and pay attention to the road.”

“If you–”

“See you at Thanksgiving, camel spooge!”

Then she’s gone, and I’m left shaking my head in bewilderment.

Camel spooge?

Still, everything else aside, talking with Leah has left me feeling considerably more optimistic. She was right. I don’t want to scare Melanie off by coming on too strong. I mean, how pathetic would it seem if I was declaring my undying devotion already? After less than a week together. That’s pretty aggressive and she’s already had enough psychotic stalkers in her life. No way do I want to be filed in the same category with that Martelli freak.

My jaw tightens when I think of that guy. It’s probably a good thing he’s six feet under because my fists are itching to reconstruct his face after what he did.

Pressing the audio button with my right hand, the left one accidentally jerks the steering wheel when Shaun Morgan starts belting out
Remedy
. In the oncoming lane, some asshole lays on his horn when my Tahoe swerves across the yellow line. Startled, I quickly refocus my attention back to the road.

Melanie’s ringtone. Jesus, of all the songs in the world – talk about coincidence!

Now this here? This is definitely a sign. It's like the universe is trying to tell me not to worry. That things have a way of working out.

And if they don’t…

If they don’t, then I’m not any worse off than I was before she came back into my life. Nothing’s really changed. Right?

Yeah. Sure.

If I keep telling myself that, maybe eventually I’ll believe it.

~ Chapter Twenty-Five ~

I’ve always hated texting. Somehow I just can’t get the hang of using my thumbs, so I end up picking out the letters one at a time using my index finger. Besides, to me it’s always seemed like such an apathetic form of communication. I guess it’s okay for quick impersonal messages, but the way I look at it, if someone wants to have an in-depth conversation with me then they can at least call so I can hear their voice.

But it’s early afternoon and I figure Shane must be at work right now. I don’t think it’s a good idea to interrupt him while he’s busy neutering a turtle or whatever it is vets do, so I peck out a brief message:
The flowers are gorgeous, thank you so much. Really brightened my day!

I follow it up with a smiley face before sending, then lift my gaze to admire the flowers that were just delivered. They’re sitting in the middle of the coffee table where I can moon over them all I want. It's a stunning array, a vibrant assortment of yellow roses mingled with lilies, asters, carnations, freesia and birds of paradise. A rainbow of colors creatively arranged in a bamboo basket.

But it wasn’t the flowers that nearly brought me to tears. It was what was written on the card attached.

My new favorite color. All of them.

Maybe it's wonky hormones making me all emotional. Or maybe it's the fact that it's been three days since he left, and other than a brief and rather weary-sounding call to let me know he made it home, this is the first I’ve heard from him. I could have called him, of course, but I figured I should at least
try
and be considerate. Give him time to breathe. Catch up on his appointments and stuff.

Well, that and I didn’t want him to get the idea that I’m clingy or anything.

His reply comes less than a minute later:
Are you not having a good day?

I smile like a goofball at his prompt response.
Not bad. Better now.

Glad to hear it. Miss me?

Now I’m not only grinning like an idiot, I’m practically hugging myself with giddiness.
Not even a little bit. Why? Should I?

Don’t make me drive all the way back down there just to turn you over my knee, Felony.

I’m glad he can’t hear the giggle I just snorted.
Are you threatening or promising?
Because I could really get on board with that.

Just had to button up my lab coat to hide a raging boner. Nice job.

Exactly what kind of job are we talking about here?

Wow! Someone has a dirty mind today. If you were here, I’d have to wash out that pretty little mouth of yours.

Ha! Hastily I type:
Oh? With what?

I better leave that to your imagination for now, babydoll. I have a golden retriever that needs an x-ray. Owner suspects Miss Bigglesworth has been consuming her hair scrunchies.

I'm assuming Miss Bigglesworth is the dog?

I guess we'll find out! Can I call you a little later? I should be home around six.

OK.

Good. Keep me in your thoughts until then.

I will if you do the same.

You can count on that!

It's absurd how ecstatic I am. All it takes is a few words from Shane to send my mood soaring above the clouds. It's only two o'clock, which means I still have four hours until I hear his voice. Four. Long. Hours.

Hm…I should probably get back to work on my manuscript, but come on. There is no way in hell I’ll be able to concentrate now, not when I’m suddenly so full of pent-up energy. The guy is good for more endorphin rushes than a truckload of Belgian chocolate.

I spend the next three hours burning off some of that excess stamina by cleaning the house. Dusting, mopping, vacuuming, washing, scrubbing – by the time I’m done, the only grimy thing left in the whole house is me. So after I’ve got everything spic, span and sparkling, I reward myself with a long soak in a tub overflowing with bubbles.

It’s 6:04 when he calls. I know this because I’m curled up on the couch with a book, cell phone conveniently within reach, watching the clock with all the patience of a kid waiting for Christmas morning.

I know. Pathetic, right?

“Hi,” I say, and the word comes out sounding unintentionally breathy.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Oh man, he has a sexy phone voice. All deep and sensual. “What evil shenanigans have you been up to today?”