Second Chance at the Orchard Inn, page 12
“I remember.”
“And we were about to graduate. College was around the corner, and I knew I had to make good grades to keep my scholarship. Even though we were arguing more and more, you were still going to stay local for college, when I knew the culinary school here was not up to snuff. I mean, you needed to go to Johnson and Wales or someplace like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with our community college, but you were meant for the big leagues. I knew that. But I got all caught up in being so sure I was doing the right thing, setting you free and focusing on my responsibilities, that I didn’t think about what it’d mean long term. Not really.” He shook his head.
“You never really told me why it was over,” she said, her voice raspy. “Not back then. Not until now.”
“I know.” He swallowed hard, his heart aching enough to fill his chest. “And I’m so sorry. I thought it’d be easier if I just ended things. Cleaner. Not to mention I had zero clue about how to deal with my own feelings, let alone yours.”
“And your dad,” she offered the segue.
“And my dad was against us being together one hundred percent,” he confirmed. “You were a distraction. I needed to play baseball, graduate, go to college, make straight As, and work the farm. He thought you distracted me from that path. One bad game, one D on a math test, a few nights of coming home late, a few normal, teenage spats, and you were the fly in his ointment.”
Aurora nodded with a sigh. “I always knew he played a big part in our breakup. I mean, we’d started bickering, sure, but it was probably just a phase, and that was his opening. I was going to wreck everything.”
“It was stupid, and if I could go back in time, I’d do things differently. I’d talk to you about things. The way I’m doing now.”
She studied him again, silent. “I would do things differently too,” she finally said. “I should’ve spoken up more. I would’ve made you explain yourself. I was so timid back then. I let you break up with me and barely said a word in my own defense. I just took it.”
“You didn’t deserve it. And I’m glad you speak up more now. I like it.”
Aurora smiled sweetly, all the more beautiful now that they’d opened up. “I learned a lot from our breakup, and then from years in restaurants. There are a lot of things I’d do differently, if I knew then what I know now. Not just when it came to you.”
Jude tilted his head, intrigued. “Like?”
“Well, number one, I’d deal with my mother differently. I don’t know if it would’ve done any good, but I’d speak up for myself and let her know when some of her passive-aggressive remarks hit below the belt.”
Jude and Aurora had talked about her mother a lot back in high school. Aurora always felt third best to her perfect older sister and her beloved baby sister. She also tired of her mom’s criticisms and critiques. Their mom pushed all three girls hard, but none as hard as Aurora. While Beth flourished under the pressure and Cece rose to most challenges, Aurora focused only on her failings, and Anita wasn’t the best at softening life’s blows.
“Second, I’d confront Erica Burr about trash-talking me around school. I never confronted her when I should have.”
Her last comment drew him up short. “Erica Burr talked trash about you?”
Aurora scrunched her face up. “Seriously? She totally trash-talked me, right up to when you dumped me.”
Jude shook his head. “How did I not know about this?”
“Because you were a self-absorbed teenage boy?”
“True, but I normally heard some of the rumblings of high school drama.”
“Erica and her little crew hated me, mostly out of jealousy, but I didn’t realize that at the time. I was dating you and I wasn’t supposed to be the kind of girl who dated a popular boy. I was supposed to stay in my lane. Always be the quiet little nobody.”
“You were not a nobody,” Jude argued.
“I flew under the radar. Way under. Dating you put a target on my back. I disrupted the social order, and I didn’t have the experience with competitive girls to know how cutthroat they can be. I get it now. All of that drama had very little to do with me and everything to do with the dynamics in our school, but it sucked.”
“I wish I’d known that was going on.”
“It wasn’t your battle. But then you dumped me.”
He stared, unsure of what to say. “I still wish I could’ve helped you fight that battle. You’re right though. I was so wrapped up in my own fights. My dad, his demands, the farm, the pressure of having a winning season in baseball—like it was life or death. Like I was going pro? You know how freaked out I was about the playoffs, how much it meant to me and my dad. At the time, it felt like my life depended on it. I was treated like the rest of my life really did depend on it, when really, the rest of my life had nothing to do with baseball. It was a time capsule. So important then, means so little now.”
Looking back, he wondered if his slipping grades and one bad game was less about Aurora being a distraction and more about his feelings being a big distraction.
The truth was, he’d cared about her more than he had baseball or school. He recognized this now, but his dad had suspected it even then. That’s why his old man had always been against their relationship.
“I know,” Aurora said. “But back then, all I knew was your dad hated me and you dumped me like last week’s trash. Everyone else thought it was because you were done having sex with me.”
Jude thought his eyes might pop out of his head. “Wait. What?”
Aurora shrugged and continued like she hadn’t just said what she’d said. “That was the running narrative.”
“Because I was done having…? Where did— No. How am I just now hearing about this?”
She shrugged again.
Jude scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I…” He was at a loss. “Good lord, I felt crappy enough that our breakup went down so badly, but sex had nothing to do with it.”
Aurora’s gaze was soft, almost sympathetic, as she shook her head. “You lived in such a bubble back then. Perfect Jude Jones who no one ever said a cross word about. Clueless, never hearing all the usual gossip in school, all the crap swirling around him.”
He shook his head and glanced down. She wasn’t wrong. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
“But I should’ve told you. I should’ve made sure you heard it and did something about it. Yelled and fussed, and made you open your eyes to see what was going on around you, besides your father’s expectations and baseball, but I didn’t. That part was my fault.”
“No, that’s not your fault.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping it was okay.
She didn’t move or shove it away, so he continued. “You shouldn’t have had to tell me anything. I should’ve seen. Plus, you weren’t that kind of person yet. You still had growing to do.”
Aurora leaned into his touch. “We both did.”
They’d loved each other and had dreams together, but neither of them was ready for that kind of serious relationship. Looking back, he could see how much growing they’d had to do. Clinging to each other would’ve held them back, and they’d both gone on to pursue what they’d really wanted. He still should’ve talked to her before they broke up, included her in his thoughts and decision making. Maybe they could’ve ended things amicably and remained in touch all these years. It was his biggest regret.
“For what it’s worth, I knew I’d screwed up by graduation,” Jude admitted. “I’d ended things and you cut me out. I hadn’t talked to you in weeks and losing you was like losing a limb. I wanted to reach out to you, I even tried a few times, but by then…”
By then it was too late. She’d refused his calls, and a man had his pride. He couldn’t go chasing after her. She was moving forward, going away to culinary school, he’d heard, and she might’ve taken all those steps back if they reunited.
His gaze locked with hers, hundreds of unsaid words between them and at least twice as many memories and emotions. He’d missed her over the years. He could admit that now. He’d missed her face, her smile, the way she made him laugh, the quiet comfort she provided by simply being nearby. He missed holding her in his arms, kissing her, the scent of her hair and the way she always wrapped her arms around his neck like he was her favorite thing in the world.
But most of all, he missed talking with her. Sharing and dreaming, being each other’s sounding board and support.
“I know,” Aurora admitted, her eyes sad. “I should’ve talked to you before I left for Colorado. Told you how I was feeling and what I was going through. I didn’t have the courage then, but I should’ve sat you down and made you listen. I should’ve talked to your sisters too.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Instead, I ran. I was scared to face them, scared to face you. But not anymore. I’m sorry I left without a word.”
He wanted to hold her so badly. Reach for her and take her in his arms, make sure she knew it was all okay. All was forgiven and he hoped she felt the same.
Aurora swiped at her eyes. “Do you think maybe we could have a hug now?”
Jude all but lunged to embrace her. “Thank god, I was hoping you’d want to hug it out.”
She sniffed against his chest, burrowing deeper into the hug. “This has been a lot, but I’m glad we talked.”
He brushed his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes at the smell of her shampoo. “Me too,” he said with his eyes still closed.
They stood like that for a moment, until eventually she pulled away. “I have to admit, I like walking around out here, and talking, a lot better than fishing. Even with the crying, it’s still better.”
“I knew it,” he said with a smile. “I always suspected you hated it, but you insisted it was great, and just went along.”
“I know. I hated fishing.” She returned his smile as they began walking again. “But you loved it, and I got time alone with you, so I just went. Stinky old bait and all.”
“That bait was crazy stinky.” He laughed.
They walked quietly for a while, stopping when a flock of geese flew overhead and landed in the lake for a swim. The evening air began to cool, only slightly, and the cicadas started warming up for their sunset performance.
Their time together out here had done him a world of good. His soul felt…lighter. More at ease. One thing she’d said still weighed on his mind though.
“I do have a question about something though,” he started. “Where did anyone get the idea that I was with you only for sex?”
Aurora shook her head, looking as baffled as he felt. “Erica started a rumor and everyone at school believed it, except my sisters.”
He blinked at her, attempting to compute.
“I thought you knew that was the running story.”
“No, I never heard that. It’s ridiculous.” He scowled. “That Erica Burr was mean as a snake.”
“You’re telling me. Now I know she was being a spiteful teenage girl, trying to put me in my place, but at the time it killed me.”
He widened his eyes for effect. “We weren’t even having sex.”
“I know.” She shook her head. “But that’s too boring for the gossip mill. No one wanted to believe that.”
He shrugged and ran his hand across a cattail. “I guess we went parking and made out enough to make it a little unbelievable.” Still, he’d like a time machine to go back ten years and kick everyone’s butt who’d spread that rumor.
“If I remember correctly.” Aurora smiled. “A lot of that making out was right here at the lake.”
“I believe you’re right.” The memories warmed his skin as the evening breeze blew cool. “I was way too nervous to take it any further though. I thought, What if I do it wrong? And I didn’t want to upset you or pressure you. I didn’t want to lose you if we did something we weren’t ready for or because I didn’t know what the heck I was doing.”
She gaped. “Like I did?” Aurora shook her head with a smirk. “The Shipley sisters got no birds-and-bees talk from Mom, and Beth was as buttoned up as they got, probably well into college.”
“Dad was the same. He didn’t talk about puberty, sex, none of it. What I knew, I learned from the locker room, and turned out none of it was reliable. Some of my friends had started having sex, and they’d talk about it, which did not help me. At all. And with everything I had going on, and younger sisters at home—how they’d talk about guys pressuring them. I knew you weren’t ready, and I didn’t want to rush us, but I also didn’t—y’know—I didn’t want to have sex with anyone else.”
“Aww, Jude.” She batted her eyes at him, teasingly, and he thrilled at the realization they’d come far enough to joke with each other.
They could make light of things again, smile and laugh. The damage from their breakup wasn’t irreparable. And man, he’d missed her.
“You know what I mean. Besides, I was perfectly happy with our marathon make-out sessions.”
She elbowed him.
“What?” He shrugged off her weak punch to the arm. “It’s true. Those were great, and I think we’re old enough to talk about it without being coy.”
Aurora stopped walking and considered him. “Fair enough,” she said.
While it was a bit surreal talking about this with her now, it mostly felt natural. Like she was the one person in the world he could talk to about this.
Aurora reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. “Listen, thank you for initiating this. For the talk. I was really hurt back then and, even though I moved on, part of me always wanted resolution.”
“And we never got it,” he added.
“Exactly. Regardless of all the ins and outs, we did break up. It was over, and that’s what made me realize I needed to start living my life for me. You had other stuff in your life. Priorities. Everyone had their own life, and I needed mine.”
Exactly what he’d feared most back then. Their relationship, their love, was holding her back. Aurora was loyal to a fault, and she would’ve given up her dreams for him. He’d had to let her go, even after he knew what a mistake he’d made.
Aurora sighed, crossing her arms as if she were chilled. “Leaving the nest was good for me though. I wasn’t exactly the picture of confidence and maturity back then.”
“Eh.” He waved her off. “You were perfect.”
“Ha! That was my sister Beth.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He tapped his chin dramatically, drawing up a memory. “I remember her tattling on us over Christmas break, because you missed curfew.”
Aurora’s eyes flew wide. “That’s right! I forgot about that. She was home from college, the little snitch, otherwise Mom would’ve never known.”
“And we weren’t that late, but you woke her up sneaking in.”
“She was just mad because I had a boyfriend, and she didn’t.”
Jude remembered how indignant Aurora had been. She’d gotten grounded and was so angry.
“I didn’t see you again until the end of winter break,” he recalled.
They mused at the memory, a stillness falling around them. He’d missed her terribly during their time apart. He remembered thinking he never wanted to be apart like that again.
Another memory came to his mind, of their reunion. A warm fire and even warmer embraces. Kissing and touching and talking about forever.
Once Aurora had been released from her house arrest, she and Jude had reunited on New Year’s Eve. Beers and a bonfire and later, in Jude’s first pickup truck, they’d almost gone all the way.
Aurora cleared her throat and glanced away.
She was, undoubtedly, remembering the same moment.
She’d asked him to wait, and he had been perfectly fine with that.
Then she told him she loved him, and his heart had soared higher than the fireworks that night. Her love was all he could’ve wanted and more. The rest would wait until they were ready.
Jude turned toward Aurora to find her looking up at him.
Ten years disappeared in an instant, and they were back at this same lake, two teenagers, crazy in love.
She looked almost the same. Her face was a little slimmer, her hair a little longer, and there was a lot more wisdom and experience in her eyes. But she was still Aurora, and he was as attracted to her as he had been years ago. Arguably more.
He still cared about her too.
Deeply.
“Jude,” she said, his name falling from her lips like a question.
The notion was insane, inappropriate—he wanted to kiss her.
Right here, right now, with fireflies dancing across the field and into the trees, the sun so low it was an orange sliver in the distance.
Her breath quickened, as if she knew. As if she’d let him, or even wanted him to.
Aurora swayed toward him and he acted. Not another thought in mind except this woman and this night, and all the time they’d lost.
Jude kissed her. His hand on her cheek and then in her hair, he kissed her. And she let him. Parting her lips, sweetly, softly. They lingered, a gentle brush of her tongue, and he felt like flying.
The rumble of an automobile and the shriek of laughter jerked them from their moment. Aurora jumped back as Jude searched for the intrusive noise.
A van bounced over the hill and barreled toward the lake.
“We have company,” Aurora murmured, a touch of pink in her cheeks.
The van rolled to a stop near the lake’s edge and a gaggle of teens poured out, laughing and talking loudly, some hand-in-hand, towels draped over shoulders.
He knew this scene. He and Aurora had been this scene once.
“It’s probably time for us to go,” Aurora said.
“Yeah.” But he didn’t want this to be the end.
He wanted to kiss Aurora again. He wanted more time with her. More talking, more laughing. He wanted to turn back the clock and have endless days in her company, making her happy, sharing more of life. They’d missed out on so much, and he wanted to make up for lost time.
But he couldn’t.
Aurora was leaving, maybe in a matter of days, and, like before, he’d have to let her go.
