His Magnolia (The May Flowers Series) Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Dori Lavelle

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  More May Flowers Short Stories

  Also by Dori Lavelle

  The moment I walk into the tiny cottage I share with my mother, the stench of cigarettes, old food, and booze hits my nostrils and I reel back. Clenching my teeth, I shut the door and lean against it for a moment, pulling in deep breaths to prepare myself for yet another uncomfortable evening.

  “Mom?” I call out, pushing away from the door. She doesn’t respond.

  I find her in the living room, sprawled on the couch, watching a celebrity reality TV show, a cigarette in one hand. It’s rare to see her without a cigarette. Sometimes I worry that one day I’ll come home to find the place has burned down. She has been smoking even more after quitting her job at Andy’s Grocery Store, three weeks ago.

  She knows I’m in the room, but she doesn’t glance up, doesn’t acknowledge my presence. That’s how little I mean to her. I don’t exist to her, unless she needs money.

  My hands are curled into fists as I walk out and go to the kitchen, where I find a sink piled with dirty dishes. I drop my handbag on a chair at the kitchen table and start washing up. I’m doing it for me, not her. My mother has no problem living in a pigsty, but I do.

  It’s days like this I feel desperate to move out, to go as far away from her as I can. But every time I gather up the courage to walk out on her, she threatens to kill herself.

  It all started after I graduated from high school and applied for a scholarship at a university in Boston. My dream was to pursue a degree in journalism. But when my mother found out that I was planning to move away, she attempted suicide. Thankfully, she survived, but she made it clear she would do it again if I tried to leave. I stayed because I didn’t want to live with her death on my conscience. But living with her is just as unbearable. I don’t even get why she wants me around.

  I was ten when my father died and she revealed she never wanted me, that I was a mistake. She had dreamed of going to Nashville to become a famous singer, but she got pregnant and my father convinced her not to abort me. After his death, she no longer felt the need to pretend she even liked me. Everything went downhill after that.

  After I’m done with washing up, I pop a frozen pizza into the oven. My mother walks into the kitchen just as I close it. I feel her toxic presence before I even turn to face her.

  She’s leaning against the doorframe, a cigarette dangling from a corner of her bright red lips. The thick eyeliner around her eyes and the frown lines around her lips and between her eyebrows make her look older than her fifty years. She used to be pretty once, with emerald eyes that sparkled when she smiled. Her thick red hair, like mine, was once vibrant, but now it looks dull and always hangs limp on both sides of her face.

  My gaze goes to the envelope in her hand.

  “This arrived for you,” she says in her deep smoker’s voice. “It’s an invitation to your high school reunion.” She waves the open envelope in the air. “I don’t get why they bother to invite you. It’s not as if you can go.”

  Staring at the envelope, I feel my heart pounding hard at the base of my throat, which feels like it’s about to close up. I cross the room and yank the cream envelope from her hand. “I told you not to read my mail.” My voice is firm even when my stomach is quivering.

  “And I told you this is my house. I open every piece of mail that comes here.”

  I know exactly why she opens my mail. It’s her way of making sure I’m not making plans to move out without her knowledge.

  I lower my gaze to the envelope, turning it over. Bitter bile rushes to my throat, but I swallow it back down. Then I meet my mother’s eyes again. “Maybe I’ll go this year,” I say.

  My mother crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t be stupid, Magnolia. It says in there you should bring a significant other. You’re thirty-two and no man wants you.” Her mouth twists in an ugly sneer. “And what would you say if they ask what you accomplished in fifteen years? You have nothing to boast about. You’re nothing.”

  “Whose fault is that?” I ask even though I know deep down that it’s not entirely her fault. I had the power to make my own decisions then, and I failed myself. Now here I am, stuck with her.

  In response, my mother only laughs, then she turns to leave the kitchen.

  I sink into a chair and think about how the people I went to school with—the same people who bullied me all those years ago—would react when I tell them that instead of leaving Misty Cove, Florida, to go to college like many of them had, I work at our old high school library. I’m sure they would have a blast if they knew that I only had two boyfriends in my entire life and that one of them dumped me because I’m apparently terrible in bed.

  But what if going to the reunion is my chance to take back the power they robbed me of, to show them that I’m not the weak kid they used to know back then?

  I shake my head and drop the invitation onto the table. No, I can’t do it to myself. I don’t have the courage to face them again after all these years.

  My decision is made, but when my mother returns to the kitchen to get a piece of the pizza I warmed up, I tell her that I’m going.

  She doesn’t say a word. She simply takes her food and disappears out of the kitchen. She knows I’m lying.

  My eyes are heavy and irritated when I open them in the morning. Five years ago, when I decided not to go to the high school reunion, I didn’t think much of it. I simply threw the invitation away and moved on with my life. But this time, something is tugging at my heart, nudging me to change my mind.

  I jump into the shower, shoving the thoughts to the back of my mind. Then I hurry to get dressed before my mother gets up. I don’t have the energy to face her before work. One scathing look or a poisonous word from her and the rest of my day would be ruined.

  She’s still asleep when I sneak out of the house and hop onto my bike. It’s a beautiful day, beautiful for many other people who are not stuck inside a life they don’t want.

  For a few minutes I enjoy the peace and freedom that comes with being away from my mother, but then my mind takes me back to the invitation I left in my bedside drawer. Before I know it, her words catch up with me and torment my mind.

  You have nothing to boast about. You’re nothing.

  Wrestling with my insecurities, I blink away hot tears and pedal even faster, the wind slapping my cheeks and sweeping through my hair.

  I’m so distracted by my thoughts that at first, I don’t realize what happens next.

  One second, I’m trying to get to the other side of the street, and the next, I’m flying off the bike. A shocked gasp, then a scream burst from my lips the moment my head hits the ground.

  From a distance, I hear the squealing of tires and someone shouting. Then I hear nothing as darkness takes over.

  When I open my eyes again, and blink away the fog, I find myself gazing into eyes so clear and blue they remind me of the sea I love so much. Even in my discomfort, a pleasant but unfamiliar sensation swirls in my belly.

  The enchanting eyes belong to a stranger who is cradling my head with one hand, his brow knitted in the middle.
<
br />   I blink again several times to bring myself fully back to the present. “What happened?” My voice is a whisper that’s immediately drowned out by the sounds of cars whizzing by and early morning conversations.

  But he must have heard me because he answers, “I almost hit you with my car. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.” I swallow through the tightness in my throat. “My head…it hurts.” I place a hand on my right cheek, the place that hurts the most. There’s a small bump and it’s painful to the touch, but there’s no blood on my fingers when I remove them. I try to sit up. “I have to go to work.”

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t drive you to the hospital instead? You should get checked out.”

  “No.” I shake my head and flinch from the pain. “I’ll be fine.” I manage to pull myself to my feet. That’s when I see that we’re on the pavement and my bike is a few steps away from us, twisted at an unusual angle. Even though I have not been hit, it must have collided with something hard.

  “I’m sorry about your bike,” the stranger says and I turn to look back at him. “I’d be happy to give you money for a new one. Or is there anything else you need?”

  “I could use a date,” I murmur, then shake my head. I did not mean to say the words out loud. Hopefully he didn’t hear me. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to.”

  I continue to stare at him because now that my eyes are clear, I notice just how handsome he is. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone as handsome in real life. He has thick, black hair with perfect eyebrows to match and a strong square jaw with a faint dimple on the chin. It’s the wrong time and the wrong place, but without warning, my heart starts to gallop and my knees go weak. I need to get away from him before I embarrass myself.

  “I should go.” I’m limping slightly as I shuffle to my broken bike. I stare down at it, unsure what to do.

  “Where do you need to go? I can take you.” He comes to stand next to me. He’s so tall and broad that he towers over me.

  “I don’t ride with strangers,” I say, still staring at my bike.

  “I understand that, but you said you need to get to work.” His voice is deep and smooth and his words echo inside me, making me vibrate with a kind of electric energy that is foreign to me. “You’re safe with me, I promise.”

  I look around me at people who are staring at us suspiciously. And then I look back at him. “I need to get to Misty Cove High School.” I pause. “That’s where I work.”

  “Great. If you give me the address, I’ll deliver you there.” When he bends to pick up my bike, I stop him.

  “I’ll do it,” I say and lift it from the ground, my head pounding. I lock it up across from a flower shop and follow him to his Mercedes. I’ll decide what to do about the bike later. It’s old and needed replacing anyway.

  The interior of the car smells of leather and expensive musk cologne, a great contrast to the smells inside our cottage.

  I wedge my hands between my knees and wait for him to slide in beside me. When he does, he gives me another worried look. “I should really give you money for the bike.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” It would be nice to have money to buy a new bike, but I would feel guilty for taking his money. What happened is not his fault alone. If I had been aware of where I was going, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.

  “I’m Brax, by the way.” He extends his hand toward me. “Since you don’t ride with strangers, it might be best for us to introduce ourselves first.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles and his teeth are so white, they look as though he had polished them one by one.

  The moment we touch and my fingers curl around his strong, manly hand, I forget my headache. I also forget the tears that blinded my vision earlier. I forget everything.

  “I’m...I’m Magnolia Anderson. Everyone calls me Maggie.” The only person who calls me Magnolia is my mother.

  “Nice to meet you, Maggie. Now, let’s get you to work. I don’t want you to be late.”

  As usual, I decide to stay back at the school long after the kids and most teachers leave.

  I take my time putting the books away and rearranging them until they’re all at their perfect spots on the shelves.

  Elena gives me a small wave on her way out the door. “You should really stop working extra hours,” she says, smiling. “You’re making me look bad.”

  I laugh and wave back at her. She’s one of the few people I call my friends. She’s the one who helped me get the job two years after I graduated from high school.

  It used to be uncomfortable in the beginning, especially since most of the kids recognized me as a former student and continued to make fun of me. But as soon as I was in the library, I felt safe. It had always been my safe haven. That’s one of the reasons I stay back long after everyone has left. I love it when it’s just me and the books.

  I also used to enjoy working on my novel in peace without my mother hovering over my shoulder, telling me how stupid I was to think I could ever be a published author. The novel is now finished, but I have never sent it to an agent or publisher. Instead, I carry it around with me, tucked inside my oversized handbag while I toy with the idea of writing another book.

  “You’re welcome to stay with me,” I say to Elena before she disappears through the door. “I’m staying another thirty minutes or so.”

  “No way, I’m done for the day. I need to take Jack to a birthday party anyway.”

  “Give him a hug for me. Tell him I still have the drawing of Superwoman that he drew for me.”

  Jack is Elena’s five-year-old son and he’s just adorable. But every time I see him, I feel a pang because I start wondering whether I’ll ever have children of my own. Most of the time, I try not to dwell on such thoughts and just take it one day at a time.

  After Elena leaves, I sit down at one of the tables, remembering the days when I used to hide out inside this same library, until my mind gets distracted by the events of the morning. The image that flickers in my mind and then becomes clear is that of Brax, the handsome stranger, looking down at me with a frown between his eyes and worry etched in his features. Who is he? I know for sure he does not live in Misty Cove because if he did, everyone would be talking about him and the ladies would be falling all over him.

  I shake my head, which still aches a little but not enough to make me want to have it examined. He has probably already forgotten about me. I should forget about him. But half an hour later, when I walk down the path leading to the school gate, I wonder whether it was smart of me to refuse the money Brax offered me for a new bike. I could really use one and right now I don’t have the money.

  Instead of taking a taxi, I’ll walk home. The school is less than half an hour from my house, and walking along the road that runs down the length of the beach would be refreshing.

  When I step out of the gate, my breath catches. On the other side of the road is Brax and he’s standing next to a silver bicycle.

  When he spots me, his face splits into a grin and he pushes the bike across the road to get to my side.

  “Hi there.” His smile brightens. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be done with work so I waited.”

  “You waited?” I raise an eyebrow. “How long?” When I notice my hand starting to fidget with one of my two braids—something I do when I’m nervous—I drop it to my side.

  “It doesn’t matter. This is for you.” He pushes the brand-new bike toward me. “It’s a small apology.”

  My mouth falls open. “Really? But…look, what happened wasn’t really your fault.” I stare at the beautiful bike, unable to take my eyes off it. I’ve seen it before in one of the two bike stores in town and I remember that it was quite expensive. “The truth is, I was deep in thought and didn’t pay attention to where I was going.”

  “And I was about to run a red traffic light,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry for what happened. I could have—”

  “I’m all right. You di
dn’t have to buy me a new bike. And it must have cost a fortune.”

  “Not to me.” He pauses. “Come on, take it. No strings attached.”

  “Umm…okay,” I say. If I don’t take it, I know I might regret it later. I feel like I’m flying as my fingers curl around the handles. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He shoves his hands into his pockets with a look of satisfaction. He looks like an angel in a bright white shirt that matches his teeth and blue stone-washed jeans. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No way.” I laugh. “I can’t ask you to do anything else. You bought me a bike. That’s huge.”

  “But not nearly enough. How about a drink? We could get one right now before you head home.”

  My fingers cover my lips to hide the smile that sneaks up on them. “I thought you said there are no strings attached.”

  “And I meant it.” He lets out a deep-throated chuckle that gives me goosebumps. “But I’m kind of thirsty. And it would be a great opportunity for us to toast to your new bike.”

  Before I can think through what I’m about to do, I give a small nod. It would be outside my comfort zone to have a drink with a man as handsome as he is, but I’m finding it hard to say no. It blows my mind that he would even want to spend a minute with a girl like me. But for once, I just need to feel good about myself. Being in his presence right now makes me feel that way.

  “Perfect.” He rubs his hands together. “I’m new in this town, so you might have to tell me the best place to have a drink.”

  “Sure,” I say. “There’s one not too far from here.”

  At the Misty Beach Bar, Brax gives me permission to order whatever I like, but I go for a simple glass of water instead.

  “Are you sure?” He raises an eyebrow, one hand rested on the glossy bar menu. “It’s my treat.”