Let It Go (15 page)

“Huh?” Tami Lynn expels, completely confused but enthralled.

“My favorite goddess in
Dungeons & Dragons.
The goddess of death and fate, she rules over winter,” Larry explains. Tami Lynn knows nothing of
Dungeons & Dragons.
However the mesmerizing tone of his cozy voice makes her wish she did.

Pulling her hand away, the one Larry released, Tami Lynn reflects on her conversation with Savannah as she feels her
carnal
mating shade surface on the apples of her blushing cheeks. Suddenly aware of Larry’s scent, she finds it quite stirring. “‘Logic be damned,’” she whispers Savannah’s working title.

“Pardon me?” Larry asks.

“Oh, nothing,” she giggles in a sultry tone. “Just talking to myself.”

Larry takes her by the elbow, assisting her to a standing position. His hazel eyes communicating with her dark browns, although unable to find the words.

“Well.” Tami Lynn shrugs. “Guess I better be off. Thank you, Larry.” She turns to walk away, spinning back in his direction, unwilling to negate her
biology,
or better yet,
chemistry.
“I have this thing, Friday night. A wood art exhibit. Don’t suppose you’d like to go?”

Larry grows nervous, crowds definitely not his thing.

Reading his body language, Tami Lynn quickly retreats, “It’s okay. Just thought I’d ask. No worries. Have a good day, Larry.” His name rolling off her tongue with a much different affection than in her previous mentions of his moniker,
Scary Larry.

Larry gulps, knowing it’s now or never. “I’d like very much to go,” he confirms, his steady voice in total conflict with his hands, busily fidgeting at his sides. “Anything for you, Raven Queen.”

Unsure of her affinity for being referred to as Raven Queen, Tami Lynn hampers her urge to correct him, simply obliging, “Great!” She saunters away victoriously, scarlet face and all.

Chapter Eleven

A stunning, mild-weathered Friday night rolls around in the heart of Savannah’s art district. Parallel to the Savannah River, the lights of the city dance off the water providing a festive landscape. Savannah’s heels, equipped with silver sparkling
bling,
click rhythmically along the street as she eyes the clock on her cell phone, tucking it back into her matching silver glittery clutch.

In a classic black strapless dress, she multitasks, having reluctantly agreed to meet Jack and his new girlfriend for drinks before attending Brody’s wood art exhibit. Her stomach grows nervous as to how she will react, seeing Jack with another woman. Although agreeably divorced, it may prove taxing to watch one she loved with his new love.

“Time to pay the piper.” She readies herself, entering a quaint lounge decadently adorned, its black and crimson color scheme seductive and inviting.

Her ears hone in to the smooth jazz music billowing from the live house band, providing a charming ambiance. Her eyes apprehensively scan the upscale establishment, the chatter of happy hour conversations merciful in its delivery cloud her otherwise restless mind.

She hears a whistle, followed by Jack’s voice, “Savannah. Over here.” He waves her to a booth tucked away in a quiet corner of the bar.

Relieved he does not offer up his arms for an embrace, as usual, but simply stands motioning for her to sit down in the seat across from him and his girlfriend.

“This is Daisy,” he says, introducing the attractive dark-haired woman sitting beside him.

Wow. She’s pretty. You did good, Jack.
Savannah’s internal thought rings, conflicted at the woman’s comparative appearance, a complete one-eighty from hers. Although ultimately satisfied that he chose to go such a route, symbolic of his willingness to move on rather than replacing her with a like image.

Daisy eyes Savannah, her face quickly forcing a smile as she extends her hand.
Hmm. Tall, blonde and fit. Guess that’s okay, if you like that played-out type. Quite unoriginal if you ask me. She could use a little makeup
. Daisy, too, keeps her thoughts to herself.

Savannah greets her cordially, her private mind juxtaposed and inappropriate.
I had a Cocker Spaniel named Daisy as a child. Sit Daisy. Shake. Good girl.
The fleeting memory causes Savannah’s lips to curve upward as she shakes and releases Daisy’s hand.

“What are you all dolled up for?” Jack asks, taking note of the way Savannah’s little black dress sculpts her alluring form.

With Jack’s inquisition, Daisy scoots closer to him, placing his arm around her shoulder and clutching his thigh with her hand as if staking her claim. Her plunging neckline bubbling over, exhibiting a bountiful display of sun-kissed skin.
Dolled up?
Daisy huffs.
Little black dress, please! That’s played-out, too. She could have at least done something with her hair.
Daisy notices the uncultivated mane, long and parted at the center, its natural wave thick and lacking of polish.
Looks like a hot mess. Sarah Jessica Parker wannabe.

Savannah self-consciously slumps her posture, attempting to draw attention away from herself.
Easy Fidoette, I’m no threat to you,
she picks up on Daisy’s territorial body language. “I’m headed to a wood art exhibit,” she answers Jack.

“We’re just a stop along the way, huh,” he says, slightly put out. Looking to Daisy, he continues, “Told you she stays busy. Always something pressing to do.”

“Jack said you write for the paper or something,” Daisy jumps in, her easy voice and interrogating body language at odds.

“Yeah. I have a column with
The Times.”
Savannah searches for a bartender, suddenly feeling an urge to take the edge off. “How about you?” she follows up as cordially expected.

“I work in healthcare. Medical billing. I work from home.” Daisy continues, rapidly getting to her point, “We’re setting up an office at Jack’s.”

We. At Jack’s.
Savannah keenly processes, coming to her own conclusion, attempting not to allow the shock of the expeditious revelation to present itself in her expression.

“We’re taking the big leap. Moving in together,” Daisy happily confirms, nestling herself tighter to Jack.
How do you like them apples, Bohemian Barbie?

Jack looks to Savannah, as if he expects her to react. She does not. “That’s cool. Congratulations.” Savannah hears the words rolling off her tongue, distant to any emotion.

“What are you drinking, Ma’am?” A bartender approaches the booth, tending to Savannah’s thirst, Jack and Daisy already effectively managed, each having a light beer.

“I’ll have a Guinness.” Savannah smiles widely at the bartender, a true godsend.

“You got it,” he says, retreating from the table in pursuit of her libation.

“Guinness?” Daisy pipes. “Pretty stout drinking for a girl. You know that stuff will make you fat.”

Savannah chuckles. “If I’m going to drink, I want to taste it,” she says, eyeing their light, watered-down beverages. “‘
Only for the bold,’
” Savannah deems the Guinness slogan.

“‘Go big or go home,’” Jack quips, her mantra. “Savannah Bondurant doesn’t do anything halfway.” He rolls his eyes.

Growing irritated at his digs and the general course of conversation, Savannah verbalizes her internal thought with a bite, “That’s right. Life is for the bold. If you can’t handle it, go sit on the sidelines.”

“Ooh!” Daisy’s voice echoes, high-pitched.
Maybe I misread this one. Might be a little spunk behind that permanent fake ‘I try too hard’ smile
. She scrutinizes Savannah’s expression.

Jack simply tips his beer up, chugging what’s left in his glass, recognizing a familiar face passing by. “Hey man! What’s going on?” Jack calls to a fellow firefighter and his wife on their way to a table.

“Hey Brigant,” the firefighter addresses him as is customary to station life, by his last name. “Nothing much. Friday night. Just showing the wife a good time.”

Savannah smiles at the unfamiliar firefighter and his wife, growing very uncomfortable at the whole scene. A tell-tale sign that she never should have agreed to this meeting.
If you’re doing something you wouldn’t want the whole world to know, you probably shouldn’t be doing it, Savannah,
she scolds. Her largest aggregate not knowing what Jack has said about her and their separation. Another habit of late he seemed to acquire, telling everybody everything, the way he wanted to tell it, regardless of the truth.
No telling what the firefighters and their wives must think of me.

“I understand that, man.” Jack flashes his fellow firefighter a gluttonous smile. “I’m treating the ex-wife and the new girlfriend tonight,” he says boastfully, as if such a fact deserves a pat on the back.

Idiot.
Savannah rolls her eyes, wishing she could hide under the table. Feeling a burning need to explain, but opting not to for fear of making the engagement sound more twisted than it really is.

The firefighter’s wife looks from Savannah to Daisy, then to her husband very uncomfortably at the admission, tugging on his arm.

“Well…guess we’ll be off to our table,” the firefighter responds, not quite knowing how to respond. “Good luck with that, Brigant,” he mutters out the side of his mouth, escorting his fidgety wife.

The bartender unknowingly plays mediator, delivering Savannah’s Guinness, which she quickly places to her lips, indulging in a lavish taste.

“Bring me another,” Jack instructs the man, “with a shot of Jäger.” He looks at Savannah challengingly, awaiting her concerned protest to his habitual drinking, a regular argument toward the demise of their relationship.

“You got it, Boss,” the bartender affirms, fleeing.

Savannah, a regular
lightweight
in the alcoholic beverage department, can’t help but laugh, feeling the effects of her quarter glass of Guinness. Jack and Daisy eye her peculiarly. Savannah shrugs. “What else can we do, but laugh? This is sooo awkward.” She says what everyone else is thinking, giving in to another self-soothing belly laugh. “Who does this!”

Jack watches her, unwilling to join in, reflecting and wishing that he could turn back the clock when their reciprocal laughter far outweighed their hurt and disappointment.

Whatever.
Daisy takes a sip of her light beer.
It’s like having drinks with a bobble-head. She’s so bubbly.
Daisy refuses to acknowledge the absurdity of the moment.

“Let’s just get everything out on the table,” Savannah prefaces, her laughter subsiding, knowing no other way to be but direct. ‘Some things are better left unsaid,’ the advice of her mother, Buffy, makes a fleeting pass in her mind. Staying true to herself, she is compelled to face the big fat elephant in the room. “From my understanding, we’re here to do a little meet and greet, for you.” Her eyes level with Daisy’s. “I guess Jack has some concerns about your comfort with he and I maintaining civility.”
Jealous much?

Daisy wastes no time with pretense now that Savannah has flung the door wide open. “Do you make a habit of being friends with your exes?”
So you can enjoy the fringe benefits? Tramp.
Her eyes diligently interrogate Savannah’s as if she is prepared to decipher a lie.

“I don’t have that many exes to make it a habit.” Savannah’s lips teetering between a smile and a smirk. “And I wouldn’t exactly call Jack and I friends. We’re
friendly.
We don’t have consistent contact or anything. The way friends would. Especially since the divorce became final.”
Shut up, Savannah, you don’t have to explain yourself to some begrudging ninny.

“Friend…
ly,”
Jack huffs, anxiously awaiting his beverages.

Daisy paws and strokes at him, much like a cat settling into its dominion, playing to his impatience. “I wouldn’t remain friends with an ex…unless I had future intentions with him,” she leads.
So, step-off, wench.

“I have no future intentions with him, I assure you. What we had has been broken for some time. Beyond repair. We tried. It didn’t work. Why would either one of us want to go back to that,” she says, her voice stern, certainly not a question.
If I wanted him, I’d have him. You’re more than welcome to my leftovers. So uncalled for, Savannah. Get a hold of yourself.

“Well, I know
he
doesn’t want to go back to that,” Daisy emphasizes. “That’s why I wanted to meet you. To get a feel for your intentions.”
And to size-up my competition. You’ve got nothing on me, aviation blonde.

“This should do it, shouldn’t it?” Savannah motions in their cuddly direction. “If I can sit here with the two of you, being affectionate and not be bothered by that, then there’s your answer.”
What more do you want from me? Blood? First born? Restraining order?

“Guess she has a point, huh babe,” Daisy talks to Jack, coaxing his face toward hers, theirs lips meeting.
Let’s see if this bothers you, Miss Cool as a Cucumber. ‘I’m not jealous.’ Blah blah blah!

Don’t mind me,
Savannah internalizes, the obvious and intentional PDA nearly causing her to throw up in her mouth.
Would you like to strip down right here on the table and show me? Officially mark your territory.
“We’re all adults here,” Savannah continues, attempting to squash the high school vibe. “You don’t get to be thirty years old without having some relationship baggage. The idea of being someone’s one and only is irrelevant at this age. But you can certainly be the last,” she adds, truly hopeful that they have found that perfect fit with each other.
Good luck to you!

“We were talking about that the other day, weren’t we, babe?” Daisy runs her fingers through Jack’s hair. “About how it took us thirty years to find one another.”
I can make him so much happier than you ever did. I own it in bed. Bet you never make a peep, goody-goody. Probably like humping a sack of potatoes.