What I Should’ve Said

Monday, August 23rd

Norah

One thing I loved about New York was Central Park. Every morning, no matter what day of the week, you could find a bustle of runners, joggers, bikers, walkers, dogs and dog owners, enjoying the small slice of nature within the otherwise overcrowded, congested city.

And most days, I was in that group. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not some avid runner training for a marathon. Not even close. I’m more of a “I’m going to move my legs in a running motion until my legs don’t feel like doing that, and then I’ll just walk” kind of gal.

Rain or shine, snow or summer heat, I put on a pair of sneakers and let my feet hit the pavement for thirty minutes or so. I let my lungs inhale the fresh air and my eyes take in the sight of my fellow city dwellers trying to get a little morning exercise.

It was my thing. And over the years, it had become one of the very few things I did for myself.

That I chose for myself.

It’s no wonder, as I try to find my way again inside a town the size of a sardine can, that I’m internally restless for more things like that. Mundane, sure, but equally important.

That’s not the only reason you’re restless.

Okay, fine. What happened Friday night at The Country Club might also be a driving force for my need to run. There’s nothing like some arguing turned slapping turned hot-and-heavy kissing with your new boss to make any woman feel discombobulated.

And hot-and-heavy kissing it was. Pretty sure you were—

No. No. No. Not going there.

Needless to say, I haven’t seen Bennett since shit went down, but my stupid brain hasn’t given me a break from constantly thinking about it.

Hell, I couldn’t even bring myself to hang around the bar after I saw Bennett leave. I didn’t follow through with my promise to Tad to do another karaoke song. Didn’t even stay to watch him give his best rendition of “Baby Got Back.” My head was spinning too fast with thoughts of Bennett—and the implications of that insane moment—to do anything but go home.

And now, before heading off to work another day at a job I’m hoping I still have, I’ve decided to get back to my roots and go for a run. Well, a walk-jog, if you will. Surely it will help with the nervous energy that has rooted inside my belly since Friday night.

Fingers and toes crossed, this will give me the endorphin boost I need to survive whatever is going to happen when I show up to his house this morning.

Now, Red Bridge doesn’t have a Central Park, but there is a quaint hiking trail that runs along the outside of the town. Apparently, the loop is about four miles, but you can easily detour straight back into the center of town without any issues. At least, that’s what the map at the start of the trail leads you to believe.

I pause at the entrance and snort when I note the actual name of the trail—Happy Trail. As in, this name could go two ways. Either a serious sexual innuendo or completely innocent to the point of naïve that no one picked up on the double entendre.

In this town, the motivation is a toss-up.

When my phone starts ringing inside the side pocket of my leggings, I pull it out to find Incoming Call Lillian flashing on the screen.

“Hey, stranger,” I answer by the second ring, and I’m surprised that my cell service appears intact.

“I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve talked to you.” Lillian’s voice accuses gently, and I instantly miss her.

I don’t miss my life in New York. I don’t miss the fake friends I acquired because of my relationship with Thomas. I don’t miss constantly having to appease my mother by going to functions I didn’t care about or doing things because they made her happy. And I certainly don’t miss my ex.

But I do miss Lillian. We haven’t been able to talk much since I’ve been here, but I’ve managed to keep her updated on most of the highlights.

“I know,” I reply and decide to utilize the time to stretch out my muscles. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately, but I got a job.” The first stretch I attempt is a hamstring stretch on my right thigh. It burns as much as my fear of losing said job because I acted like a violent-horny fool Friday night.

“A job, huh? Not going to lie, I’m happy for you, but I’m also kind of disappointed,” she answers on a little laugh. “Obviously, I want the best for you, but there was a part of me that hoped you’d have to come back to New York.”

“You and I both know that’s not an option.”

“Yeah, well, a girl who misses her bestie can dream, you know?”

One thing I’ve always loved about Lillian is that she’s amusing to watch in conversation because she’s so theatrical. I can picture her now, flashing some sort of jazz hand or drawing a bubble above her head with a finger.

“I know, Lil. I’m sorry, but I can’t come back. Eleanor already called my sister’s coffee shop looking for me, and that freaked me out enough.”

“I can’t believe she has the balls she does, but she’s been trying to track me down too.”

“Eleanor has never been lacking in ego.” I spread my legs and lean forward to touch my toes. “And she knows about Thomas coming to Red Bridge, so she’s going to be a dog with a bone until she gets what she wants.”

“Oh shit. Now the demon-dials are making more sense.”

“Yeah.” A sad exhale of air leaves my lungs as I stand upright again. “Have you talked to her?”

“Hell no,” Lillian replies like I just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “I don’t care if she shows up at my office with one of those singing telegrams. I don’t owe her anything, and you don’t owe her anything either.”

“Have you…uh…heard anything about Thomas?”

“I saw an article about him in the paper a few days ago. Just some boring coverage of that charity his family owns. They hosted some kind of event at the Met, and I honestly can’t even tell you the details because who cares about that asshole,” she rambles. “I mean, screw that guy. I still can’t believe he showed up in Vermont and tried to physically force you to talk to him. Like, he manhandled you, Norah. He was abusive. I wish you’d put him in the clink. He deserves to have a shiv or two rammed up his ass by strangers.”

Obviously, Lillian knows all about The Red Bridge Scuffle. She didn’t take it too well the first time I told her. It was a day or two after it happened, and it took some effort to convince her that showing up at his apartment with a baseball bat was a really bad idea.

“Let’s not get too worked up over this again, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” She groans. “I know why you didn’t press charges—sort of. But that asshole should be sitting in a cell, rotting.”

She isn’t the only one who feels that way—for as gentle as she’s been with me, Josie’s made her opinion abundantly clear.

“Oh!” Lillian exclaims. “But one thing that’s kind of good news is that in that dumb article I read, he had a date with him at that event. She’s a French supermodel or something. She barely looked eighteen, but that probably shouldn’t be a surprise, you know? Thomas King has a thing for barely legal. But maybe that means he’s moving on and won’t be bothered with you anymore.”

A thing for barely legal. Ugh. It’s moments like this that make me wonder how in the hell I could’ve been so naïve about that man.

“Anyway, enough about your asshole ex. Tell me more about this job.”

“I’m an artist’s assistant,” I tell her. “And it actually pays really well. Thank God. The arrival of your moving truck really ramped up my sister’s impatience with my squatting. I need to find a place of my own soon.”

“Wait…” She pauses. “An artist’s assistant? Who is the artist? Don’t tell me you have someone famous hiding in that tiny town up there.”

“Um…” I mash my lips together and pop them open with uncertainty.

“Norah, I swear to baby Jesus, if you’re keeping something from me…”

I sigh. “The artist is Bennett Bishop.”

“Bennett Bishop, as in the broody, rude-y, grumpy-ass macho man who punched Thomas and kissed you in a grocery store parking lot?”

“That’s the one.” I sigh again, mulling over whether I should give her the latest updates. Unfortunately for me, she sniffs out my hesitancy like a dog.

“Why do I get the sense there’s more to this story?”

“Because there probably is…”

“Norah.”

“It’s quite possible that something of a similar nature happened Friday night at a bar…” I shut my eyes and force myself to ramble out the rest as quick as my mouth will let me. “I might’ve slapped him again for being a jerk again and that led to more kissing and now I’m on edge about going to work today because I haven’t seen him since then and I have no idea how things are going to go.”

“Norah Rose Ellis!” Lillian shouts into the receiver so loud my AirPods vibrate inside my ears. “Oh my God! I cannot believe this! With as much as the two of you fight and kiss, you might as well be horny UFC members!”

“It’s not a big deal. And it’s not going to happen again.”

“Not a big deal?” she retorts. “Norah, get real! This feels like a really big freaking deal.”

“It’s no big deal,” I repeat. “Seriously. From here on out, I’m solely his employee, and everything is going to stay professional.” That is, if he doesn’t change his mind and give me the axe.

She laughs. And laughs some more. And when it feels like she isn’t going to stop, I mutter, “You’re kind of a bitch right now, you know that?”

“Sorry.” More laughs. “But I honestly thought your life in Red Bridge would be so damn boring, but it’s like the opposite of boring! Hell, it’s more exciting than mine, and I’m in the city that doesn’t sleep. Not surrounded by farms and cow shit.”

“There’s not that much cow shit in Red Bridge.”

“Whatever you say, friend,” Lil responds, but her amusement is evident in the rasp of her voice. “Anyway, I have to get going or else I’m going to be late for my early meeting. But now you have to promise to tell me more about your job with Mr. Hot and Broody. You think you’ll kiss him again today?”

“Lil, stop it!” I whine, but Lil just giggles.

“Gotta run! Bye, Nore. Love you!”

Her laugh fills my ears until the line clicks dead. Though, she can’t stop herself from following it up with a text message.

Lillian: Just FYI, all the BEST books start with banging the boss.

Me: You’re a psycho.

My phone vibrates in my hands again, but I ignore it, shoving it back into the side pocket of my leggings. My best friend is a highly intelligent girl, but she doesn’t have a clue when it comes to Bennett Bishop.

I’m more likely to strangle him than have sex with him. That is fact.

I give myself another five minutes to do a few stretches, and once I hit the timer on my smartphone and put on my favorite workout playlist, I give my AirPods one last adjustment and get moving.

My pace is slow as shit. More walking than jogging, but it doesn’t matter. It feels good. The air is crisp like an apple, and the sun shining down through the trees provides just enough warmth on my face to take the edge off.

And the view is something special. The leaves are showing the first early signs of change. Some are still a vibrant green, but others are already highlighted with tiny dots of red and orange and yellow. It makes me excited to see what Red Bridge looks like when the season really shifts from summer to fall.

Before I know it, I’m ten minutes into my walk-jog, and Leo Sayer has taken my ears back to 1976, telling me he feels like dancing the night away.

Another five minutes and my leg muscles decide to remind me that the last time I ran was when I pulled a Julia Roberts and left my wedding.

But two minutes after that, all thoughts of getting tired fly out the window when something catches my attention in my periphery. I glance over my shoulder, and the sight brings me to a dead stop in the middle of the trail.

It also makes me scream. “What the hell?!”

The fluffy, four-legged creatures behind me also come to a stop, and when I pull my AirPods out of my ears, I note the faint sound of a few small bells ringing from the crowd.

Yes, the crowd of fluffy white sheep staring at me.

Are these Farmer Tad’s sheep? If not, how many freaking sheep farmers are in this small town? It feels like an overpopulation.

The crazy thing is, the longer I stand here, the bigger the crowd gets as more sheep come around the bend and stop with the group.

How many are there? I try to count, but I get to forty and have to start recounting because I lose track and more keep coming.

But they all stop. And wait. And look ahead…at me.

“Uh…hello? Hi? Can I help you with something?”

They don’t respond. You know, because they’re sheep.

Just…keep going. Maybe this is like a thing? A Red Bridge thing? Maybe these sheep come here in the mornings too, to get a little fresh air?

“I…uh…I’m going to keep on running. You guys have a great day, okay? Maybe…uh…head back home? Yeah?”

But when I turn on my heel and start to run down the path again, I steal a quick glance over my shoulder and note they are now moving with me.

It’s like they’re following me down the trail.

I stop.

They stop.

I look at them. They look at me. Baaaaaaa.

I offer another wave goodbye, point toward the other side of the trail, and start to run again, but they just do what I do.

If I’m moving, they’re following.

If I stop, they’re waiting for me.

“Listen, um, what is happening right now?” I ask them.

Baaaaaa.

“Are you guys lost?”

Baaaaaa.

“Do you realize that I have no idea how to take care of sheep? I can barely take care of myself. I mean, I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman who has about a hundred dollars to her name and is living with her sister. If you need guidance, I’m not your gal.”

Unfortunately, my speech doesn’t achieve anything, and before I know it, another twenty-five minutes of playing red light, green light with a bunch of sheep on the freaking Happy Trail have passed by. Which means, if I want to be on time for work, this is now starting to cut into my shower time.

“Listen, I have to get to work, guys,” I tell them, but they’re not all that fussed about it. Hell, some of the sheep are busying themselves with munching on grass, occasionally glancing up to see my whereabouts. “It’s a complicated situation and I don’t know if you know who Bennett Bishop is, but let me tell you, he’s not going to want me to bring buddies along, you know? I’m supposed to be there to work. And after Friday night, things aren’t exactly easy peasy between us. The last thing I need to do is bring, like, a hundred sheep with me because they’re my new friends. Don’t get me wrong, you’re my friends. You guys are great. But I can’t do that, you know? I’m trying to keep my job, not lose it.”

Baaaaaa.

Eventually, I decide to phone a friend. My friend, besides these sheep, being my sister. It takes four rings twice over on two different calls for her to answer, but when she does, I don’t bother with pleasantries.

“I have a problem.”

“Okay?”

“I decided to go for a run this morning before work, and now I have about a hundred sheep following me.”

I expect shock. Maybe horror. But Josie doesn’t give me either. She’s all business, so much so, it makes me wonder if she’s in the sheep business.

“Are they marked?” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“What do you mean marked?”

“Farmers around here mark their sheep and cattle with paint. Usually, a little strip down their back or on one side.”

“Um…” I step closer to my new sheep pals and note a bright-orange strip of paint on their left sides. “Yes. Orange paint.”

“Tad Hanson’s sheep have latched on to you because he’s apparently incapable of keeping them in his pasture.”

“Latched on to me? What does that mean?”

“That means they’re lost like always, and you’re their temporary mother until you get them home.”

“Get them home?” I shout, and the sheep beside me lets out a bleating noise. “Josie! I’m supposed to be at work in, like, forty minutes!”

“Well, unless Bennett is okay with you bringing along sheep for the day, I’d say you better get your little ass moving toward Tad’s farm.”

“Like I even know where Tad’s farm is! I’ve spoken to Tad once in my life, and that’s only because you refused to come to the bar with me after dinner.” And for as chatty as he was on Friday night, he didn’t get around to telling me where he lived.

“Norah, you know I don’t go there, so just get over it.”

“Get over it?!” I protest on a shout. “I’m in it! I spend one night talking to Tad, and now his sheep are stage five clingers!”

“Where are you?”

“On the Happy Trail.”

“You’re not too far from Tad’s. And lucky for you, Bennett’s place and Tad’s farm are right next door to each other.”

I sigh. “That doesn’t feel lucky. I was planning on taking a shower and getting ready for work like a normal human being. Not putting in two hours of herding sheep before starting my day.”

Josie just laughs and gives me directions to Tad Hanson’s farm from where I’m at on the Happy Trail.

And as I try to run these sheep home, I realize just how right Josie is about Bennett and Tad being next door to each other. They’re so close, in fact, I’m cutting through my new boss’s property to get to Tad’s. I recognize the front of his large house and can just barely make out the small building behind it that he utilizes as his studio.

Me and a hundred damn sheep traipsing through his freaking yard.

Could this be any more outrageous? I think not.

Please don’t let him see this. Please don’t let him see this. I repeat those words to myself fifty times as I sprint across the grass, but they do the exact opposite.

Right on cue, as if he could hear my internal thoughts, Bennett steps out onto his front porch and narrows his eyes toward me and my flock of sheep as we haul ass across his yard.

I try not to make eye contact, but let’s be real, it’s impossible. How can you not make eye contact in a situation as ridiculous as this?

I am a train wreck in progress, and Bennett Bishop can’t look away.