Crossroads Read Free Page A

The fact I was buying flowers and writing any note at
all was pushing my limits beyond comfort.
    My stomach was in strange knots as I rode
over to her place to deliver my heartfelt bunch of floral
persuasion.
    I headed up her driveway and parked behind
the white truck. It had a distinct sideways lilt, like the
suspension had gone. I didn't know a ton about cars or bikes,
mechanically, I left all that to Col. He knew everything. I was
sure driving that truck was a bumpy ride, if it was roadworthy at
all, legally.
    I stood at the door and pressed the door
bell button and waited.
    I was a strong guy. I could face any amount
of adversity. I'd been known to wrestle a heifer to the ground and
had faced a raging bull a few times without the kind of fear I
experiencing that moment.
    Fear of rejection. A sickening,
knee-weakening, pulse-throbbing fear.
    A buzzer sounded loudly. I cleared my throat
ready to deliver my few... very few... words. It was best I didn't
say much. I didn't trust the right words to come out of my pathetic
mouth.
    I could see a shape through the glass, long
fair hair, and the door swung open.
    A sweet young girl stood before me in her
One Direction sweater. Some guy smiled at me like an idiot from her
bright red top.
    She had a certain look about her, facially,
particularly around the eyes. I wasn't sure what it was... possibly
Down's syndrome or something like that.
    “Hello,” she said shyly,
blushing, wringing her hands.
    “Hi, is Tiffany around?” I
asked her.
    But before she could reply, someone else
called out. “Who is it, hon?”
    I recognized the voice but it sounded
different...deeper.
    An older version of Tiffany appeared behind
her.
    “Oh...hi...” she
said.
    I couldn't help but think
Tiff's mom was a whole load of hot mama. Her curly blonde bob and
overall good looks couldn't be ignored. I beat back the bad words
and bad thoughts flying around in my head. It was an ongoing
problem men had to deal with around attractive women, and normally
I let my thoughts lead where they wanted to lead. By this was a
highly inappropriate time for that.
    “Hi there. I'm Josh. Can I
have a word with Tiffany please?” I said in my best meeting-mama
tone of voice. I hoped to God she hadn't told her mom anything
about last night, or I could be dead meat. She could have a shotgun
behind the door for all I knew.
    Her eyes took in the flowers and my hopeful
expression and she softened visibly, a smile breaking out. A pretty
hot smile.
    “Yeah, sure... come in. I
think she's finishing up in the bathroom.”
    She beckoned me inside I followed her into
her living room.
    I stood there awkwardly, with the young girl
staring at me.
    “Philipa, go get your
sister will you, sweetheart?”
    She giggled and skipped off.
    “Nice home you have Mrs
Johnson.” I wasn't lying. Although it was very feminine, it
appealed... pastel colors... a white enamel wood-burning stove...
pretty pictures hung on the cream walls.
    “Oh... well thank you. I
consider a nice home to be a necessity. It's the one place in the
world that you can make your own. Don't you agree?”
    “Definitely.” Sadly the
last time I felt at home, in the ranch house, was years ago, before
my Ma died. It was a beauty of a house inside. But she'd made it
feel like home, not the decor.
    Tiffany arrived through
the door ― h er long hair was wet and brushed
through ―n ot a
scrap of make up on her face ―t ight faded jeans hugging her curvy
hips and a white t-shirt hugging the other beautiful
assets.
    I tried not to stare too
hard at the vision of female perfection which had arrived. She was
so goddamn beautiful ―a goddess. I could have dropped to her feet in
worship.
    “Hello Josh.” she said
coolly. Her expression was anything but perfect. She took in my
presence and the flowers and raised her eyebrows at me
suspiciously.
    “How are you?” I asked
pleasantly.
    “I'll leave you two
alone.” Her mom thoughtfully left the room, closing the
door.
    I