~~~This is a prequel, spin-off from Ties~~~
Briar Hayes has lived her entire life being polite, never daring to express the crazy and wild thoughts running laps in her head. At almost twenty-five, stuck in the throes of monotony, she finally snaps...
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"Briar."
"Briar?"
"Briar!"
I pry my eyelids apart and lift my chin, which, at some point, dropped to my chest. More like my collarbone—think of the dynamics. Then I sit taller in my seat, wedged against two joining walls in the conference room.
You already know... they put baby in the corner.
My mother repeats my name, garnishing it with her grated annoyance. Welcome to my world.
After a couple seconds, I exit my alternate reality, or my past reality, or recollection—whatever. Alright. I fell asleep. I swipe the side of my lips, super dry from the abrupt change in climate. Regardless, I'm in a fantastic mood.
Kinda. It's Monday morning and I'm running on about three hours of sleep. But ya know what? I'm gonna make the best of it.
I'd Uber'd home from the airport last night around nine thirty. And let's note, the past weekend was the longest, shortest weekend that's ever weekended—let it ride. I didn't wait a minute after unlocking my apartment door to send Trey a text.
My heart had inflated like ankles in swampy humidity when an instantaneous video call came through, displaying eyes appearing even more brilliant, and freshly showered hair waving down past his ears.
His hotness should be illegal.
There's something about his presence, even through a screen, that's soothing. I was dying to stay in our weekend bubble for longer.
When I'd traipsed through the airport doors, not gonna lie, I had to battle tears pricking my eyes and stinging my nose after leaving Trey standing there. I'd felt sorry for myself, wishing we met—truly met—sooner, or that circumstances were different. Like I suddenly lived in Georgia, or who knows?
Get real. I can't up and leave, making yet anotherknee-jerk decision because of one weekend. Well, been more than one now. But still.
Would be nice if I could. Imagine me just showing up—file that under mega-clinger territory. Plus, where would I stay? He lives with his parents. I live in an apartment funded partially by mine. I say partially because I'm working on it. Thatpart—the funds part—got my brain reeling.
Trey and I had spent hours on the phone, and I developed out a plan, taking some of his mom's advice. When Vada showed me her workshop, she'd explained that her previous career, as a lawyer, left her empty. And she fucking hated it.
She didn't say fucking, that's just me.
While specializing in property law, she'd dealt with some old churches. Many were historic, and couldn't keep up with growing costs or expansions. From light reflecting in through intricate stained windows is when her love, or calling as she'd put it, was born.
