An Amish Crush

Prologue

"You have no money. No job. And no transportation?" Brent repeats back to me from across the couch. It's pretty easy to hear the distaste in his voice. And he doesn't try hiding the confusion from his face as he carefully brings his coffee cup to his lips and takes a long, drawn out swig. I lower my gaze to my hands and focus on trying to lace them together on my lap.

"I know I sound like a pretty undesirable roommate." I mumble. "But I'm a hard worker."

"The fuck, man." Brent laughs placing the tiny white mug on the table. "You're a 'hard worker' but you can't pay rent and need me to cart your broke ass around? You can't buy food, but don't worry, you're a 'hard worker'."

"I can pay in other ways. I-I'm really handy. I can fix things." I plead. "And I'll get a job soon. I promise."

"You promise?" He asks eying the coffee. There's a beat of silence between us. I purse my lips. He picks up the cup. "You sure as hell know how to sell yourself." He spits sarcastically. "Why do you want to move out anyway? Why not, I don't know, stay with your parents until you secure a job and some money?"

"It's complicated."

"Complicated?" He snorts. "Complicated my ass. You're wasting my time."

Brent stands up to show me to the door and my heart sinks into my chest. "Brent! Wait!" He pauses. I think over my next words carefully. "I can't go home. I'm Amish."

"What?"

That certainly caught his attention. I smile. "There's this thing, Rumspringa, I get to leave the community-"

"I'm familiar." He cuts in. "But this is the south. What the hell are you doing here?"

"It's a long story."

"Make it quick."

Brent carefully lowered himself back into his seat, crossed his legs, and quirked his brows. I let out a deep breath, relieved. "There's this girl-"

"Isn't there always?"

"No, you don't understand. She's not-"

"Like other girls? Please. Could you be any more cliche? Just because she's not Amish doesn't mean a damn thing." He stops, looks me over again, and raises a brow. "She's not Amish, is she?"

"No, she's not. But it's not like that!"

"What's it like? And make it good."

"Fine." The man is really trying my temper. I look at the door and frown. I am so close. I can't let him get under my skin and ruin my chances. "I was twelve." I start. "In my community, we'd seen plenty of travelers past through-"

"Yawn!" Brent rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. I glare.

"As I was saying," I continue, "there was this one family passing through with a flat tire. It was a weekend and the closest mechanic was closed so they asked for a place to stay. They said they'd pay generously for whoever was willing to open up their home."

"Let me guess, your family was the one to do it?"

"Well, yeah." I grin. "But again, there's more to the story than that."

"Sure there is." Brent sighs easing back in his chair. "Let me guess what happened next. They had this daughter, right? And she was the most beautiful little thing you ever did see. Your little sheltered Amish self had never interacted with someone outside your community and she fascinated you. But the weekend was gone too quickly and you were never able to shake the feeling of what could have been, so now you're here, what? Eight years later? Finally tracked her down to this shithole and now you want your chance at love. Am I right?" His muddy brown eyes stare into my soul as he casually strokes the stubbles on his chin. I fall silent, unsure of what to say. He laughs. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Have you spoken to her yet? What makes you so sure she's even here?"

"A letter." I inform him. "Her family sent a letter to thank us for our kindness. I always wanted to write back, but mother wouldn't let me. I walked by their house this afternoon and I-" I stop myself. Brent smirks.

"You saw her?"

I blush and look away. "Yeah. I saw her."

"What makes you so sure it was her? It's been years, man. It could be any bitch."

"Don't say that! Don't use that kind of language about her." I snap. "And I know it was her! It has to be."

"Chill, man. I'm just trying to play devil's advocate here. How can you be sure?"

"Her eyes." I tell him. "She has two different color eyes."

Brent's face changes, and suddenly he can't meet my gaze. He bites his lip and shakes his head. "Damn. I think I know her."

"Y-you do?" I stutter. "You know Amelia?"

"Yeah, dude. She goes by Amy now. Amy Sullivan. I know your girl. But, hey, listen. You're not going to like what I'm about to tell you."

"W-what is it?" My head immediately floods with horrors. Is she dying? Is she married? Is she moving away soon? What is it?

"Your girl has a boyfriend and he's a real dick."

"What? Really?" I ask with a laugh. "Is that all?"

"No, that's not 'all'." He snorts. "That boyfriend is me. And I'll tell you what, you moved me with your fucking cliche as all get out story and I'm going to let you be my roommate. But here's the thing: you can't tell Amy who you are or where you've come from. And when you start making money, you'll owe me all the rent you've missed and if I catch you staring at my girlfriend, you'll owe me money for that too, got it stalker?"

All I can think to do is nod. What are the chances, really, that the girl I've been in love with for almost ten years is dating the guy I'm going to be rooming with? I'm not sure what I should feel. But I'm happy. Happy that he's letting me stay and happy that I get to see my Amelia soon. After ask these years, I'll get to hear her laugh again.