Part 2~Fighting
Very all four I should think.
The Potter Bed and Breakfast hadn’t changed much. But it seemed very small. The porch was littered with small potted plants, just like the last time Joey had seen it. Beneath the worn welcome mat was a spare key and the cold metal felt strange in her hand.
Entering her home felt even more foreign. The rug on the floor was new, it was a dusky rose color. The last time she’d stepped across the threshold the rug had been green. There were a couple new pictures on the mantle over the fireplace. Not many. One, two maybe. A small vase was sitting innocently on the kitchen counter when Joey knew it was supposed to be centered on the table in the family room.
She stopped in the hallway, eyes widened, taking in the difference. Another photograph caught her eye. Hanging in the hall, was a picture of Bodie, Bessie, Alexander, and...Pacey. The four of them were smiling happily at the camera, Pacey kneeling with an arm slung casually around Alex. Bessie and Bodie held hands and their free hands made bunny ears behind both Pacey and Alex’s heads. Pacey’s hair was freshly cut. It looked like it had the day he’d pulled her into his arms that first time on the roadside. Bessie was wearing a flowered sundress Joey had never seen before. Alex looked a lot older. Joey took in a breath and stared at the framed picture. Her stomach hurt.
The sound of keys jingling in the doorknob jolted Joey into action. She dropped her suitcase and walked to the door quickly, grasping the knob herself and opening the door. She was met with a pair of very familiar blue eyes and a surprised yelp.
Her mouth went dry, her palms sweated. “Pacey.”
Tossing the key on a nearby table, Pacey grinned slowly, opening his arms and enfolding her in a close embrace.
The stubble on his cheek brushed against her skin, his lips grazed her ear, and his voice was no more than a husky whisper when he murmured, “Welcome home, Potter.”
Joey pulled back a breath, to see his face. The warmth and love was written plainly on every feature. She started to think she had unwittingly walked into a time portal, transporting her back to four years ago. A time when such a moment had been possible between them. Just as suddenly as he had grabbed her, Pacey stepped away, his arms falling stiffly to his sides. He nodded to himself imperceptibly and his eyes clouded over, an unreadable expression falling over his face. He stood there, shoulders slumped, eyes shifting restlessly along the weathered floorboards. Joey bit her lower lip and stilled her racing pulse. “Good to see you too, Pace.” She gently stroked a finger along his jawline. Just once. Looking down at her, Pacey broke into a relieved smile.
“I was planning on having some lunch ready for you, but I got behind.” He spoke quickly, moving into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. “Your sister had about a dozen different chores for me today.”
“Bessie?” Joey followed Pacey into the kitchen, her expression dazed. She had no idea why he was doing any errands for Bessie at all. She sat down at a stool near the counter. She watched Pacey pull out a can of tuna from a shelf, mayonaisse from the refrigerator. He grabbed a small bowl, the can opener and a large spoon. Eyeing Joey as he opened the can quietly he smirked a bit.
“You don’t have any idea why I’m here, do you?”
“None whatsoever,” Joey answered truthfully.
“Huh.” Pacey laughed, shook his head and dumped the tuna into the bowl. Spooning some mayonaisse in as well, he stirred the mixture. Joey waited expectantly.
“Well?” Pacey gave her a blank stare. He untied the bread and setting two slices on a plate, dolloped a glob of tuna on the bread. He put the second slice on top of the first and handed her the sandwich with a mild smile. Joey looked down at the plate and then back up at Pacey. “Are you gonna enlighten me as to why you’re here?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Nah, I figure I’ll leave you in the dark awhile.” He grinned.
“When you’re ready to turn the lights on let me know,” she said. Joey bit into the sandwich gratefully. She’d done her best to avoid eating on the flight, the mixture served didn’t qualify as food in her book. Pacey watched her while he leaned against the kitchen counter. He took in the changes three years had rendered. Her curves had filled in a bit, or maybe her clothing accentuated her figure better. He wasn’t sure which. He imagined ways he might find out and smirked in spite of himself. Joey swallowed. “What are you staring at?”
“You,” he said simply, “I was wondering when you started dressing like that.”
Joey looked down at her t-shirt and skirt critically. “Like what?” She smoothed out a wrinkle in the purple rayon draped against her knees.
“Like,” he reached out a finger and traced a line from the nape of her neck down to the gentle swell of her breasts, “that.” He stared pointedly at the deep V of her light lavender shirt.
Joey licked her lips. “I’ve had this for forever.”
“Forever?”
“Two, three years at least.”
“Oh.”
Pacey blinked fast, his eyes reflecting the unintentional slight. She felt guilty. The silence grew, awkwardly surrounding them. She shifted in her chair and pushed the half eaten sandwich around on her plate. Then it hit her. She had nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing at all. This was her house and her life and he had given up a right to it when he dumped her. “So, what are you doing here, Witter?”
“I live here,” he admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Handyman Witter at your service, Jo.”
“What?”
“I live here.” His eyes dropped from her gaze ever so slightly. “Pacey Witter’s Barbie Beach House Fantasy could only last so long. With Gretchen in Boston, bills were gonna be kinda tight. So, your sister, Patron Saint of the Criminally Angst Ridden, offered me a room, provided I help with the repairs and upkeep and I kick in a small rent. Which I pay by working here.”
She nodded slowly. “So if I’m understanding this, you’ve been living here for three years.”
“Yeah,” Pacey answered, grimacing at the catch in his throat, “three years.” He waited, staring expectantly.
Joey ran her tongue over her lips. Her eyebrows raised and her head tilted sideways. The silent question hung between them.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come home if you knew.” He frowned. “But you didn’t come...I figured it didn’t much matter anymore.”
She made a quick decision and smiled brightly. “It doesn’t matter. How’s school?”
“Good,” Pacey said, breaking into a relieved grin, “Especially now that I’m not in attendance.”
“I thought you were-”
Pacey cut in. “Triple C wasn’t so bad, it’s just...not my thing. Turns out I really don’t like school much. I decided to pursue other avenues.”
She couldn’t help herself. “Such as?”
“Work, Jo. I work here and-you’re not gonna believe this.”
“Try me.”
He blushed. “I’ve taken up photography.”
“That’s nice.” She bit into her sandwich and swallowed. She reached for a glass of water and took a small sip. Her lips twitched up at the corners.
Pacey rolled his eyes and lifted her chin with a gentle hand so their eyes met. Their eyes locked on each other and Joey burst out laughing, spraying Pacey’s face with water. He dropped his hand from her jawbone and stood there, dripping, scowling at Joey.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she laughed, growing more and more hysterical with every new fit of giggles. It didn’t help at all seeing Pacey, standing there wiping water from his face like that. Or picturing him in a little beret with an archaic camera and all their old Capeside friends in period costume. And another bout of giggles erupted. Or Pacey taking photos a la Dawson, complete with the serious frown of concentration, a pair of khakis and a t-shirt that read “Phone Home” in big block print. Her sides hurt and she laughed even harder.
Taking deep heaving breaths she leaned forward, resting her head against Pacey’s chest, struggling to calm down. Joey concentrated on the gentle thump of his heart beat. Pacey stared down at her, feeling her tears of laughter dampen the front of his shirt. He ran a hand through her hair, another rubbed at the small of her back tenderly.
Clearing his throat, he whispered, “Are you done now?” He felt the nod of her head against him, accompanied by a giggle and a hiccup. “Close enough, I guess.”
With her eyes shut firmly, she said, “Tell me about photography, Pacey.” She buried her head into his warmth, focusing on the gentle pulse against her ear. Without thinking, she inhaled deeply, breathing in his smell. A small grin formed on his lips.
Feeling her relax into his arms, he started. “The whole thing started with the regatta the year you...,” he wrapped an arm around her waist, “The papers covered it and they ignored all of these beautiful boats. They only took pictures of the ones owned by blue bloods. Made the sports section look like the society page.”
Mumbled from his chest came the soft reply. “And?”
“And I took pictures of some of the boats the next week. I sent them to the newspaper. With a post-it note that said, ‘This is a boat.’ I also enclosed their regatta article with the pretty pics of Anna Evans and her dad in front of the yacht club. With a big red question mark on it.” He played with a lock of her hair, running the dark strands between his thumb and index finger. He reluctantly pulled away, releasing Joey from his arms. “So, long story short, a year later one of my pics made it to the paper. Then another, and I kept taking pictures. Now I’m taking a photo class at nights, freelancing for the paper, and tending to the B&B the rest of the time. And you?”
“Me?” She smiled gently, her eyes friendly but distant.
“Yeah you, lame-o. How’s school? What’s your major? Why’d you transfer from Worthington to San Diego? Etcetera, so forth, and so on.” The questions Pacey had wanted to ask for three years spilled from his lips quickly, faster than he could even contain them.
Joey chuckled, the low rumble in her throat going straight to his spine, making him shiver. “I’ve been finishing up my junior year. I’m majoring in English and California just sort of happened. Worthington was,” her smile faltered slightly, “in Boston.”
“Right, you knew that when you applied, Jo.” He had expected a better answer.
“It wasn’t me.” She shrugged, looking past him. “I think I hear Bessie’s car.”
Pacey shook his head, an eyebrow raised. “She won’t be home for a few more hours. She had a dress fitting.”
“And that would be where?” Joey rose, shrugging her coat on as she made her way to the front door.
“In town, same place Gale got hers-”
The slam of the front door cut off the rest of his answer.
Part 3~Torture |