Proud Magnolias and Messy Relationships

Her mind reveled in the stark contrasts ahead of her. The asphalt shimmered with heat, but the proud magnolia tree spread her thick branches of green leaves and huge, bright, creamy blossoms outward to shade several cars in the lot. She could easily imagine a time when this tree stood alone in an empty field, giving a fragrant refuge to a child who could escape into a world of dreams and possibility. She’d gladly trade the mess the tree left on her beat-up, silver Honda Civic for the lovely scent and the coolness underneath.

The smile curving her lips from her fanciful imaginings slightly dimmed when she realized Mr. Bandy parked his fancy BMW beside her car. The two vehicles, side-by-side, further showed the contrast in her economic situation compared to his. Yet, she didn’t dwell on her physical possessions since this car merely allowed her more accessible transportation. It didn’t have to be pretty.

Her luck continued to hold out as the driver’s side door actually opened. At least today, she wouldn’t have to crawl across the front from the passenger’s side, which started to become a regular occurrence. Still, the hinges protested as she cracked open the door just far enough to squeeze herself in, sarcastically thanking Mr. Bandy for parking so close to the line to force her to stretch in strange contortions to keep from hitting his car with her door.

Granted, he probably assumed she’d have to get in from the passenger side, as he saw her do so often in the past, much to her intense embarrassment. If Mr. Bandy really wanted to be helpful, he should consider giving her a raise so she could get the new car sooner. Maybe, he just enjoyed watching her struggle. Or even worse, perhaps he enjoyed catching glimpses of her chest or legs should she happen to be wearing a scooped neckline or pencil skirt that day. She couldn’t dwell on that thought; it just grossed her out.

With goosebumps raised all over her arms, she luxuriated in the heated interior of her car. Slipping off her low heels, she wriggled her feet into the sneakers she used for driving and carefully laced them up. One could never be too careful while driving. The last thing Jocelyn needed was for her pump’s heel to get caught in the hole in the floor mat just when she needed to brake or something just as dire. She’d gladly forego fashion for safety any day.

Jocelyn hoped her luck stayed strong and the car would decide to start on the first try. Strangely, it felt as though the car found out about the saved money, increasingly developing irritating issues. So far, she managed to handle them herself, like replacing the windshield wiper, which decided to fly off as she drove down the highway in the pouring rain. And she simply ignored the funny little light flickering on the panel, which didn’t mean anything to her.

The mechanics didn’t interest her; she only wanted reliable transportation. Today, Blondie, the name she gave her car almost ten years prior, decided to behave. The engine sputtered to life on the first try, and hot air blew into her face from the vents.

Out of habit, she pushed the vent aside while rolling down the window with the old-fashioned crank—no power windows for this girl. No dreaded air-conditioning either, unless driving faster counted.

Shifting the car into reverse, she let out the clutch as quickly as ever, but the vehicle still lurched as if she were a novice driver. Ignoring Blondie’s quirks, she waited and waited at the curb, only entering the flow of traffic when a kind, old lady waved her to go. Not that they got very far, very fast, in the stop-and-go traffic. Once again, she gave thanks for the short commute to her small apartment where only her cat, Meow Meow, cared if she arrived safely.

The song’s lyrics playing on the tinny-sounding radio reminded her of her mother’s not-so-subtle hints about bringing a boyfriend home for Thanksgiving, even though it was a solid six months away. No amount of talking could convince her mother that no man interested her enough to date, let alone someone she would consider letting her parents grill. She stopped bringing boys home ever since that dreaded prom night.

While she didn’t plan to spend the rest of her life alone, she also wouldn’t lower her standards just for the sake of having some guy hanging around. Besides, she didn’t need someone else to take care of; her cat’s medical issues took enough of her free time.

Groaning with dismay, she realized her commute time just doubled when she remembered she needed to stop by Piggly Wiggly’s to get more cat food before going home. Although Meow Meow didn’t seem to mind the can of tuna she got the night before, Jocelyn hated the fishy breath wafting across her face all night long as she shared her pillow. Besides, with her luck, the man she brought home would be allergic to her favorite feline.

Another reason she didn’t need a man; she liked sharing her bed with the cat. At least the cat didn’t snore; well, she did start the terrible habit of clawing her hair in the morning and licking her scalp to wake her up at alarmingly early times. No man needed to see her morning hair literally looking like something the cat dragged in.

Okay, so maybe the cat wasn’t that perfect a roommate. But at least she didn’t demand too much of her time. In fact, she often needed to search for the feline, usually found under the bed while she waited for her to come home. At least the cat kept the dust bunnies under control as they provided endless hours of entertainment.

Fine, she admitted it to herself; her life was rather pathetic. She didn’t want to become the crazy cat lady, only leaving the house to buy cat food and litter. In fact, she made sure never to have any pet hair on her clothing because that seemed like another inevitable symptom of becoming a hermit.

She didn’t have the time or inclination to find someone who would fit into her life. Just hearing the horror stories of people using online dating sites or those other dreaded dating apps made her skin crawl. No, she didn’t want to be the next news headline story about another girl gone missing after using such drastic measures to find the perfect man who probably didn’t exist. He remained the veritable unicorn.

Maybe she’d take up going to church again. Now that she settled into her apartment, she had the time. For several days, this thought kept coming back to her. Yesterday, she even did a quick search online to get the sermon schedules. She simply needed to get herself together enough on the weekend actually to want to leave the house.

The traffic light turned green in front of her. As if on autopilot, she pressed the gas pedal, blindly following the car ahead of her into the intersection. With the driveway for the grocery store in sight, she never saw the car pull away from the crossroad to turn into her lane.

Sounds of metal screeching, glass shattering, and plastic popping seemed to fill her mind as the impact jarred her into a strange sense of awareness. Time seemed to crawl into slow motion as her car moved into the next lane with the crash force. Snippets of clarity impressed her mind, like the surprised expressions on the passengers’ faces in the car next to her just before their vehicles collided.

Only seconds passed, but the silence that followed the onslaught of noise seemed out of place. Strangely enough, her mind focused on the song which started playing from her car’s radio right after all went still; it was a new song by Becky Easton about a red, high-heeled shoe being left behind. Somehow, that seemed fitting for this scenario of destruction.

Looking down, her whitened knuckles clutched the steering wheel as if her life depended on that continued contact. Maybe it did. Hot tears rolling down her cheeks triggered the trembling, which crawled through her whole body. When did she start crying? She allowed her body to have the minor release it seemed so desperate to take.

With fresh adrenaline coursing through her veins, she felt an urgent need to get moving, to get out of her car, if only to check on the other people involved. After taking quick stock of herself, she pried one hand away from the useless steering wheel to pull on the door latch.

A surge of panic percolated through her as the door remained unmovable. Pushing harder, getting her shoulder into the movement to add more force, she stared stupidly down at her hand to make sure she was doing it right. Nothing. The door wouldn’t budge.

A tapping sounded on the passenger window, which somehow managed to stay intact, even though the back one blew out. Her gaze cut across the car’s interior to see a man staring back at her with fear in his eyes. She faintly heard him ask, “Are you okay?”

Nodding, she replied, “My door won’t open.”

The man opened the passenger door without any difficulty. Leaning in, he spoke slowly, acting as if she were a frightened animal that needed to be coaxed to cooperate. “Of course, it won’t open; there’s a car pinning it shut. Come across this way, Jocelyn. I’ll help you.”

Dumbly, she twisted to look back to the door, verifying the man’s assessment of the jam. How did she miss seeing the other car? This whole situation felt like a dream, where things simply appeared out of thin air.

She tried to scoot across the center console – a task she performed more times than any other adult, but something still immobilized her. “I can’t move!” she cried out, panic setting in.

“It’s okay; you need to unfasten your seatbelt first.” Without invitation, he reached across the passenger seat to push the little release button on the belt. “Let me help you.”

Instantly, Jocelyn felt stupid. Why couldn’t she keep herself together? With another burst of adrenaline, she whipped the belt off her shoulder, grabbed her purse from the floorboard although she left it in the passenger seat, and crawled across the cabin in the most unladylike fashion. As promised, the man’s hand remained steady as he held onto hers while she found her footing on the blessedly solid pavement.

The man shifted her to the side before diving back into her car. She stared uncomprehendingly but didn’t say anything as she stood there like a Grecian statue, pale and stiff. Another picture perfectly formed in her mind as she inappropriately ogled his posterior while he rummaged inside her vehicle.

“You don’t want to forget these,” he said as he straightened up, holding out her ring of keys.

“Oh, thank you!” Jocelyn gushed, automatically holding out her hand. Her gaze traveled up from his hand to his well-tailored suit covering his beautifully trim, muscular chest, finally coming to rest squarely on the face of the man who regularly drove her insane. “Michael Cavanaugh? What are you doing here?”

With a grim smile, he pointed behind Jocelyn and said, “Exhibit A.”

Jocelyn turned her head to see his once-immaculate car in a crumpled heap beside hers. Turning back to him, she demanded, “You did this?”

Author's Note:

This is an excerpt from the third book in the Billionaire's Venture Romances series. If you want more of Michael and Jocelyn, you can read their full story in Properties of Love.

Read more of this series on Vocal:

Part 1: The Old Barn is His Sanctuary and Her Nightmare

Part 2: The Old Barn Holds a New Secret

Part 3: Can they survive a gold digger’s scheming to discover their perfect match?

Part 4: Can they see past their differences to lasso happily ever after?

Part 5: Flirtations with Cake, Coffee, and Good Company

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