Five seconds of honesty?
I’m not standing on the Harts’ doorstep simply because I want to make Mrs. Hart happy. Just like I didn’t waste time with X-rays and doctor’s appointments because I needed Blair’s signature to register for the rodeo. And now that Kate and Cecily have reassured me that Blair was likely wearing a fake ring to fend off creeps at the bar, I am fully committed to having her back in my life.
Pizza boxes balanced precariously in one hand—bottle of white wine tucked into my side—I rap the knuckles of my free hand against the cream-colored door. I’ve been here a million times, but only through the front door a handful of them. Blair spent almost every waking hour at my family’s ranch, but that still wasn’t enough for us. When my mom started taking regular trips to the city for chemotherapy, I would sneak out and come here at night. Before getting my driver’s license, I’d steal ranch trucks and drive illegally down backroads to get here. Park a few houses down and slip in through Blair’s bedroom window. Then sneak back out before her parents woke up, getting back to the ranch in time for morning chores.
The front door opens and Blair’s dad, Frank, appears with a warm smile. Stepping aside so I can walk into the foyer, he says, “Long time, no see. How’s it going?”
“Never been better.” I follow him to the kitchen as if I don’t know the way, setting the pizza boxes on the counter and taking in my surroundings. Oak cabinets, nineties furnishings, and a large sliding glass patio door looking out at a vibrant green space. The only thing that appears to have changed in the Harts’ home over the last decade is the addition of Blair’s nephew among the dozens of family photos. I know I didn’t spend a lot of time here growing up, but the nostalgia carries a tinge of pain.
Is this how Blair feels when she’s at the ranch?
“We thought we’d eat out on the patio—it’s such a nice evening, and Faye can use the fresh air.” He pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and hands one over to me. Whether it’s my nerves or the slick condensation on the outside of the glass, I struggle to hold the bottle steady.
Each of us grabbing a pizza box, I follow him through the open sliding door onto the covered patio to find Faye sitting alone at the table. I know I told Blair she didn’t need to have dinner with us. But a tiny, masochistic part of me was hoping she’d be here. Even if it was only to glare at me from across the table and shoot down my attempts at banter.
Maybe I made a big mistake in coming here.
“Pretty as always, Mrs. Hart.” I plaster on a fake smile and relax into a chair opposite her with a sigh.
“Oh,shush, you.” She flaps a hand in my direction, pink blush splashing across her cheeks. “How are you? Did you bring us the biggest bottle of wine you could find?”
“I don’t know aboutbiggest, but the cashier promised me it’s a good one. It’s just inside….” I move to stand, but Frank beats me to the punch and lumbers his way back into the house. Faye smiles softly at me; she still looks like a stereotypical kindergarten teacher, with a bright-pink knit sweater with daisies all over it and faint lines around her eyes and mouth.
After a few seconds of staring at each other, I break the awkward silence. “So, no Blair tonight?”
“She’s here. I think she’s taking her time getting prettied up for you.”
The last thing she would be doing is anything specifically for me. And even if Blair wanted my attention, she knows hair and makeup isn’t the way. “She never needs to do anything special.”
“Tell that to her. She’s been in a tizzy all afternoon.” She smiles to herself. “You two are just the cutest.”
Before I can respond, the sliding glass door opens and—fuck—Blair steps out in a knee-length light-blue dress with thin white stripes on it. As she turns to softly close the door, the fabric swishes around her bare legs. Then she sits, prim and proper, in the chair next to mine, and the warm summer evening carries her spicy scent over to me. Perfume, makeup, dresses—nothing like the girl in dusty jeans I fell in love with all those years ago. Even still, I lose my breath in her presence.
Blair pulls open each box. “You brought meat lovers and supreme?”
I nod. “Your favorite.”
Pride rushes through me as I prepare for Blair to be ecstatic about me remembering her favorite pizza after all these years.
“I’m a vegetarian,” she deadpans.
“O-oh, well…um, I could go grab something else,” I stammer, considering every alternate takeout option in my mind. In Wells Canyon, the options are basically pizza and cinnamon buns. “Want me to get a different pizza? Salad, maybe?”
“I’m kidding, Denver. Supreme is still my favorite. It looks delicious.” She brings a steaming hot slice to her mouth and slowly nibbles, nodding politely toward her dad when he sets a half-full wineglass in front of her.
“So, Denny, how are things going at the ranch?” Frank asks, shifting side-to-side in his squeaky metal chair.
“Better now that we have the cattle out on the range for the summer. We just got done driving them out there.”
Blair’s watching me with keen interest as she chews.
“You should’ve come. We could’ve used your help,” I say to her.
“I doubt I even remember how to ride.” She shrugs nonchalantly. Blair—who used tolivefor horseback riding—suggesting that not only does she not remember how to ride, but she doesn’t care? If my mother were in a grave, she’d be rolling in it.
“Bull.You’re a natural, right? You don’t just forget that sort of thing.”
The corners of her lips pull into the closest thing to a smile I’ve gotten since the ambulance ride weeks ago. That’s a win, in my book.
