“Hopefully you love it. Our son, Landon, has been doing it for…oh, about five years now,” she says. Landon turns to us with a tentative smile upon hearing his name, then resumes conversation with his grandparents. “We should exchange numbers. I’m not claiming to be an expert, but if you ever have questions about any of this 4-H stuff, I’m happy to try to help.”
“That would be amazing. Thank you.” I slowly recite my number, jittery with nervous excitement as she types it into her phone. “I absolutely love your nails, by the way.”
“My friend does them—I’ll text you her info.”
The line moves ahead so Charlotte and her family are handing in their tickets, and she gives us a quick wave and a “See you in there!”
Jonas and I turn our tickets in, then head toward the music emanating from the school gymnasium. There have to be a hundred people here, milling about and slinging winter coats on the backs of chairs to claim their spots at one of the many beautifully decorated tables. This is more like a fancygala than what I expected from a 4-H fundraiser, and I’m suddenly feeling underdressed in my black jeans and green blouse.
Paintings, sketches, pottery, and even a welded sculpture are displayed in the center of the gym, and Jonas instantly lights up, pointing wildly at a landscape painting. “That’s Theo’s. Come see it.”
He runs ahead, and my boots clomp across the shiny wood floor. I dodge people and tables to catch him, and by the time I reach Theo’s art, Jonas is taking off once again. This time with his new buddy, Theo.
Less than six months ago, this was the last place I saw us being. For one, because I was apparently oblivious to the fact that Jonaslovesanimals. For two, because trying to convince him to do anything besides play video games was like pulling teeth. And for three, because I was certain we wouldn’t last a month of school before they’d be expelling him.
Somehow I didn’t step foot into the principal’s dingy office for the entire month of September. I should be feeling better than ever before since I’m not breathing in that musty, moldy air or constantly stressing about Jonas’s well-being. I should be…but I’m not.
We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Colt. Jonas and I were trapped in an endless night, with no signs of daybreak until he showed up. He was the warmth of sunlight on our faces, and the breath of fresh spring air, and the new dawn we desperately needed. He was the sun, and I was the moon, our fleeting time together an eclipse.
I tuck my arms across my chest and scan the gymnasium. All I see is Colt—every cowboy hat, every shaggy head of brown hair, every pair of suntanned, muscular arms. And in a room of primarily farmer-type people, that’s all I see. So I choose to focus on the art, assessing each piece as if I’m a professional critic.
Lost in the curves of blue along a rocky lakeshore drawnby a high school senior, I startle easily when the voice I’ve dreamt about every night swoops into my space.
“Hey, Mama.” He’s peering over my shoulder, so close I could turn around and kiss him. Quickly, before anybody noticed. “Whatcha looking at?”
I turn so I’m looking at him. The real him. Not the apparitions I’ve been avoiding all around this fluorescent-lit gym. And most important, I’m looking at his mouth—the lips I want to feel smiling against mine again.
“W-what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t step back and, though it’s painful, I welcome the warmth of his body so close to mine. He’s at my house every Saturday, and one afternoon I saw him walking into Anette’s, but I’ve kept myself at arm’s length.
“Jonas invited me.”
Jonas invited him. He came.
“Oh,” I mouth.
“Did you think I was going to say it’s because I wanted to see you?”
My eyes blow wide. “N-no…” I stammer.
“Well, that’s a bummer, because you definitely factored into my decision. I mean…mostly I have a hard time turning that kid down when he asks for something—he gets those damn puppy eyes from you, by the way. But also, I…I wanted you to see that I’m here. Always.”
“Colt, you don’t—”
He interrupts me with a shushing sound. “We’ll talk later. Right now, I’m going to bid on this drawing that a six-year-old named Sarah made of a horse with a rainbow mane. Then I’m grabbing a plate full of food and eating until I want to barf, because I paid twenty dollars to be here and want my money’s worth. Care to join me?”
Despite my best efforts, I can’t help but smile. And damn it if that’s not what won me over about this man in the first place. Taking my positive reaction to mean yes, he steps backand gestures toward where sheets of paper are set out for people to silently bid on the artwork of their choice.
“You look rather dapper tonight.” With Colt no longer mere inches from my face, I take my time giving him the once-over. Dark wash denim and a forest green button-down, as if we planned matching outfits. “I thought the only shirts you owned were graphic T-shirts.”
“I knew this was a fancy thing, so figured I should dress to impress. But don’t worry”—he slowly undoes the top three buttons to reveal hisHootin’ and Hollerin’shirt underneath—“I still had to wear my favorite shirt, so I feel a little less out of place here.”
“Ah, yes. I understand.” I twist my purse to show him the raccoon pin, my free hand reaching to rub the back of my neck. It feels like I’ve just exposed myself to him, proving he was right; there was—maybe still is—a connection between us that extends beyond the chemistry in the bedroom and him knowing how I take my coffee.
His eyes ignite. “You got the pin.”
“I did.” The pad of my index finger traces the raised edges. “Thank you.”
