“Poor guy,” she joked. “Little blond boys are such rascals.”
Her heart saddened.What went wrong?
She wasn’t about to pry. It was obviously over.
Instead, she reacted to his newest profile photo with a heart, and upon viewing his story saw that he had been leading a horse while his little girl rode, and then there was one of him with his guitar across his lap, selfie-style.
It surely didn’t take much for that damn Caleb Wright to kick up her hormone dust.
She reacted to the story and got up the courage to send him a message that read, “I love your guitar!”
The moment she sent it, he saw it.
And she threw her phone across the room and rolled over in drunken embarrassment. Why did wine have to take control like that? She would never have done that had she not drank!
Somewhere buried in the laundry basket, a light glowed, and a little ding followed. She rolled over and paused nervously then nearly tripped getting out of the bed before flopping on the floor to see it. Her hands were shaking.
He loved her message! Evie held her chest and gasped a bit with a smile so wide it hurt her cheeks. Then he was writing.
She was about to swoon. There she lay across the floor to let the cool, spring air wisp in from her window to cool off the alcohol’s clammy effect on her skin. The screen’s light glowed on her happy face, and his message popped up. “Thanks! I’m not as good as you are, but I can try. I can’t flatpick like that to save my life.”
He was referencing her cover of a different Garth Brook’s song that she posted up when she was sick with that blasted fever in December.
More flutters and smiles. “Thanks,” she wrote back. “How come you never post videos of yourself playing? I bet you’re good too!”
He responded, “Maybe one time when I’ve had a few.”
The statement made her think. Was he an avid drinker? Weren’t most military men drinkers anyway? Hell, wasn’tevery manin the Midwest a drinker?
She playfully went along, trying to match his demeanor and his obvious shared love of country music. “Need a few red solo cups first?”
He responded, “As long as they’re half-filled with whiskey.”
She wrote back, “Dang, you’re brave! If I had whiskey, I’d be face-first in no time. All I’ve had is wine, and I’m gone. Tripped over nothing getting to the phone!”
It seemed as soon as the honeymoon vibes started, they ended. He gave a few exchanges before Evie decided to leave it alone. Still, she was hopeful. Having a crush on a man in his situation could be very delicate.
The next morning, she texted her oldest brother Darren, who had been in a divorce once already. She wanted to ask Caleb out badly before any other woman got to him. Being such a catch with those rugged blue jeans and perfectly scruffy face and that brooding tall height, he was certain to have a line of hopeful bachelorettes swarming up to his doorstep. And Evie felt she didn’t have much to offer like most women her age.
Darren warned her to give him space and time, even though he was excited for her.
For the next few months that ticked on by, Evie watched his stories helplessly and tried to leave as many nice comments as possible about the success of his work, his kids, his life, without leaving too many. After her share of foolish behavior, she was going to be smart about a guy for once.
Growing up meant living her life the best way she could. It meant showing up to work and not checking her phone every five minutes or being worried if Caleb thought she looked good or not. It meant shamelessly being herself, that kind and caring woman. It meant ignoring the catty women at the salon. Which she frequented still with them being there. It meant tuning out the deafening gossip of the women who frequented the local café. It meant focusing on trying to be happy, despite being still so lonely. It meant wishing Caleb a happy birthday on his birthday but being okay with not receiving it in return. He didn’t owe her anything, even though she desired everything.
Evie knew things would go as they were to be expected to go, and she would learn to be okay with it.
Fall came around once more, and once more Evie was sick with that damn flu that was driving everyone wild. The crisp air was cold and damp, and her favorite thing to do in the morning was to sit out on her front porch by the mums and watch the fog consume the nearby cornfield next to Joshua’s house. Pumpkins littered his steps and porch, as well as scarecrows being staked out front in the yard that represented his little family. Hearing Joshua’s dogs bark used to annoy her, until she started to find them comforting when they chased a coyote off the street. Teddy was an indoor and outdoor cat, and Joshua’s dogs knew Teddy well.
They never minded Teddy one bit.
There she sat on her white wicker chair and gazed out in thought. Her exchanges with Caleb had been brief with still the knowing that he was watching nearly every story she posted.
All was peaceful and quiet until the loud muffler of a truck came rattling down that quiet street. She grimaced and leaned over to see that damn white Chevy tearing down the road in a clumsy, maniacal fashion. Joshua screamed at the driver from his side yard where he was busy raking leaves.
“That damn Alan Moffet,” Evie cursed. “He’s gonna get someone killed someday.”
For some strange reason, Caleb popped into her head. She was forty now, and surely no man was going to find her sitting on the front porch in some no-name town. She had to do it, because she couldn’t wait any longer.
