“Hey, son. What’s that noise? How’s the trip going?” His voice is tired and worry immediately consumes me. He’s been spreading himself too thin and refusing to ask for help.
“Going good. We are at an amusement park in North Carolina,” I say.
“You? An amusement park? She’s got you wrapped, son.” My heart beats triple speed because he’s not wrong. And I need to fully admit that to myself if I have a chance of winning her over. I do not have to admit that to Dad, however.
“What are you up to?” I say, derailing his current line of thought.
“Oh, not much.” I hear something in his voice that sets me on edge. He is tired, but there’s something else. “I chatted with Patton Harrison at lunch, and he said—“
“Dad. I've told you I wasn’t interested in a career change.” Deception. That’s what laced his voice.
“I know, son, but—”
“No, Dad. With all respect, no.”
“Okay, okay. I hear you.” No, he doesn’t.
“Braxton!” Hadley calls, stumbling off the roller coaster. Finley looks whiter than a ghost, but it’s his expression that looks as if he just sat throughThe Conjuringthat throws me over the edge. My heart goes out to him. I remember this one time during my senior year when Hadley, a feisty sophomore at the time, got upset with me for pranking my English Literature teacher. I, with the other seniors (because it was senior prank week), Saran wrapped everything in her classroom. Hadley was close with Mrs. Poolson and gave me (and the other guys) an earful for doing that to “the sweet old lady”. That lecture was one of the more intense Hadley Lectures I’ve been on the receiving end of. It looked very similar to what Finley was getting on that coaster.
“I gotta go, Dad. I’ll check in tomorrow morning.” With a huff, he grumbles that he loves me and hangs up.
“Who’re you talking to?” Hadley bounces to my side, acting like my entire world didn’t just shift when Finley let her little secret spill.
“Just Dad,” I say, cooler than a lick of ice cream on a summer day. She doesn’t want to talk about it? Fine. For now.
A female version of Finley glides up beside us, and he introduces the young girl as Astrid Andersson, his sister.
“It is nice to finally meet you, Hadley. Finley has told me so many stories involving the two of you in college.” Astrid’s smile is soft as she embraces Hadley. “And who are you?” She eyes me up and down. I squirm a little because she has to be like, maybe twenty? Way too young to be perusing me like that.
I hold out a hand. “Braxton Rawls.”
“It is nice to meet you,” she says with a grin before turning back to Finley. “Let’s go to the souvenir shop.”
“It was nice to meet you, Braxton.” Finley holds his hand out, looking like a scared puppy in a thunderstorm. I grab his hand with a firm shake, letting my eyes convey my gratitude. A smile tilts at the edge of his lips, and I know we have an understanding.
“You too, Finley.”
“Well, Braxton, we better get going.” Hadley starts maneuvering through the crowd.
“You’ve only ridden two rides.” I fold my arms across my chest, offering a challenge as she walks away. Want to talk about it, Hadley?
“Yeah, but I’m not eighteen anymore. Can’t handle it like I used to,” she says, digging through her little backpack. She pulls out a lollipop, unwraps it, and brings it to her lips. Then she turns around, heading towards the exit with a quick march.
As I watch her walk away, testosterone takes over. Nope, she is not eighteen anymore.
And twenty-seven looks dang good on her.
Wedidn’tmakeitfive minutes in the truck on the road towards the hotel before Hadley spotted a coffee shop with a mural on the outside that read “drink the bean, achieve the dream” and had to stop for a picture. After twenty minutes of me finagling her phone trying to capture that “just right” picture, I decided we could both use a cup and the owner could use our money for the chaos that ensued outside the coffee shop door.
“Heaven in a cup,” Hadley coos to her drink before taking another sip of the caramel vanilla latte with almond milk. “This was agreatidea, Braxton.”
“That’s me. Full of great ideas,” I take a sip of my black drip coffee. There is an awkwardness between us that didn’t exist prior to Finley’s secret-spilling moment. I decide it’s time to address it. “So…Finley Andersson, Prince of Korsa…” She simply stares at me, so I add, “How does a prince find his way to Mississippi?” She had told me about his secret as we left the park.
“When he first opened up to me about hisstatus, I asked the same thing.” She chuckles at some memory playing in her head. “Turns out, he met some Mississippi folks back in Korsa and wanted to experience their lifestyle. So of all the places he could have gone to college on exchange, he chose the University of Mississippi.”
“While I find plenty of fault in his school choice,” I begin, taking a shot at her alma mater. She sticks her tongue out at me, and I resume, “Our state is a great one. It has its own culture of sorts.”
“That’s what he said,'' she reflects. “Of course, he met me right off the bat, so he gotrealacquainted with our way of life.” Hadley plays with her coffee mug like something is bothering her, and I know she is begging and pleading that I won’t ask the question that’s coming next.
