My gaze is focused on the myriad of colorful sparks lighting the sky, but if I was to lift my head from his chest and tilt my chin up, I have an eerie feeling that he’d be looking at me.
And because I’m not good at not knowing things, I do just that.
Once again, my intuitions are correct.
His expression is stormy under the dark skies; pops of red, blue, and white reflect within the irises that are pointed at me. Stone doesn’t smile. Instead, his lips part ever so slightly when I meet his stare. Naturally, I notice the movement of his lips like I’m a child tracking Santa, so he takes that as his needed cue to create our own fireworks in the bed of his truck.
The kiss is gentle and soft—there are families around us after all—but it still ignites my body all the same. After a few seconds, he pulls away with a satisfied grin and touches his head to mine as we continue to watch the fireworks above us. My heart aches with longing. Longing to have a deeper conversation with him that goes beyond our usual flirty banter and bickering. Longing to have him know me. Longing for all of this to bereal.
Through the time I’ve spent with him, gleaning any piece of information about himself that he drops behind him as I follow on his heels, I’ve learned that he’s not only considerate and kind to those around him, but he’s also giving. Giving of his time, his money, and his attention. He makes any person that he speaks with feel like they have his undivided recognition.
And it just makes me wonder… What happened to this good man that he can’t commit? What goes on within the depths of his brain that prevents him from giving all that he has to offer to a singular woman for the rest of his life?
The fireworks finally come to an end, and the mayor of the town takes the stage to ask people to help clean the recreational baseball fields and facilities we are currently using.
“Should we go help?” I ask Stone as we both sit up.
He nods his head, hops down from the tailgate, and then puts his hands on my waist to help me off. “We can do a lap around the outside of this field and then call it a night. What do you say?” He grabs a trash bag from his backseat.
“Sounds good.” I follow him, picking up discarded water bottles and other cans. He picks up any plates or napkins that we happen upon, saying he doesn’t want me getting my hands too dirty.
I mean, seriously… This man is doing the world a disservice by not allowing himself to love a woman.
“Is this something you and your family come to every year?” I ask as we continue our lap.
“Mostly, yes. Some years we forewent coming because of rain and such. I’m always amazed at the people who willingly sit out here after a rain shower. The mugginess is unbearable.”
The heat and humidity as it is right now feels stifling and all encompassing. Like I’m walking around inside of a bathtub. A cold shower is in order when we get back to Marian’s house.
“This is a really cool event. I wonder if Juniper Grove could do something like this one day.”
Stone picks up a nacho container and tosses it into the bag I’m holding. “I’ve asked the mayor about it, and while he would like to, Juniper Grove is much bigger than Dasher Valley. Plus it’s a college town. There are a lot of logistics to think about.”
“Do you remember me from college?”
He stops and turns to me, wearing a crooked smile. “You were my favorite cheerleader to ‘accidentally’ bump into on the sideline.”
I laugh, remembering several instances when he did just that. “Do you remember hitting on me at an athlete party your first year there?”
His smile falters, an uncertain look clouding his face. “I, uh—”
“It’s okay if you don’t. You were pretty gone that night.”
“Yeah, my first year of college wasn’t pretty. I got my crap together after because I wanted to continue playing football.” He laughs sheepishly.
I place my hand on his arm and then remember I’ve been touching trash. “Oops, sorry.” I pull my hand away.
“No, please. Hold onto me. I don’t mind.” We look at each other for a moment before he grabs my hand and places it back on his arm. We continue walking, only breaking contact to pick up more trash.
“We all have our moments in college,” I say, trying to walk a tightrope, using my own stories as my balance pole. I don’t want to frighten him off from opening up more, but I’m desperately craving emotional connection with him. “When I was a freshman, I got so tired of everyone confusing me with my sister that I chopped my hair off and dyed it blonde.”
Stone stares at me incredulously. “I can’t imagine you with any other hair color than this.” He places his fingers near my hair but doesn’t touch me. Regardless of whatever might be on his hands right now, I want his fingers knotted in my hair.
Another time, Lucy…
“I have pictures. I’ll show you sometime.” I chuckle at the memory. How ridiculous my short-lived identity crisis was. I cried and cried over the loss of my long hair. “It didn’t last long. I dyed it as close to my natural color as I could get only one week later.”
“Do you still find yourself getting upset sometimes? Over people confusing the two of you?”
