He nods.
“Why? When? How?”
“A few months ago. Got out of the Marines and went back to my parent’s home in Los Angeles. It didn’t feel right living there anymore, and I needed a change.”
“And you picked Lonestar Junction?” I sound like a broken record, but I still haven’t gotten it. The jump from California to Texas doesn’t make sense. I’m fairly confident in the history of this town, I’ve never met anyone who moved here after living in LA.
The corner of his lip lifts slightly into a half smile, and my fingers itch to reach up and touch his full lips, to see what a realsmile from Dallas looks like. I bet it’d be good.
“A young girl once told me it was quiet, peaceful, and felt like home,” he shrugs, “That sounded good to me after a decade spent in war.”
I nod repeatedly, trying to process his words.
Sure, that makes sense. That makes sense.
No, it doesn’t.So, he moved herebecauseof me, butnotfor me?
“There are plenty of peaceful places in the United States, hell the world, you know?”
He fights a smile again, “So I’ve heard.”
“You weren’t coming because you thought I still lived here?”
He shrugs.
Ok…
“So… did you ever try to look me up?” I blurt out.
He nods, “Sort of. Typed in ‘Paloma’and found the photo of you in your soccer uniform from high school. Didn’t go further because it felt like a breach of your trust. Had no idea you were a rock star now.” He smiles for the first time since we started talking, and I take in just how handsomely he wears it. The pull of his lips over his straight teeth, the single dimple on his right cheek. I blink a few times, trying to release myself from his gaze. I’ve never been starstruck before, typically leaving that for the fans when they meet me, but damn, I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity for the first time. If I’d known what he looked like as a kid, I might have printed off his picture, put it on poster board and hung it in my room right alongside my other idol cut outs of Shane West, Gwen Stefani, Beyonce, and User.
“I’m proud of you, if I’m allowed to say that.”
I laugh, feeling the familiar warmth of the friendship that we’d shared in our letters years ago before he stopped responding. Then I remember—this is the same guy I spent hours with today,trapped in an elevator.
I take a large step backward. “Wait a minute, what the hell, Dallas? Why didn’t you tell me who you were in the elevator? Feels a little unfair that you knew and didn’t say anything.”
He nods, “I’m sorry about that, and I get why it was wrong. I didn’t know it was you at first, but I had a feeling. I was also scared you’d try to bust the door down if you thought I’d purposely locked us in there so that I could meet you. Selfishly, I enjoyed hearing your voice without you knowing who I was.”
I nod slowly—it sort of makes sense. But the power dynamic still feels off. I try to recall everything he shared and what I revealed.
“You really didn’t plan that?”
He throws his head back, a deep rumbling noise fills his chest as he laughs heartily. I smile at him because it’s a ridiculous question. Who would plan to be trapped in an elevator.
“No, didn’t plan on getting stuck in an elevator with you.”
“Well, you were awfully calm for the whole situation.”
He grins, “Guess all that crisis training I had to go through paid off.”
I nibble on my lip nervously, “So, then you know that I conned you into writing me all those years back to me, huh?”
He smiles, “I could’ve stopped writing. I enjoyed it too.”
“Let me point out that youdidstop writing.”
He sighs, “Yea, I guess I did.”
