“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll get it.”
He lights up in his signature Jonah way, and the vendor shows me the leather buckle options. On one piece of leather, he brands a four-leaf clover per my request. And on the other, in stunning calligraphy, it reads "The Band Wilde."
Familiar music grows louder as we walk back to our private patio in the amphitheater, hand in hand. Each of my children are distracted by their new pieces of jewelry, and before I can nudge them out of the way of a stranger who is also not paying attention, Jonah guides them out of the flight path without a second thought.
Fuck, that turns me on.
By the time we make it down the long aisle, I’m singing along to the lyrics. My body absorbs the rhythm and Jonah absorbs me under his arm once again. When the next song plays, he knows the lyrics and sings along with me. His voice is much lower and not as refined, but I like the way itaccompanies mine.
He chuckles, “Can you tell I’ve only ever been backup vocals? Actually, I was more like the backup for the backup.”
I take his hand in mine and he kisses it. “I like your singing voice. It might be the only mellow thing about you.”
He preens before me with all his teeth on display.
Towards the end of the song, the big screen behind the band shows a closeup of the lead singer, Desiree McKnight. She’s a few years older than me and blew up with her band when I was in high school. With long, dark, wavy hair, a girl-next-door face, and one of the most unique voices in bluegrass, I was enamored.
I’m tapping my toe way too fast and I force the shake away.
Greg was the kind of guy who appeared to be an ally, but his maddening opinion on bisexuality kept me in the closet because it was safer to not upset him.
I’m in charge of my own safety now. Fuck testing the waters. “I had a crush on her back in the day,” I admit to Jonah.
Pleasantly curious, he raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
“The summer after I graduated high school, we were playing at the same venue in North Carolina, and we kissed behind her tour bus.”
Mouth gaping, he looks between me and the big screen. Wheels are turning in his eyes like he’s heard the juiciest bit of drama. “Did you date?”
“I would have liked to, but no. We were both on tour, but we’d call each other sometimes. Then she went and fell in love with some actor and we never spoke again.”
“Ohhh,” he frowns. “I’m sorry.”
My heart expands and settles my nerves because he’s genuinely bummed for me. And I can tell he’s not doing that thing where he’s picturing two women kissing for his own personal satisfaction.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. No hard feelings.”
“Have you ever been with another woman?” he asks innocently enough.
I nod. “Not until Greg was gone. There were no feelings involved. Just...” I trail off and check to make sure the girls aren’t paying attention. “Just sex,” I mouth silently.
“I tried to date a man once,” Jonah says.Thatdoes surprise me. He continues, “A bunch of my family and friends are queer and so I thought I’d try it out.” He shrugs.
“Have you ever experienced attraction to men?”
He winces. “No, but I was determined to try. When we tried to kiss, I got scared. I may have…” He closes his eyes and sighs. “I may have ducked down to avoid it.”
I have to cover my inappropriate giggle with my hand.
“But that’s cool that you’re bi. Is that the right label for you?”
“Mhm.”
With a satisfied smile, Jonah tucks me in closer and rubs my arm. “Professor Renée Wilde,” he hums. “The bisexual biologist bluegrass bombshell.”
When the band on stage ends their set, the sky has turned a pinkish orange, bursting behind fat, sleepy clouds. Much of the audience leaves or stretches their legs and mill about while recorded music plays and stagehands change out equipment. Our server comes back around with an offering of blankets, and even though it’s notthatcold, I do like the idea of sharing a blanket with Jonah.
He spreads the blanket over our laps with a shit-eating grin, but before we can settle back into each other, both of my girls join us, dragging their own blankets with them.
