HARLAN
Something is wrong. I’m not sure what changed between the house and here, but something has definitely shifted between us. I just can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it has to do with that text from Maisie. Though I’m not sure why it would. We’re going to the bonfire. I’ve got no issue with that at all.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I gently demand.
Her spine straightens before she lifts her head, her eyes finding mine. She doesn’t say anything immediately. But I watch her, waiting, because clearly, she’s working through something inside her head.
“I’m poor,” she announces.
I blink, staring at her and unsure of how to respond. When she doesn’t continue, only then do I respond. And when I do, it’s with a question, because I don’t quite understand her statement.
“You’re poor?”
“I didn’t grow up with all of this,” she says, her voice softer and almost distant-sounding.
I could tell her in all the ways I am poor, too, money only being part of it. But I don’t. Instead, I let her speak because this is a good moment to slow down and truly get to know one another.
“We had nothing,” she murmurs. “Holes in the floor, hand-me-down everything…nothing.”
“And you think it makes you less than?” I ask, but I don’t give her the chance to respond. I continue. “My granny grew almost everything we ate. Some years, we were lucky to have beef because my grandaddy didn’t have to sell all the cattle, or the price was decent enough that he could afford to butcher one. But not every year. And my family has had to sell off pieces of our land throughout the years just to stay afloat. Never been rich, darlin’. Also, rich means different things. I got no family left. Some days, I feel like the poorest man in town.”
The last thing I wanted to do was make her feel bad. I’ve been wanting to tell her about my family being gone, but I wasn’t sure how. I never intended to blurt it out. But it’s out there now, and I can’t take it back or pretend I didn’t say it.
She presses her lips together in a tight line, then pinches her eyes closed before she reopens them, and her gaze connects to mine.
“I don’t have anyone either, Harlan.”
Reaching out, I lace my fingers with hers, squeezing gently. “I want to hear about your family, and I’ll tell you about mine. This is going to be quite the rodeo, Lola-Mae,” I murmur.
She lifts our hands, then touches her lips to my fingers before she speaks. “I’m ready for the ride,” she exhales.
Chapter Sixteen
HARLAN
Pullingher body close to mine, I feel her press against my side as I stare up at the sky. The sun has moved, so it’s not beating down in our faces. But with it being winter, it wouldn’t be hot anyway, even if it were.
I don’t want this moment to end, though. I like being here with her, and I really like having her in my arms.
“How did they die?” she asks softly.
“Who?”
“Your family.”
Our lunch is consumed—an attempt at a charcuterie-type thing, with deli meats, cheese, veggies, chips, and some cookies for good measure. I’m not sure if she just said she liked it or if she actually did. I’m not a great cook, and I’m even less adept at meal ideas and planning.
But now she wants to know about my family and my past. It’s good. If we’re going to do this, she deserves to know about my life just like I deserve to know about hers. And this is where we start.
“My father died when I was a kid. Had a heart attack. My mom and I moved into the main house after he died, living with my granddaddy and granny,” I begin.
She hums and lets out an exhale. Having her pressed against me like this is soothing. I didn’t think I would want this much physical contact, but I like it, or maybe I just like her.
“Recently, my grandaddy died, but a month before he did, my mom and granny were killed by a drunk driver.”
“That’s a lot in a short period of time,” Lola-Mae whispers.
Sliding my hand up the center of her back, I tangle my fingers in the back of her hair. She tips her head back slightly, her eyes finding mine before I feel her palm press against my chest as she pushes herself up a bit.
