I smile.
“You were at a table at the other end of the patio area with a bunch of your friends—all the prettiest girls and the most popular jocks—except for my brothers, since they wanted nothing to do with you.”
At least it’s mutual.
“So your group is really loud and you’re talking and everyone is focused on you.Hanging on your every word.Even the kids at my table are staring at you because—I didn’t know the word for it then—but you were just plain charismatic.You’d cut your hair super short, almost like you were in dress rehearsal for the Navy.”
That’s pretty spot on.
“I don’t remember exactly what led to this—maybe I volunteered to get more napkins for my friends or something—but I slid out from the bench with a double-scoop sugar cone in my hand.I took a couple steps and tripped, just face-planted right there in front of everyone.The ice cream went flying.”
Wait.I actually do remember some of this.
“Everyone was laughing at me.I was chest-down on the blacktop, ice cream in my hair, and my knee all scraped up.I remember turning my head to see all the kids at your table howling and hooting and calling me a loser or spazz or stupid.Except for you.”
I nod.
“You jumped up, rushed over to me, helped me to stand, and then went to the front window for napkins.You hovered over me, so much taller than I was, and all the sudden, the laughing stopped.”
“Ah, shit, Phoebe.Yeah.I remember.”
“You lifted my chin and used the napkins to clean the ice cream from my hair and then the blood from my knee.The whole time, you were telling me some dumb story about one of your goats or your barn cats or something, but your eyes—I couldn’t look away from them.Your eyes, your smile, and the calm way you spoke distracted me enough that the tears stopped.You asked if I was okay and volunteered to drive me home.”
As she’s speaking, it hits me that I love the sound of her voice.It’s got a little bit of a scratchy overlay to it, which makes it adorable and sexy at the same time.I’ve never known a woman with so many seemingly contradictory traits.Cute and carnal.Sweet and snarky.Benevolent and ball-busting, but only when I deserve it.
I’ve severely underestimated Phoebe.She’s not what I assumed.She’s a hell of a lot more.
“That night, you showed me who you were, Evander.And listen, I know that as a grown man you’re full of twists and turns, and there’s a lot going on below the surface, but you’re still that guy.I have to say, I think the reality is better than any fantasy.”
“It’s not.”I shake my head with enthusiasm.
“Let me finish, please.It’s important to me.”Phoebe swings her legs in front of her and leans forward.She’s got her eyes locked right on mine.
“You drove me home that night.You kept me laughing the whole way.And when we got to Travis Ranch, my brothers went nuclear on you, thinking you did something to me, that the blood on my knee wasyourdoing.You walked right up our front porch steps and told them all to go fuck themselves, pardon my French.”
She’s so cute.
“I thought it was going to be a bloodbath until my dad came outside and put an end to all your teenage boy bullshit, pardon my French again.”
“Right.”It’s coming back to me.
“I’m not saying you’re the same swoon-worthy boy I wrote poems about or that you’re a perfect man.Of course, you’re not.No one is perfect.Listen, I’ve been around you enough to know that you can be snippy and blunt.You’re so grumpy sometimes that I just want to shake you and yell at you to pay attention to all the good that’s around you!”
“Fair enough.”
“And you’re way too focused on your suits.”
“Hey, now…”
“And you’re stubborn.Closed off.Persnickety.”
“Say what?”
“My gramma used to use that word.Fussy.Hard to please.Maybe a little stuck up.”
“It’s quite the catch-all term.”
“My point is that none of that takes away from what I know about you.”
