“I can see that.” I move to pick up the first pole, giggling. With it comes a web of four others, and I realize it would be better to untangle them sitting down. The wood floor of the shophas scuff marks patterning the aisles. I make a mental note to help mop it when we finish our little untangling project. “How did this happen, anyway?”
Miles grunts. “A couple of teenage guys came in here yesterday right before close and knocked them down. My dad said it was anaccident,but the level of tangle seems too much to be labeled as one.”
“We’ve got all day,” I remind him, and I know I made the right decision in taking this job when he smiles at the comment.
I learn, from Miles this time, that he and Shepard close the shop at the end of every summer to move back to Montpelier where the roads are more plowed. Miles tells me all about the single road—Main Street—with its old western-looking stores and the high school he’ll be graduating from with the tiny class size.
In return, I open up about the big city of Boise. Its capital building is in the heart of downtown. The rolling foothills we like to hike reach a plateau called Table Rock with a giant cross at the top.
We swap freshman-year stories where I tell him all about the unfortunate antics Cozy and I were at the mercy of, and he reminds me of how much of a living hell the start of high school can be for anyone in the youngest class, even him—in a class with a few dozen students.
We take a couple of breaks to help customers here and there, but the shop remains quiet until lunch time. After we straighten the poles and put them back in the rack where they belong, we eat our sack lunches behind the counter like a standing picnic. I giggle when Miles spills mustard down the front of his waders.
The afternoon brings a steady stream of customers, leaving very little time for us to talk like we did in the morning. When the day draws to a close, Miles asks if I want to stay a little later while he locks up so we can walk home together. I mop thefloor with warm soapy water, making it shine, as he locks the front door and cash register. With my empty lunch pail in hand, I follow him out the back door and down the gravel side of the road back to the cabin.
The walkway between the edge of the road and the brush narrows enough that our empty hands swing inches apart. If I were to extend my pinky, it would brush against his, and it’s taking every bit of restraint not to try.
“It was fun working with you today,” Miles says.
“You’d still be working on those poles right now had I not stepped in.”
He chuckles, looking down at his shoes. “You’re probably right.”
We meander like we have no place better to be than right here. It’s quieter still when we reach a stop sign, and when I feel the sweep of his fingers, I hold my breath. I have no idea if he did it on purpose or by accident, but I glance over just as a car circles the bend, going well over the speed limit. Miles grabs for my hand and jerks me close. The car charges past the stop sign whipping our hair up in a vortex. An alarm goes off in my brain, and I lift my free hand to shelter my face like that would save me in the event I’m in the car’s path.
“Teddy, are you okay?” he asks, looking shaken up.
I regain my footing and try to even my breathing, but when I notice Miles still has a hold of my hand, my response to his question comes out in a stutter. “Yyyeah.”
“Good,” he breathes.
It’s the first intentional time I’ve held a boy’s hand.This must be what it feels like to freefall while skydiving.
At first, he was squeezing it tight like he thought that could save me. But now, the muscles have relaxed, and he’s added a stroking thumb that works a path from the crook of my thumball the way down my pointer finger. It’s a steady, hypnotizing rhythm that makes me forget where I am.
Falling, falling, falling.
When I work up the nerve to look at him, I can tell he’s feeling it too in the way he holds my stare.
“Teddy…”
I swallow. “Yeah?”
“Have you ever kissed someone?”
The butterflies move from my stomach to my head.
“No. Have you?” I ask, hoping he has the same response as me. I don’t know if I could bear the thought of him kissing some other girl.
He shakes his head too at the same time his eyes drop to my lips. They part, and he swallows.
I’ve thought about my first kiss a thousand times, wondering what it would feel like, who it would be with, if it would change me. In every single one of those times, I’ve wanted it to be with the boy who’s standing right in front of me, looking at me the way he is right now.
The gap narrows between our bodies. His free hand lifts to my hair, sweeping it back behind my neck, and he kisses me. His full bottom lip brushes against mine, and I shudder at the soft warmth of his mouth, the gentle touch of his fingers pulling me closer to him. My heart expands in my chest, and I feel his kiss changing me. I can’t believe it’s taken so long for us to do this and now that we’ve started, I never want to stop.
But it happens in a matter of seconds, time suspending just enough for me to taste the spearmint on his breath, and then it’s over even faster when someone hollers from across the street.
“There you two are!”
