They still haven’t noticed me, but the entire picture is clear to me now. They’re working together with posters and tape, covering the entire truck and trailer with middle school raffle ads. They’ve barely left space to see out the front and side windows. Everything else is covered. It’sadorable.
“Hey, boys, is everything ready to go?” Two faces turn to me—one slightly sheepish, and the other, larger one, looks almost relieved to see me.Big baby.
“Hey, Becky.” Carter’s voice drops to something low and intimateas his eyes rake over me, head to toe, pausing on my legs, hips, chest, and lips, making heat rise in my cheeks.
“Hi, Carter.” I clear my throat, clasping my hands in front of myself. “So, um, who’s driving the truck to the venue?” I ask, apparently ignorantly, because they both look at me like I’ve lost the plot.
“Oh, sweet summer child,” Carter says in a fake deep southern accent.
“What?” I walk closer to them and look over at the vibrant mess of posters from their sides.
“One does not simply drive the truck to the venue.” He says this with a teasing grin. Unfortunately, he makes no sense.
“Okay, enlighten me, then. What does one do?” I hold Carter’s eyes, but my eyes cut to Billy when he answers my question.
“We’re pulling it with the decorated rig.” Billy says it simply then walks away to the, yes, also plastered with posters, wrecker. Warmth blooms in my chest at what these men have done. I look back to Carter to ask if they need any help and can’t stop a laugh from spilling out at his put-out face. At my giggle, his eyes crease and his lips tug up at the sides.
“He’s a party pooper, Becky. Now come help us decorate a few empty spaces Billy missed.” A scoff from deeper in the garage echoes, and the warmth in my chest digs a little deeper.
Ten minutes later, we’re getting ready to get into the vehicle to leave—Billy in the driver seat and me squished in the middle. I tilt a little toward Carter, getting a whiff of his oil and sandalwood smell. “What were you going to say? Earlier, when you looked like Billy kicked your puppy?” Billy snorts from behind the wheel, but puts his arm around the back of the seat to back up the wrecker. Carter swats it down before he answers my question, leaning in like it’s a secret.
“One arrives in style, and then I was going to gesture to all the work we just did in aduhsort of gesture.” I laugh again as I see Billy roll his eyes in response.
The short drive from the shop to the town park is quiet, but I am hyperaware of Carter plastered to my side. I’m confident he’s takingfull advantage of the small space in the cab, but that flies from my mind once we pull our wildly decorated raffle vehicle up next to our equally wildly decorated booth and tent. The image makes my heart light, and it’s all thanks to the guys in this cab with me and the lovely people I work with.
I break the comfortable silence. “Thanks, you two. I don’t—” I start, but both men interrupt me.
“Please, don’t mention it.” Billy grunted.
“It’s the least I can do.” Carter leans in with a whisper, as his eyes dip to my lips. I flick out my tongue to wet them, suddenly hyper aware of how dry they are. His darkening eyes follow the move closely. We freeze like that—only inches separating us.
A banging on the window makes me jump out of my skin, breaking Carter’s hold on me. Through the poster-ed door is Vicky, wearing a shit-eating grin.
Of course it’s Vicky.
“Get your lazy bums out of there and help us set up!” She calls through the glass, emphasizing with another two bangs. Then she saunters back to the tent. Carter turns back to us, eyes touching on Billy then settling on me.
“Ready, Spitfire? Today’s going to be a good day.”
I nod my head, ignoring the emotion welling up inside of me. Carter nods back to me, opening the door to hop out before me. On the ground, he holds his hand out to help me down, and I take it without hesitation. A spark of electricity dances through our touch to the center of me.Jesus.I let go quickly, the moment I’m down beside him—flexing my hand to try and dissipate the remaining tingle. Over at the table, Vicky waves; so with a final soft smile at the boys, I head over to help finish setting up our raffle booth.
This place is beyond packed. Vicky and I have been working double time to try and keep the line from getting overly long. We’ve already signed up over fifty people, most of whom I’ve never met before, and the official start of the event is still five minutes away. People begin arriving and lining up for a chance to win the truck.There’s slight feedback from the sound system, then the slight drawl of Victor Williams, the head of the FNME organizers, and a member of our town council, comes through the speakers. I look to the stage to see him dressed to the nines. He’s a well liked and good looking man, if not a little uptight.
“Good evening everybody, and welcome to our final Friday Night Music Extravaganza of the summer season!” He claps using the hand holding the microphone, sending athud thudechoing around the park. Most of the crowd pauses to give a brief, smattering applause. A couple catcalls ring out. Vicky snickers next to me, sending an unreadable look toward the stage where Victor stands.
“Our little town is a special place?—”
“How much do you wanna bet he’s going to say spectacular?” A voice from behind me asks close to my ear. I smother a shiver at his proximity.
I should have taken care of business this morning. I’m a damn mess.
“I would never take that bet.” I don’t look away from where I’m searching for another roll of raffle tickets.
“—the most spectacular evening through the months of May to?—”
I have to stifle a laugh at the timing. I flick a glance beside me to where Carter now stands. He’s oddly tense, despite his teasing tone, standing like he’s waiting for something specific. I tune back into what Victor is saying and freeze, wide-eyed at what I’m hearing.
“—will be at every booth this evening, so please take the opportunity to help fund our children’s field trips. As Ms. Duchamp says ‘there’s no reason for any child to be left behind when we have an opportunity to help them.’” I stare, slackjawed, at the man on the stage.
