He winced theatrically. “That is the absolute truth.”
We stood side by side while my clothes were delivered, while the clerks rang us each up. We were close enough that I could feel the heat of his presence without acknowledging what it stirred. Afterwards, we stepped out onto the sidewalk and he offered to carry my load to the car.
I held out the multiple hangers. “If you’re feeling generous, that would be great.”
The late afternoon sun painted everything gold as he strolled alongside me toward where I parked my car. We were silent for a few steps before he let out a rough laugh.
“What?”
“I’m having flashbacks of the first time I asked to carry your backpack at OPU,” he admits.
I slap my hand over my mouth to stifle the giggle, but the laughter escapes anyway.
Back then, Brennan had made this gallant offer to carry my bag, not realizing the heft of it.
He swings my bag onto his shoulder and fakes staggering three steps before righting himself. “How in the hell do you carry that?”
I tease him, “I carry that and a lot more some days.”
His eyes glinted down at me with admiration then—much as they are now as we reach my vehicle. I undo the locks before transferring my clothes into the back.
He hooked his sweater over one shoulder and shoved his other hand in his pocket. “So, do you still believe in fate?”
I considered his question. For a long time, I thought the world was against me. Now, I realize life and love are what I make of it. Still…“I believe in intersections. Moments where two paths cross and you have to decide whether to keep walking or stop and acknowledge it.”
“What are we doing, Amy?” he asked.
I met his gaze. And even though I had a bit of trepidation about it, I gave him the truth. “Right now? I’m choosing to acknowledge it. Us. As something from the past that’s maybe not as scary as I thought it was.”
His smile was bashful. “That’s…good.”
We stood there a moment longer than necessary, neither of us rushing to leave.
Later, I told the girls, “If destiny keeps squaring us up like this, I have a feeling we’re not over yet.”
They agreed.
The last place we bumped up against one another was at the Willow Creek High School football home game.
As part of the faculty, I try to attend as many home games as I possibly can. School spirit, supporting students, greeting parents, pretending I wasn’t shocked when the booster club charged me ten dollars for a pom pom they spent less than a dollar for online.
The stands were packed since this was with our biggest rivals, Red River. The air is alive with the whip of autumn and the scent of hot dogs. Our marching band sounds like bleeding sheep warming up, but their faces are painted like they’re about to star as extras in Braveheart.
I shouted, “Go Warriors!” as I passed them. Several of my students paused in their tuning to wave.
I had made my way to my seat and was checking out the countdown clock to kickoff when his scent envelops me. Brennan plops down onto the seat beside me. “Tell me we’re not living some divine curse one of my relatives concocted back in the homeland.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “Finally admitting you have a trace of Wiccan in your blood?”
“Same ole song and dance, Amy.”
“Your father refuses to admit it and your mother seeks it out?”
“Exactly.” He tugged on the end of my braid which was tied off with a festive white and blue bow. “Very school spirit of you.”
“I’ve got nothing on the marching band.”
His gaze roamed over them and his jaw fell open slightly when he realized half of them weren’t wearing clothes—just their skin painted in school colors. “So that’s what happened to all of the face paint in a hundred miles.”
