“Yes, ma’am,” I say, but then take in the lack of wig and the sweatpants and T-shirt. “Or sir.”
“Either’ll do,” she says. “Y’all look like a couple tornadoes about to take on the world. Where are y’all off to after graduation?”
Clem takes Hannah’s hand. “I’m heading to the University of Georgia and Hannah is headed to Savannah and Waylon—”
“Has no clue what he’s going to do. I’ve dabbled in drag,” I admit, my voice lowering and my cheeks burning with immediate embarrassment. I can’t believe I just said that out loud to a real-life drag queen. “But... my plans for the future recently shifted.” I decide not to throw Clem under the bus. “And now I’m trying to reconfigure, I guess. Not a lot of options currently.”
Lee swats a hand at the air. “At your age, the world is nothing but a buffet of options, baby.”
Dale affirms her with a nod. “Well, we better let y’all get home before you go turning into pumpkins on us.”
We stand and say goodbyes, and both Lee and Dale embrace me in a hug. “The House of Way is always taking applications,” Lee whispers.
“Hannah, you text us when y’all get home safely.”
Hannah nods and doubles back for one last hug from Dale.
As we walk back out through the bar, I search for Tucker, but he’s nowhere to be found. The House of Way is fresh on my mind as I start the truck, but the thing I really can’t get out of my head is the memory of Tucker Watson and our gazes linking in the middle of the only gay bar in a hundred-mile radius.
We drive home and behind us the Hideaway stands like a lighthouse, and even as it grows smaller in the distance, we still feel the warmth of its beacon light.
Seventeen
That night, I lie in bed with my phone dangling from my fingers, an open text message to Tucker on the screen. The flashing of the cursor is the only thing keeping me awake. I type out failed texts one after the other.
Maybe I was hallucinating, but were you—backspace, backspace, backspace.
Did my eyes deceive me—backspace, backspace, backspace.
Stalking me now, are you?Backspace, backspace, backspace.
I’m guessing you didn’t make the hike all the way out to the Hideaway just to see me.Backspace, backspace, backspace.
I try once more.
What other secrets are you keeping?
I hit send and stare at my phone for... as... long... as... I... possibly... can...
The next morning—no, I check my phone, afternoon—I stumble out of bed in search of the source of the scent of freshly cooked bacon.
As I’m walking down the hallway to the kitchen in the silk robe I wore last night, I say to whoever will listen, “Do you think Miss Piggy knows how good bacon tastes?”
“No, but I bet Kermit does,” says a voice—a voice belonging to—
“Tucker!” I screech. “What the hell are you doing in my house?” I pull my robe tight around me, but he still definitely saw me in my boxers. Tucker Watson stands in the middle of my kitchen in jeans and an undershirt, chugging a glass of water. “Is this a hallucination? Do I have a tumor? Is this a stroke? Is that smell burning toast?”
“No, no, no, and yes,” says Mom as she walks past me, teasing her fingers through my hair. “Your sister definitely burned toast at one point this morning.”
Tucker puts his glass down on the counter and wipes his mouth with his forearm. He nods toward Mom. “Thank you, ma’am, for the water. I better get back to it.” He looks to me. “Morning, Waylon.”
“To what?” I ask, still completely shocked at this boy’s ability to show up in the most unlikely places like a damn leprechaun.
“You will do no such thing,” Mom says to him. “You sit down and have some bacon and eggs. I was about to make some fresh toast for Waylon.”
I blink at the pair of them until my head suddenly realizes that oh-holy-shit-I’m-in-my-underwear-in-the-middle-of-my-kitchen-with-Tucker-Watson. “I’ll be right back,” I say before racing down the hallway to the bathroom.
“Great,” I mutter as I notice the mascara and glittersmeared down my left cheek. Nothing saysI have my shit togetherlike waking up at noon with last night’s evidence all over your face. After a quick sink scrub-down and some deodorant on my pits, I piece together actual clothes and take a second shot at my grand entrance.
