Hi sweetheart. Thinking about you. Can’t wait to see you soon.
Love you too, Ma. Looking forward to talking. I know I owe you a conversation.
Mama
Only to tell me how much fun you had on your trip. XO.
“Which one do you think?The black or the tan?”
I slide my phone into my pocket, doing my best to hide the dread I feel just thinking of all the questions I have to answer when I get back. I saunter toward Collie, who’s weighing out two different cowboy hat options. I take in her outfit, hoping to make an educated guess on which would match best.
I’m shit at that. You’d think growing up with a youngersister would have equipped me with some decent fashion sense, but nope.
I might as well have blinders on.
“The black matches your shirt.” Earlier, we stopped at a local brewery downtown called Battle Brief Brewing Co., and Collie insisted on getting a shirt as a souvenir. She couldn’t wait to wear it, swapping out her current T-shirt for this one. The building was really fucking cool, made of solid concrete block with a metal sheet lining the bottom half of the wall. Old whiskey barrels accented one side, topped with a curved piece of concrete, creating a tabletop for the bartenders.
It felt super modern with the classic Wyoming feel.
One thing I’ve learned about Collie is that she finds enjoyment in my own personal embarrassment. In fact, she revels in it. My lips start to rise and I find myself feeling…shy. Usually, I wouldn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks, but Collie seems to pull these unfamiliar feelings out of me. Similar to how I can’t stop tracing the shape of her toned legs, hugged firmly by her black leather leggings. They look like a second skin, making her quad muscles pronounced against the fabric. She’s sexy as hell.
I notice and analyze everything when it comes to her. And I’m smart enough to judge that I just made myself look like an idiot.
Collie looks down and belts out a laugh. “My shirt is black. Great observation, genius.”
“What the hell do I know?” I retort. “I can hardly tell the difference between purple and blue.”
“Is Mr. Lineman, skilled with anything that involves his hands, Easton Voss, colorblind?” She inches closer, crowding my space, and abandoning the tan hat in the process.
She picked black.
“You think I’m skilled with my hands, lost girl.” It’s a statement, not a question. She said it.
“Gonna take a wild guess, seeing as how I’ve only ever experienced your mouth on me and fingers inside me. I can only imagine what those thick hands can do across my entire body.”
Fuck. This insatiable woman.
I step forward, putting us chest to chest, and not worrying for a second that we’re staked in the middle of Red Valley Hats.
I don’t give a damn about the hats. I care about her.
“I’m colorblind, yes.” My fingers grip the bottom of her chin softly, making sure she sees nothing, no one, anything else but me. “But I know the color black. Lived in a haze of it for far too long. Although lately, things have been quite…colorful.”
Her.The chatty blonde stranger with braids and flowers in her hair, an exhausting habit of rambling, and collector of meaningless things.
Yet, they aren’t meaningless to her, making them remarkably timeless.
I actually like the tiny braids she places randomly throughout her blonde curls.
I also really like her tiresome commentary and need to make sure every person around her feels heard.
As for the collecting? Well, I’ve only ever witnessed her collect a message in a bottle, said T-shirt, and a coffee mug from the diner we visited in the beginning, but I have a feeling Collie Meadows will be leaving Wyoming with much more than silly souvenirs.
I hope to send her with memories that last a lifetime. Even if only temporarily noteworthy.
The less I know, the better. They’re hers to keep.
“Then black it is,” she declares, although she made her decision minutes ago. “Time to dress this beauty up. And you need to get yourself one, Ranger. They’re for the mems.”
