Page 55 of Dandelions and Smoke

My gaze bounces between her and Rory. “What?” I ask, not sure if it’s the ‘tizzy’ part of her reply that confuses me, or if it’s not knowing what plans changed.

Ainsley’s head bobs up, and she watches with me as Rory cracks her hip against the corner of the counter but keeps moving like she doesn’t even notice before disappearing into the back room.

“Ouch.” I cringe, realizing that maybe this is why, over the past month, she has had random bruises all over her body without any idea of where they came from.

Ainsley’s face softens as she looks at me. Her head tilts, flowers shifting in her hair as she pats my arm like I still have so much to learn.

“Today was supposed to be inventory day. Rory likes organizing everything a certain way, but the truck is delayed and won’t be here until tomorrow.”

When I don’t say anything, she lets out a sigh and continues.

“So today ain’t what she planned on, and it’s got her clean turned around. That, and I don’t think she’s remembered to eat yet,” Ainsley explains, shrugging like this is a normal occurrence.

Since our first date, Rory and I have been inseparable as much as our schedules will allow. We explored the Holiday Festival last month. The ‘Three French Hens’ activity was my personal favorite, as it featured food trucks and vendors who gave tastings of French cuisine—definitely a clever take on the third day of Christmas. Also, delicious. Rory enjoyed the ninth day the most. The ‘Nine Ladies Dancing’ turned out to be an array of local bands performing every night while encouraging everyone to dance.

Again, Rory somehow managed to get me to bust a move. It wasn’t pretty, but it made her happy. She spun around and smiled under the starlight as it twinkled through the pine trees surrounding the park every night, as if the band played just for her. Her laughter filled the night air and was intoxicating. People around us couldn’t help but notice and smile before joining in, fueled by her infectious energy. My heart feels full simply thinking about it.

It was impossible to do everything in one night, so we continued to go back until we experienced all ‘Twelve Days of Christmas.’ Rory exclaimed that, according to Mark and Billy, it was the only way to truly get the full experience. I wasn’t convinced at first for obvious reasons, but as it turns out, they were onto something. It didn’t matter how tired we were or how late it was. Every night, she made sure we’d stop at the ninth day and dance before returning to either her home or mine.

Outside of the festival, we embraced every holiday tradition we could think of. Spending half my Christmas with her was a nice way to spend my morning before working the evening shift. She understood how hard this Christmas was on me, it being a whole year without seeing my son, but at least now it hasn’t been without trying.

I’ve been calling Jasenia every day since Rory’s and my first date, but to my disappointment, every call has gone unanswered. I send her texts, but they’re all ignored. Every time I think about it, or something reminds me, my frustration grows. After leaving me, we sold our condo, and she moved about an hour away. Over the past week, I’ve been considering showing up there more and more. So many times I’ve been in my truck, my hand gripping the wheel a little too hard, convincing myself not to go.

Still, I might have already if it wasn’t for the text I finally received from her yesterday. A picture of Scout, supporting himself on a table and standing on his own. The sight of it nearly broke me. The phone fell from my hands and onto the desk as the screen blurred with unshed tears from the time I’ll never get back. The memory tightens something inside me. When I last saw him, he was only crawling. The text said, “We’re good. Talk soon.” As if she hasn’t been completely no contact, and I’m just some friend she’s checking in with.

At least it’s something, I tell myself.

Rory and I have spoken about it a few times when she’s noticed me go quiet and get lost in my thoughts, but otherwise, we try not to bring it up. I know what she thinks, and if she had her way, she’d already have involved the police and placed kidnapping charges against Jasenia. I draw in a deep breath, and the relief of having someone so fiercely on my side settles over me.

“What do you mean she hasn’t eaten?” I ask as Ainsley’s words finally sink in.

She chuckles, looking over her shoulder at the door where the sound of crashing bowls echoes loudly. “How have you not realized that your girlfriend is a walking ad for ADHD? The time blindness thing? The hyperfocus and her ability to notice patterns? The sticky notes and need for reminders?” Ainsley lists, counting on her fingers.

“The crash-out that comes after going hours without realizing she’s hungry or has to pee,” Tris adds from across the cafe while she does something that resembles sweeping the floor, but I can’t be sure. I’ve never seen anyone so bad at it.

“Tris!” Ainsley taps her cowboy boot against the floor, chastising her with a whispered shout, the ‘s’ sounding sharp. Her eyebrows slash down tightly over her nose. “Don’t shout that across the cafe.”

Tris rolls her eyes and uses the broom to point to the only customer left in the cafe. “Why? Do you really think Carl cares?”

“Well, actually—” Carl starts, but Tris silences him with her infamous side-eye.

“Shut up, Carl,” she snaps. “Go back to your latte.”

“Okay, sorry,” he stutters.

“Good gravy,” Ainsley mutters under her breath, her hand coming up to hold her forehead while I try not to show my amusement.

Poor Carl.

Tris takes in Ainsley’s face as if only now realizing that what she’s said to Carl wasn’t exactly nice, rolls her eyes, and exhales a long breath.

“How about a donut on me, Carl?” Tris grumbles.

Carl’s face lights up, and he nods his head excitedly, but I notice he doesn’t dare speak again and can’t help but wonder if he’s still afraid to.

“So, anyway,” I say after the whole exchange. “She goes whole shifts without eating?”

“If she gets busy, yeah,” Ainsley says as Rory flies back through the swinging door, only to come to a screeching halt when she finally sees me.