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I have no idea what self-care is. It sounds like girl code for masturbating, and if that’s so, I definitely do not want to have that conversation with my sister. That’s Luke’s responsibility.
Luckily, I don’t find out the answer because a woman comes up to the table. I don’t know her, or at least I don’t think I do. She’s got full hair and makeup done, and there’s a guy standing a foot or so behind her. She looks at me directly. “Hey, so this is probably weird and all, but could you sign this picture for me? Please?”
“Huh?” I wish I could say I came up with something more insightful, but confusion is all I’ve got right now. “Picture?” There, that’s slightly better.
She holds up a black and white picture of Shay’s goat, Trollie, and a Sharpie. “Please?” she repeats.
“Uh, why?” I have no idea what me and Trollie have to do with one another.
She blinks in confusion.
That makes two of us, woman.
“This is you, isn’t it?” She uses the cap of the marker to point to the arm holding Trollie. “That’s your tattoo.” She looks to my bicep where the Roman numerals are lined up in memory of Mom.
Brody recovers first, though the whole table is looking at the woman like she’s grown a third eye in the middle of her forehead. “Where’d you get that?” he growls, and the woman jumps.
Her guy takes a small step forward and puts his hand on her lower back protectively. But he’s not challenging Brody. No one is stupid enough to do that, not even a random dude in a bar. Give him credit for guts, but Brody would mop the floor with this guy if he had to. “It was on the blog,” the woman repeats. “Willow’s blog? A Day in the Life of a Tree?” She’s explaining my girl’s work to me like I’m a clueless dumbass. “There was a whole bunch of goat ones, but this one is . . . you.” She’s losing steam, and certainty, though she’s absolutely right. That is me and Trollie. “I just printed it out because I thought it’d be cool to have you sign it.”
I take the marker from her, defusing the situation and silently telling Brody to take it down a notch. “Yeah, that’s fine. I just didn’t see that picture on there so it threw me. No worries. Here.” I sign my name—my first autograph!—and hand it back to her.
“Thanks so much!” she gushes, any nerves dissipating into bubbles of joy as she looks from the picture to me. Brody and his growliness are all but forgotten. She turns around to the guy behind her, who smiles congenially at her, but when she looks down at the photo again, he looks to me like ‘whatcha gonna do, man?’ I chuckle a bit at the poor sap.
“Found it!” Shay squeals. “Oh, my cheesus and crackers, she posted like ten pictures of the goats. Here’s Baarbara, and Trollie, and . . . Oh, here’s George too.” She’s scrolling, not showing any of us her phone so we can see too. But I believe her.
“Did you know about this?” Brody asks.
I shrug, not bothered in the least about the pictures. The random asking for an autograph was weird, but kinda cool in a way, now that I think about it. “I told her she could take pictures of me any time she wants, and she asked about that one. I just hadn’t seen it. She’s really careful about not showing faces and stuff, though. Said it helps people put themselves in the experiences better if there’s not an actual person to relate to. That’s why it’s always bits and pieces and parts, not a whole face or body shot.”
Luke snorts. “Body shot.”
Shayanne pats his leg, grinning conspiratorially. “Later. Look at this!”
She spins her phone around, showing everyone the picture Willow took of our hands. I did know about this one, but seeing the caption she added does something hot and fiery to my insides. Maybe love is warm and fuzzy for some people, but it makes me want to strut my ass back over there and finally fuck her on the bar.
Love is real. Her words, my thoughts exactly.
Fuck yeah, it is, sweetheart.
Allyson and Katelyn ooh and aah over Shay’s phone while the guys smirk at me. Actually, Rix smirks too, but then she leans over and whispers something into Shay’s ear, and Shay giggles.
But none of these assholes are any better. I’ve watched every damn one of these men get wound tighter and tighter around their women’s pinky fingers. I’ve wanted that too but never felt it until now.
We talk for a bit longer, and a couple more people come up to chat, one with me, and one with Luke about a horse for sale. Before long, it’s time for me to hit the stage.
