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“A look, huh? Well… all right, how about this,” he says, the hum of traffic on mainstreet filling in the noise around him. “You give me the look back at the house, and I’ll try and tell you what it means.”
I tip my hat up and look at the sun through the oak leaves. “I am not doing that.”
He sighs. “I thought you’d say that. Okay, well, if I can’t see the look I’m going to go ahead and need to talk it out a little, to see what you’re gettin’ at.”
“No,” I stop him, “ you’re… there. Around people. Just–” I yank my hat off, sinking into a metal chair bolted to the concrete beneath the tree. I think this chair is for sick old ladies who need fresh air, but I think that’s me now. “I don’t know. She gave me this weird look when she came by the table and then the tire… now the PIN code…” I drift off, but Deuce picks up my wandering thoughts.
“Ahh,” he laughs, “so you’re thinking she’s, like… crazy.”
“No, I don’t think she’s crazy, I just… I don't know. Nothing ever happens here,” I sigh, placing my hat snuggly back on my head, mostly to hide my face from this embarrassing phone call. I should’ve just kept it in like all good men do. “And then a few strange things happened in one day.”
Deuce’s laughter throws cold water down my back, making me shrivel in on myself. “I think Tiffani had unfortunate luck and I think Dahlia making her bank card PIN the same as your birthday is just… weird coincidence. Anyway, she’s probably had that card as long as she’s known you, or longer.”
“Yeah,” I say, “you’re probably right. For a second, I don’t know, something just felt…off.”
“Your lady receptors are messed up because you’ve been hanging out with a kid and your sister for the last five years,” he says, adding, “no offense.”
“None taken.” He’s not wrong.
“Ev’s right. It’s not just about wanting time alone when we’re married either. She genuinely wants you to find someone.”
“I’m starting to think she’s right,” I admit to Deuce, before qualifying my words. “Don’t you dare tell her I said that.”
“I promise but know if she holds sex over my head, your ass will be under the bus in a split second.”
I snort at his honesty, and cringe at the idea that my sister has sex. I don’t care how old she is—I don’t need to know. In fact, when Tessa and I announced our pregnancy years ago, Ev’s first reaction was to look at me, wrinkle her nose, and say, “You have sex? Ugh, gross.” We’re basically still in that mindset.
“Don't tell her a single word about this call either.” I get to my feet and make my way to the open entry doors and saunter through. “I feel stupid.”
“That’s because it’s been so long.” He pauses. “I know Tiffani isn’t your soulmate.. But a couple of meals, maybe a movie, maybe a casual fling just so you bothget it out of your system? Could do you good.”
Nodding to acknowledge the young couple huddled by the door, I take a seat in the waiting room. “I’m starting to unfortunately think you two are right,” I tell Deuce.
After ending the call, I text Ev and let her know what’sgoing on, all the while laughing at myself for ever thinking sweet young Dolly would’ve made her bank PIN my birthday.
I don’t acknowledge the sliver of disappointment in my chest that comes when I think those numbers were just her PIN and nothing more.
thirteen
THE UNIVERSE MAY HAVE TO WORK HARDER.
Dolly
In the last week, I’ve become pretty decent at painting with my left hand. My sutures are coming out today, and hell am I excited. I can’t seem to paint Hudson’s sharp jaw quite as well with my left. There are at least ten crumpled versions of him in the trash as we speak.
I dip my brush into the chestnut color I’ve mixed for his hair, and begin creating those soft waves I love so much. My favorite is when he’s fresh out of the shower but he’s been outside once or twice, letting the elements give some body to his natural wave. His hair thickens, and when he lifts his arm to run his hand through, the sight of him makes meso wet.
I let the brush make generous strokes, closing my eyes as I paint my love from memory. In my mind I’m envisioning him on Christmas Eve, freshly showered and dressed up, waiting for Ev and Deuce to come by. He came out onto the porch with Bear on his shoulders. They were catching snowflakes. Without his signature cowboy hat, dressed to the nines in charcoal slacks that barely contain his monstrous thighs, and a fitted cream sweater—when I tell you I came six times in a row that night, I’m not even exaggerating.
“Hey,” Ivy calls from the hall, her hands above her head as she braids her hair. “I’m going down to the creek to do some freehand nature sketches.” She loops the elastic on her wrist around the end of the first braid, getting started on the second. “Wanna come with?”
“Nature?” I question as I work on the tiny fleck of emerald green that exists right next to Hudson’s right pupil. It’s tiny but it’s there. From my desk drawer, I pull outoneof his photos.
The first one I reach is of him rinsing his mug out over the kitchen sink. His Henley sleeves are shoved to his elbows, dark chest hair peeking from the top of the unbuttoned shirt. His face is heavy with sleep, his hair a total mess. But it’s so hot. It’s him when he first wakes up and has coffee. A private, intimate him that you get only when you’rehis.
Or if you have a EF 70-200mm F2.8L IS III USM optical telephoto zoom lens and live next door to him.
Ivy finishes her remaining braid. “Yeah, nature,” she replies, peering over my shoulder at the photo of Hudson. “That’s a good one of him.”
