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“Thanks.”
He chuckles softly. “Don’t thank me yet.”
He’s right. The store is busy. I hadn’t even realized that it’s the weekend, and there are plenty of people that see me and talk to me. Most I recognize, some I don’t. But I run the gauntlet. Everyone wants to know the truth of what they’ve heard going around town, and somehow I manage to get through it without giving too much away.
But the things I hear are truly legendary. I hear at least one outlandish story from each person; from broken combines to a herd of chickens that literally got stuck crossing the road and spurred a whole host of chicken jokes. The one thing that makes me suddenly snap to true attention is the little tidbit that, ‘Did I hear that Casey Bowman is taking Megan Gingham to Firework Night?’
I react a little too strongly to that, and get some looks, including from my dad. I’m saved by the next buzz of my phone.Please tell your father to hurry back.There’s more gossip and more shopping and three more text messages asking for additional things to add to the list before my father interrupts the conversation.
“Speaking of the fireworks, we’d better get back to working on the farm?”
Everyone laughs at that. It’s common knowledge that my dad likes to pretend that he’s the one that puts on the show all by himself. It is the Farrell Farms Fireworks, after all. But in reality, he hands out the sparklers and has a good time just like everyone else on Firework Night, and the professional team that the town hires does the heavy lifting. We’re just the venue.
But it does the trick. We manage to extricate ourselves, check out, and make it back to the truck. It’s only been an hour and a half, and I’m exhausted from the sheer amount of information that was thrown at me. But I actually enjoyed hearing about the town—even if the stories were exaggerated. Mom never tells me anything like that during our monthly phone calls.
I slump against the seat, and my dad laughs. “Well, you made it.”
“I did, and now I need a nap.”
He smiles. “You earned it.”
We drive in silence for a couple of minutes before he speaks again. “Do you still have a crush on Casey Bowman?”
“What?” The word comes out of me high and strangled. “Where did that come from?”
“You seemed interested in who he was taking to the fireworks, and I know you two were close when you were younger.”
My face is hot, and I’m glad that my dad is driving so he’s less likely to see how hard I’m blushing right now. “That was a long time ago.”
“Time doesn’t always affect things like that,” he says. “And you never answered the question.”
“No. Of course not. I was engaged until a week ago, Dad.”
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I think we both know now that it might have been over before that. And I’m not convinced by that answer.”
I can’t speak. I cannot believe that I am having this conversation right now.
“I’ve always liked Bowman,” Dad says, casually, as if he didn’t just accuse me of having a crush on him. Which I totally and completely do. “He’s steady. Helped his parents all this time and has made sure that their farm stays afloat. Also takes care of people in the community even though he doesn’t have to. Hell, he could probably be a sure thing for mayor if he ever thought about it.”
I snort. “Since when has Elgin had a mayor?”
We laugh together. The official population of Elgin is about five hundred. What would a town that size even do with a mayor? There wouldn’t be nearly enough to do to make it a full-time job. Things around here—other than the fireworks—basically run themselves. Elgin is more a cluster of people living in proximity rather than anything formal.
We pull off the highway toward home, and my stomach drops as we drive along. Casey is out at his fence line along the road, and it looks like he’s fixing a post. Of course he would appear out of thin air right after my father asked me about him. Of course.
My face heats again. It’s been days since I left him alone in his bed. What does he think? Is he angry at me? Does he think that I used him? I haven’t even ventured toward his property line in the last few days because I have no idea what to say to him. ‘Hey, Casey, thanks for the mind-blowing orgasms you gave me, but you let something slip that really freaked me out and so I ran away?’
Dad slows down the car, and my breath goes shallow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to talk to the man. That’s what neighbors round here do, Carley.” He raises one eyebrow at me, and we both know that is definitely not the reason that he’s stopping to talk to Casey, but neither one of us is going to say it out loud.
