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"Not really," I admit. "There's just so many things about us being together that are messed up right now."
"Then pick one and fix it," Pamela says. "Or dump him. As you said, that's probably the easier option."
I sigh. "And the smartest. Yet here I am."
"Hey, you'll figure it out. Remember, you figured out getting through law school as a single mom."
"True." I smile. "Thanks." It comes to me in a rush: I miss my friend. "Want to come over tonight or tomorrow?"
"Wednesday. I've got a hot date with the tax man tonight."
"Pamela."
"I'm not kidding. Taxes are literally due tomorrow, and the tax man - accountant guy - has a shit-ton of questions for me. Apparently, I've been, ahem, a bit liberal with my business spending."
I chuckle. "Didn't you try to write off a manicure since it brought you 'inner spiritual peace'?"
"Come on!" Pamela says indignantly. "It's important for my mental health to look presentable. Plus, if I don't look my best, how can I be expected to perform my best?"
I just laugh. "Good luck."
"Yeah, yeah, I should go. I need to find a bunch of receipts, too. You have a good night, though. And don't worry. Landon might take you telling him better than you think."
"I hope so. Night, Pamela."
"Night, Kyra."
I go in to check on Madison with a small smile.
Just like that, I've made up my mind. I'm going to tell him. Not now, through a text or a call, even though I'm burning to. In person.
No more putting it off. It's time.
**
Next morning, after I've gotten Maddy to school, I call him up.
"Hey, I was thinking about you," he says. "What are your thoughts on hot pink shirts?"
"Uh... they're OK?"
"For me, I mean. I'm at the store."
I grin, imagining Landon in hot pink - hot, as usual. I guess double hot in the pink. Hehe.
Yep, I'm in silly mode with him on my mind.
"Go for it."
"Cool. What about you - just calling to talk?"
"Not exactly. I was thinking we could go out tonight. You heard of the Marbarow Fair?"
"Think so - edge of town, right? I'm game. I'll pick you up?"
"I'd rather us meet there."
"You're never gonna show me your place, are you?" I can hear the smile in his voice.
"Not yet."
"Challenge accepted - see you tonight."
"See you," I say, bouncing on my toes.
Tonight it is. I'm really doing this.
The rest of the day passes way too fast. I get some work done, talk to a potential client. Shoot some emails back and forth with some Goldtree employees who are planning on testifying.
Before I know it, we're meeting in the parking lot. Landon was already there when I arrived.
"I was worried I was going to be late, so I came early," he explains with a smile.
I chuckle. "Make sense."
"I got us tickets."
"Landon!"
"What?" A wink. "I thought that's why you invited me here."
"No, I invited you here because I thought you'd wear your hot pink shirt," I joke, eyeing him and his black t-shirt that shows off his strong arms. Shit, focus, Kyra. "But no go, clearly."
We crack up, and Landon loops his arm in mine. "C'mon. We have a merry-go-round to go to. Did I ever tell you about how we rode it once when we were little and Emerson cried and shrieked so much that they actually stopped the ride to haul him off?"
I chuckle. "Nope. How are they anyway, your brothers? I feel like a jerk for not asking earlier."
"Oh, they're good," he says lightly.
Just good?
It could be that he feels weird mentioning them, since we used to all hang out from time to time, and now... yeah, nothing. It makes sense, though. This thing we're in, whatever it is, it's still an unknown. Plus, it's not like I've been introducing him to my family or friends left, right and center, either.
Although it would show me that all this isn't just talk. Not that I think it is. Agh.
Inside the park, we walk past the game stalls, all bright flashing lights and colorful prizes. Landon pauses at one when he sees me eyeing its cute prize hats.
"Landon," I say.
"Kyra," he says.
"You don't have to - " Before the words are halfway out of my mouth, Landon has already walked up and handed the employee a ticket. It's a strongman game with a giant colorful tower counting up to 240.
"Here goes," he says, a determined set to his jaw.
He lifts the hammer and slams it down, face contorted with effort.
The weight shoots up... 150... 200... and - celebratory music, flashing lights - 240!
"Whoa!" the employee says. Her ponytail bobs as she gestures to the hat stand beside. "Take your pick."
A minute or so later, I'm walking away with a brand-new black suede hat on my head.
"Hold up," Landon says.
I pause as he peers at me and smiles. "You make that hat look damn good."
