I down the beer in three long pulls and head back to the fire, to Molly.
When she sees me, her whole face lights up. “There you are! I was starting to miss you.”
“Sorry,” I say, sliding my arm around her waist. She leans into me, and I force myself not to stiffen.
The bonfire burns higher as the night wears on. Someone’s brought out a guitar, and people are singing off-key, drunk and happy. Mrs. Patterson is taking photos for the community page, the Martin girl is laughing at something Dawson said, her hand on his arm, and Cash is in a heated debate about football with some guys from his graduating class.
Molly’s in my lap now, her arms around my neck, and she’s laughing at something someone said. Her fingers play with the hair at the nape of my neck. Across the fire, I catch Colt watching me. He’s leaned back against a truck, beer in hand, seemingly engaged in conversation with someone I don’t recognize, but his eyes are on me, tracking every movement.
“Kiss me,” Molly says suddenly, her voice soft and sweet, pulling me back to the present.
My stomach drops. Everyone’s watching … or at least, itfeelslike everyone’s watching. Mom definitely has her phone out again.
This is the moment. The picture-perfect moment that will end up on social media with a dozen heart emojis and comments about how cute we are. About what a great couple we make. About how lucky we both are.
So, I kiss her.
I press my lips to hers, tasting the strawberry chapstick she always wears, feeling her sigh against my mouth.
When I pull back, I catch Colt’s eye across the flames. He’s staring at me with something dark and unreadable in his expression, his jaw tight, knuckles white around his beer bottle. Then he lifts it in a slow salute before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.
The party winds down slowly. Families with young kids leave first, then the older folks. By eleven, it’s mostly people my age.
Cash has his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into some story about a fishing trip gone wrong, and Dawson’s laughing so hard he’s crying.
“Remember when Rhett hooked his own hat?” Dawson wheezes. “Had to cut the line and everything.”
“It was my favorite hat,” I protest, but I’m smiling, despite myself.
“Dad laughed so hard he almost fell out of the boat,” Cash says.
These are the moments I cling to, when I’m just one of the Thornwood brothers, sharing stories and beer under a summer sky.
“Your girl’s looking tired.” Cash observes, nodding toward where Molly’s sitting with a group of girls. She does look tired, or maybe just disappointed. I’ve gotten good at seeing the difference.
“Yeah, I should probably get her home.”
“You gonna actually do something about it this time?” Cash asks. “Dude, it’s been three months. I know you’re not a virgin, so what’s the holdup?”
It’s the question everyone wants to ask, but only Cash is drunk enough to voice.
“I don’t know,” I say, because it’s closer to the truth than any lie I could come up with. “It’s just … I don’t know.”
Cash studies me for a moment, his expression softening. “She’s a good girl, Rhett. If you’re not feeling it, that’s fine. But don’t string her along just because you think you’re supposed to be with her. That’s not fair to either of you.”
The advice is more thoughtful than I expected from my drunk little brother.
I collect Molly, make the rounds, saying goodbye, and head to my truck. As I’m opening the door for her, I catch movement in my peripheral vision.
Colt, leaning against a tree at the edge of the property, cigarette glowing in the dark.
Watching like a goddamn creep.
I drive Molly home, her hand on my thigh the whole way, her voice soft as she talks about the week ahead. About summer plans now that school’s out and she won’t be teaching. About how much she’s looking forward to spending more time together.
“I’m thinking we could go to that farmer’s market next Saturday,” she’s saying. “The one in Millbrook? They have those handmade soaps I like, and there’s supposed to be live music …”
I nod in the right places—make appropriate sounds. But I’m not really listening.
