But as the awkwardness grew, so did Claire’s momentum. She simply could not stop talking. Maybe I should interact with her more. Perhaps she had some sort of word quota for the year and had lost mileage to make up for. Maybe I should be down at the cabin talking to her more so this could be avoided.
Eventually, I dragged Claire away, insisting we had much more to see. We left a stunned Mrs. Wilson behind as Claire stiffened.
“Was I talking about breast exams with that woman?” she asked when I gently led her into an alley between shops for some privacy.
I nodded, unable to hide my smile now. The secret was out, so no point in locking them down. If anybody should get to see them, it should be Claire. I wouldn’t need to avoid the town and talking with people if Claire was here at my side.
“It’s like I black out when I start talking. Whatever they saylights up parts of my brain, and my mouth just spews it out. We skip the whole ‘is this an inside thought/outside thought’ filter on the way,” she said with a defeated sigh.
It was true. I had thought something about myself initially made her talk so honestly, but that was who she was. She was genuinely so earnest and open.
“You need to nudge me. Or we need to establish a code word when I start to go too far,” she said.
“Absolutely not.” I couldn’t help my chuckle. She had completely turned my mood around. I had been dreading every moment of that interaction, and by the end, I wanted to pull up a chair with some popcorn.
“You love my humiliation.” Claire hid her face in her hands. “My ex would give me a look so I knew when to stop.”
I ground my jaw.
“I really hate my brain sometimes,” she added.
“I really love your authenticity,” I countered. “And your ex sounds like an idiot.”
The words came out. I, too, lacked a filter, which was another reason I hated coming into town. But I loved it on Claire. I loved that from the second I met her, there were no games or pretenses. She was exactly what she presented herself as. I thought maybe it was just me who saw this side of her, but that was who she was. In every interaction, she was just a little too goofy and a little too earnest. People didn’t know what to do with her.
I knew exactly what I wanted to do with her.
I could kiss this woman senseless. And as soon as the thoughtformed, it grew and implanted itself deep in my brain tissue, where it would only be removed by a lobotomy that made me forget everything. I wanted this woman. I wanted her with every fiber of my being. And not because she saved me from Kathy Wilson, but because of every real thing about her.
Her head shot up, and her eye contact zinged down my spine. “Oh,” she said eventually. “That’s good. Because I don’t have any control over that.”
“Good.”
The back alley was quiet in our bubble of honesty.
“Thank you,” I said before I did something that might get me slapped. “For intercepting Kathy.”
I didn’t have to elaborate. Her cheeks went red, and she shook her head. “I’m a pro at dealing out dead mom diversion. Been doing it for a decade.” As soon as the words were out, she winced. “Shit. Sorry, that sounds so crass. I just meant?—”
My hand cupped her chin and lifted her gaze. “Thank you,” I repeated because, again, the desire to kiss her muted all other words.
She placed her hand over mine and nodded softly. “You’re welcome.”
After a moment that held too long, she dropped her hand, and I released her. Determined to give her a good time, I led her out of the alley and back toward the festivities. She buzzed to a few more places, and by the time we reached the town square, my arms were loaded with bags of souvenirs for her dad, kettle corn, fried food, and other various “irresistible” snacks.
She sipped her cider, humming happily as we rounded into the center of town. The town square had transitioned into a nighttime spectacle with hundreds of jack-o’-lanterns glowing along fake flickering candles and white fairy lights. She gasped as she took in the pumpkins that filled every square foot set up for the competition. She found a bench and sat, that ever-present smile still on her face. A few musicians were set up and playing an acoustic version of a song I recognized but couldn’t place. A group of kids were right in front of them, shaking their little bodies out of rhythm and without a care in the world. A few couples danced hand in hand just outside the kids, laughing and rocking to the light tempo. I groaned at myself and set down all her treasures.
“All right. Come on then,” I said and stood.
She frowned up at me. “We’re leaving?” Her brows contorted in the saddest expression I’d ever been victim to. Even if leaving had been the plan, it wouldn’t have been anymore.
“You’re wiggling so hard, you’re shaking the bench.”
I held out my hand. Her jaw dropped. “You want to dance? Out here? In front of God and everyone?”
I huffed. “You’re quickly talking me out of it.”
She set down her paper cup of cider. “No. No. This is happening.”
