“That’s a shame. I know you used to write poems. Dad told me he burned them all. I hated that he did that to you.”
“They were dumb anyway.”
“I doubt it.”
I flattened my lips. What did I say to that?
“Jesse, maybe we should leave Hoyt alone. He has plans,” Lucas whispered, tugging on my nosy brother while smiling indulgently at me. “We’ll head out. Maybe next time you can join us.”
“Sure, yeah, I’d like that. Long as Jesse is paying.” I gave them a wobbly smile.
“Maybe you should be better at poker,” Jesse lobbed back as his man gently led him off into the night. The sun had just set. The night critters were coming to life: crickets singing, bats leaving their daytime resting places, and the first call of an owl far off in the distance. Good sounds. Horses nickering as they rested in their stalls, one of the ranch dogs barking. Much nicer sounds than a packed parking lot or a seedy hotel.
Once they were out of sight I grabbed the pretty stained-glass journal, tucked it under my left arm which was now free from a sling, hallelujah all the angels sang, and made my way to my truck. I’d skipped dinner. Partly due to nerves about people other than Aubrey hearing my poems, partly because Aubrey had invited me to his place to have a meal after the reading—and more kissing, I hoped—and partly because knowing that Aubrey would be in my arms soon made my gut ticklish.
The ride to Chance was a pleasant one with the window down and Conway Twitty singing about how much he would love to lay someone down. Me too, Conway, me too. But the person I longed to lay down needed to be completely at ease with being laid down. Last time he was not so it was a slow and easy road to laying the man down.
Ole Main was pretty empty after six p.m., with most of the stores closing at five. I found a spot in front of the tattoo parlor. My nerves were jangling. Aubrey’s sandwich board was still out and just as exuberant as it always was. Bold yellow bubbly wordson a black background with tiny blue stars here and there. He did love his color.
WORDS, WINE, AND WALT WHITMAN!
(JUST KIDDING WHITMAN WILL NOT APPEAR)
LOCAL POETS JOIN US!
BRING YOUR WORK! READ IT ALOUD!
TONIGHT AT 7 PM FREE ENTRY!
ALL WELCOME!
The urge to turn around was strong but the need to see Aubrey was stronger. I pushed into the bookshop, journal in hand, and hit the brakes. The place was filled with people sipping wine while they chatted. None of them were familiar so that was good. I wasn’t sure I was ready for everyone in Chance to hear my work.
Aubrey moved through the crowd, animatedly pouring wine while talking steadily. He’d pulled his hair back into a rowdy little bun then donned a bright blue suit with a pale pink shirt he’d topped off with a white polka dot tie. I’d never seen a man dress like he did, and didn’t I just love that about him?
His bright dark eyes found me and they lit up. He dashed to me, wine bottle in hand, and rose to his toes to buss my cheek. His citrus smell enveloped me.
“Hello! I am so happy you made it.” His gaze was warm as a summer evening.
“I told you I’d be here.”
“Yes, you did, and you are a man of your word. I see you have your journal. Are you thinking of reading some of your newer work to us?”
“No, no, I…doubt it. You can read them though.”
“I would be honored. Would you like some wine or are you still on pain medication. Also, huzzah for being sling-free! I know I congratulated you earlier today but seeing you without it is so wonderful. Oh! Would you prefer a beer? I bought some and stuck it in the little fridge in the back room. I remember you saying you liked Coors.”
“You remembered that?” Hell, we’d talked about so many things over the past week I had no clue what I had said or didn’t say.
“Yes, of course. You like cold Coors, hot steaks, and cuddling with me.” He cheeks went red as a cherry tomato. Lord, I wanted to kiss him.
“Yep, I do like those things.” The confession rolled out of me with far too much ease.
“I like them too.”
We stared at each other for a moment, maybe five moments, before someone shouted at Aubrey that it was seven o’clock.
“Oh! Darn it. I lost track of time! I’m ready. Come, come. We have so many poetry lovers in Chance. I never would have guessed.” He bounced through the crowd, wine in one hand, my fingers in the other. He passed the wine to Colt who lived above the shop, which seemed kind of familiar to me, and a poke in the jealousy lobe took place. I smushed it down quickly because I was darn sure Aubrey would not like caveman shit. Besides, jealousy was just a lack of self-esteem, I knew that. I knew my shortcomings. There were plenty. So I looked at Colt, smiled, and hid behind a shelving unit that held cookbooks from the old west. And new west. Aubrey stepped up to an ancient microphone. One of those like they used to use in radio broadcasts in the forties. Where he had found that I couldn’t say but it fit him well.
