Charlotte keeps going. “We’re running errands. Mom needed salt for the walkway because apparently ice wants to murder her, and Faith needed…” she pauses, then throws a dramatic glance at her sister, “air.”
Faith swats her lightly with the back of her glove. “Ignore her.”
“I try.”
Faith looks at me then.
Really looks.
Her eyes meet mine, and that’s it. Every muscle in my body goes tight. There’s a thousand unsaid things in that look: questions, nerves, embarrassment, the echo of that night, of her mouth under mine, of the way we didn’t stop…
I swallow hard.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey,” I manage.
It comes out lower than I meant, rough around the edges. She hears it. I can tell by the way her fingers curl into the strap of her purse, knuckles whitening.
Charlotte, completely oblivious, clasps her hands in front of her chest as if she’s watching a soap opera.
“Oh! And guess what?” she says. “I’m staying in town for a little while.”
“Yeah?” I ask, mostly because it buys me a second to get my pulse under control.
“Yup! For the event at the rodeo grounds next weekend. So exciting. Me and Faith haven’t been for years.”
She smirks.
Oh. She knows.
I avoid Faith’s eyes because if I look again, I’m not sure what mine are going to give away.
“Well,” I say, “sounds like Buckhorn’ll be lively.”
“Oh, totally,” Charlotte says, bouncing again. The pom pom on her hat flops with every movement. “And we’ll see you there, right? Faith said you always go. You help, don’t you? With the pens and the chute and the… all the cowboy stuff.”
I flick a glance at Faith.
Her face flushes, and her lips part. She wants to interrupt, but can’t figure out how without making a bigger deal.
I’m screwed.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
Charlotte claps once, delighted. “Perfect! Then you can?—”
“Charlotte,” Faith cuts in, grabbing her arm. “We really need to, uh, let Dallas get back to work. Mom’s waiting on that salt, remember?”
Charlotte stops, then leans in conspiratorially.
“She’s stress baking again,” she whispers. “You should see the kitchen. It’s sugar cookie apocalypse.”
Faith groans softly. “Char.”
“What? It’s delicious.”
Penny, who has absolutely not moved away from the end of the aisle and is absolutely not pretending to be straightening bags of dog food while she eavesdrops, pushes her glasses up her nose and smiles.
