Page 47 of We Already Dug the Grave

“I got lightheaded for a minute,” I lied.

“Makes sense.” Concern flickered over his face. “I’ve been told I have that effect on people.”

When I didn’t respond, his eyes widened.

“Oh God. You know I’m teasing, right?”

“Yeah.” I forced out a laugh. “Yeah, of course, I…” My voice trailed off as I tried to make sense of what happened.

Casey stepped back, his hands finding mine. “You sure you’re okay?”

For all our years of friendship, I’d never explained to Casey about the door. Never talked to anyone about it but my aunts, and my sister, back when she’d still hoped that she’d possess the family gift.

Casey knew about tea leaves and how Hattie-May sold medicines and salves and, okay, occasionally weed to other old people, and I’m sure he’d heard the rumors. Everyone had. But that was it.

There was no way to explain to him what had just happened. I wasn’t even sure I understood it myself. “I’m fine. Really.”

Casey glanced around the pasture. “Good. I mean. I want to kiss you, but you know, only if you want me to.” His eyes locked on mine.

I smiled. Okay. Yes. We’d just kissed, but there was something about hearing him say it—he wants to kiss me!—that made everything else seem less important.

Whatever had just happened was odd, sure, but Aunt Ruth would have an answer for it. One of my first lessons was not to fear the Sight. There was no reason to run home afraid. Not with Casey’s hands and eyes on mine.

“So,” he urged. “Can I? Kiss you again?”

I nodded and he leaned close and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was minty and sweet and perfect. The Sight stayed firmly tucked away.

I leaned into him as our lips parted into new territory.

Someone stumbled into my back, pitching me off balance, and for the second time in my life, my teeth scraped against Casey’s. I spun around and glared, pinning one of the volleyball girls with my eyes.

“S-sorry,” she slurred, then tripped, sloshing beer onto my legs and shoes. “Oops.” She looked from me to Casey before shrugging and swaying back to her friends.

The spell was broken. I wiped at the beer running down my shins.

“I hate drunk people,” Casey mumbled, and I remembered what he dealt with at home. He pulled off his army jacket and handed it to me. “Here. Use this. It’s too hot, anyway.”

I mopped at my legs. When I looked up, Casey was eyeing me sheepishly. “You want to find somewhere we can be alone? It’s okay if you don’t. I get it, and—”

“Sure,” I said, meaning it with everything I had. “I have my truck.”

He smiled and this time I didn’t look away, transfixed by his perfect lips.

“Okay.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

I looked around. Everyone had laughed when I’d bolted away from Casey at the last party. I didn’t want taunts or catcalling or even good-natured teasing. This moment was for us and only us.

“I’m going to my truck. You wait a few minutes, then slip away. I’ll be lying down in the bed so no one can see.”

“Did I ever tell you that you have the best ideas of anyone I know?” Casey dropped another kiss on my cheek and gave my hand a squeeze. We’d been so awkward with each other over the last three months. But this? This felt so right.

Casey walked away toward the keg, and I waited a moment, then slipped onto the shadowy path toward my truck.

I reached the Rust Bucket, and once I was sure the coast was clear, I climbed into the back, anticipation thrumming. I hadn’t cleaned out the truck bed, well, ever, but it was worse than usual since helping Aunt Hattie with a landscaping project.

I pushed aside a rusty old shovel and a rake, as well as some gardening gloves, one rubber boot, and a half-full bag of soil before lying down. Now that I was alone, doubts crept in. Is this crazy? A mistake? It didn’t feel like it. In some ways it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

So many times we’d laid on a blanket in my backyard—me and Casey and usually Frances too—looking up at the stars and telling stories. We’d been physically close hundreds of times, yet tonight felt new.