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Amelia’s eyes widen as I set up our spread in the bed of my truck beneath a canopy of trees, the fading sky purpling above, the water rushing below.
“What can I help with?” She puts her hands on the small of her back and glances up at me.
“Nothing,” I grunt, tucking the edge of the blanket into the corner of the bed. I turn around and hold out my hand. “Time for supper.”
I pull her up onto the bed. For a second, we stand there, bodies touching. Looking down at the spread I set out, Amelia slides a hand into the back pocket of my jeans and rests her head on my shoulder.
Fu-uck. Fuck, I like that.
I will my gaze to stay on the blanket. We’ve got a crudite of heirloom carrots, cucumbers, and radishes served with pimiento cheese. Platter of fried chicken, served cold in true Southern style. Cornbread with honey butter and deliciously mayonnaise-y potato salad made with purple and red potatoes from Blue Mountain’s garden.
Let’s not forget the ice-cold bottle of Albariño—Emma’s recommendation—and the slab of chocolate sheet cake beside it. I’ve got some music playing on a small but mighty speaker, my favorite acoustic country playlist cued up.
“Rhett.” She sighs. “This is so romantic.”
“Cheesy romantic or good romantic?”
“Cheesy is good.”
My chest swells. “I get an A, then, Miss Fox?”
“A plus.”
We kick off our shoes and sit down. I try not to watch Amelia eat because that’s weird. But she makes these throaty little moans as she chows down. She reaches for more chicken, and those moans get progressively louder.
“Are you being porny on purpose?” I ask, drinking my wine. I’m trying to take it slow—I’m driving—but I’m nervous and a little strung out on how gorgeous Amelia looks.
“Yes,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “This food is really freaking good.”
“I made it.”
She laughs again, and I get the same happy, fizzy feeling I got watching Mom and Milly with Liam earlier.
When was the last time summer felt this good?
When was the last time life felt this good, period?
“You did not make this,” Amelia says.
“Fine. I ordered the food from the Barn Door. But I did organize everything else”—I gesture to the silverware, the basket, the plates—“on a few hours’ notice. Aren’t you impressed?”
“So impressed.” She narrows her eyes, pulling back. “You’re not expecting to get a blow job out of this, are you?”
“Blow jobs? Psh. Who likes those?”
“You do, if memory serves.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
But her smile deepens as she leans forward, eyes locked on mine. “Don’t do what, Rhett?”
“Tease. Tempt. Generally make me want to jump your bones right here, right now.” I cover my crotch with my napkin. How many inconvenient boners is this girl gonna give me? “One of us has to keep our head screwed on straight. And the thought of you putting your mou—”
“Is yummy enough to make your head explode. Pun absolutely intended.” Amelia stretches her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankle. She rests her weight on the arm she’s got propped behind her and looks out over the woods. “So now that the first week’s done—how are you feeling about everything?”
I stretch out my legs and rest my weight on my arms, my shoulder brushing Amelia’s. “Right now? I’m crushing a date with a girl I really like. I’m full. My son’s asleep.” I glance at my phone, its screen blank. “Yeah, I’m feeling real good.”
She nudges my leg with her knee. “You know what I mean. How are you feeling about suddenly becoming a dad?”
“It’s way harder than I thought it’d be.” I notice lightning bugs are starting to appear, marking the pink-purple air with flickering dots of bright yellow. “But also way better? I’ll be honest, I used to wonder why people had kids. It seemed kinda miserable. Thankless, I guess.”
“So what’s changed?”
I tap my foot against hers, and she taps back. Our feet stay like that—her ankles are crossed, but mine aren’t, so the bony outer ridge of mine meets with her big toe. “I had no idea about the joy that comes with parenthood. It’s the fun and the laughter, sure. That’s awesome. But I feel . . . a lot less lonely than I did before. I feel like I’m connected to life or the universe or whatever. Like I’m in it, and it’s urgent and real in a way life is meant to be.”
“Kids have a way of keeping you present,” Amelia replies. “It’s excruciating and exhilarating, all at once.”
Yes. Yes, that’s how it feels. The fact that Amelia understands has my heart swaying like the drunk I used to be.
Still am, maybe.
All I know is I haven’t wanted to drink like I used to.
The emptiness I was trying to numb isn’t as deep. Looking into Amelia’s eyes—they’re translucent in this light, the color of honey—it suddenly clicks into place, what’s been slowly but steadily filling the hole inside me.
