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Every pause between songs feels like one long breath.
One I desperately need each time his eyes catch mine, twin blue flames vowing to catch me, burn me, reduce me to a glorious pile of nothing.
We barely switch partners for more than one song, and even as The Chordettes’ “Lollipop” rips the night, Weston’s gaze clings to me like a wolf with a bone.
“You fit back in this time, sis,” Marty says as we dance a slow song together. “You’re really enjoying yourself. I can tell. It hasn’t been like this when you came home before.”
Duh.
Because Weston wasn’t here when I visited before, but I can’t confess it to my brother.
Instead, I say, “I mean, I...I’ve never stayed this long before. More time to settle in, maybe, without the holiday craziness.”
That’s a half-truth. In college, I loaded up on summer classes, so I’d only spent a week at most here. And when my internship started the past couple years, I barely had time to fly home for Christmas.
“Well, it’s making an awful lot of people happy. Haven’t seen West this smiley in ages,” he says with a wink. “If it wasn’t for the job...would you ever consider moving back here full-time?”
The question hits like a rock to the head.
Honest to God, I would.
The new job at the Smithsonian is a dream come true, yeah...but is it the right dream?
Tonight, it hardly feels as important as the people here—especially one man whose eyes hang on my hips.
Even if I leave West out of the equation, I can’t tell Marty I’m having second thoughts. He stayed home and took such lovely care of Gram so I could go to school, despite landing a good career of his own with North Earhart later on.
It was Marty who let me get the credentials to snag the museum job. I don’t dare want him thinking everything he sacrificed in the early years was for nothing.
I also fight the urge to beam heated glances at Weston. He’s dancing with his little cousin Avery, now. Right beside us while the girl talks his ear off about Bruce the tiger’s latest exploits.
“I don’t know, Marty. Careers like mine don’t grow on trees and Dallas is way too small for a history center. The closest thing is probably in Bismarck. But I do know it’ll be pretty tough driving out of here this time.”
His face falls, brotherly compassion glittering in his eyes, a darker shade of green from mine.
“Dammit, yeah, I know. Shame there’s not a state museum you could land a job at so you could be a little closer to home. But you’re chasing your dream—that’s the important part. Mom and Dad would be proud as hell.”
Oof.
...I didn’t expect sweetness from his doofus mouth.
“Thanks.” I do my best to pull up a sad laugh.
It rubs me raw. A museum isn’t what would make me stay, and I’m not sure my dead parents’ approval would either.
It could only be a person.
A man who’s an enigma wrapped in everything bad for me.
And right now, that man is making me flirt with doing monumentally stupid things.
“Y’know, maybe you could start one?” Marty suggests with a toothy grin. “Shitfire, it just hit me. Did you ever think of that? Starting up your own museum?”
I laugh again gently, touched that he doesn’t realize how absurd it is.
“I wish I could, Marty, but even little historical centers need serious funding. Even with all the craziness here lately, I don’t think Dallas would ever qualify for state money. There’s just not enough here that’s historically significant, though I’d be the first to disagree.”
“Aw, hell. Guess you’re right. Just so you know, I’m not trying to shirk anything like taking care of Gram,” he says. “It’s just...it’s good having you home, sis. A lot of us feel that way—especially West.”
