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I wasn’t expecting Kyle to come back inside and ask if I still wanted to hay with him, but he did.
So, I’m back perched on the side of the seat after successfully opening and closing three gates. There’s nothing else for me to contribute, just like Kyle said the first time I offered to help, but this time, neither of us has mentioned that.
He handed me my very own cowboy hat before we left, an old one he said was Mabel’s that came out of a box with a thick layer of dust on it. I didn’t ask him why the initials inside the band didn’t match her name because I’m tired of putting him on the offensive. I’m letting him drive—literally and figuratively.
The wide brim shades my face, but my arms are turning pink under the constant glare of the sun. Sunscreen was another essential I didn’t think to pack. Usually, I spend most of the summer inside, only venturing out at night when it’s a little cooler.
Kyle’s arms have already tanned to dark brown, which I’m reminded of every time his shifting muscles catch my eye.
Which is every time he turns the wheel.
Which is frequently.
We’re not touching, but we might as well be. We’re close enough that I can smell him. Close enough that I can see the steady, even pulse of his heartbeat just below his jawline. Close enough that I keep noticing his hair is unruly and overdue for a trim, the ends curling up beneath the worn brim of his hat.
He knocks the front up with his forearm and then swipes away some sweat. The threadbare T-shirt he’s wearing rides up an inch, flashing more tan skin and a thin line of hair that disappears into the waistband of his dirty jeans. My eyes trace the distinctive V without permission before I jerk my gaze away, grabbing my water bottle from the cupholder and guzzling some.
Years of eye rolls and shrugs are coming back to haunt me.
I’d laugh when other women in the office would show up, wearing heels and lipstick, on the days Kyle Spencer was supposed to come in for a meeting. Sayhe’s just a guy.
Harper told me I protested too much.
And…maybe she had a small point.
I’m not laughing now.
I’m sunburned and sweaty, struggling to stay focused on anything except Kyle. The scenery isn’t interesting enough to hold my attention.
Gray clouds are steadily rolling across the sky, blotting out most of the blue. And we’re in the middle of a sea of beige, one side the waving stalks and the other half cut down to a couple of inches.
The barren landscape allows me too much time to think.
To notice.
To wonder.
I’m tempted to ask Kyle some questions, but also mindful of how our last trip out here ended. And it’s also…nice, sitting without saying anything. It’s a reflection of the endless land around us, steady and constant—so different from the frenzied pace my life usually consists of—which I thought I would hate but am actually kind of enjoying.
The sun has disappeared, but the humidity still lingers in the air.
It starts with one fat raindrop. Then another. And another.
Suddenly, the skies open up.
I’ve never fully understood that expression before. But that’s exactly how it feels. One second, it was barely raining, and the next, water is falling in endless sheets, like it’s being poured out of a bucket, directly onto our heads.
The uncut grass flattens, stalks caving to the heavy deluge. The dust disappears, sinking into the damp earth. Wet denim clings to my legs as my clothes instantly become drenched, the fabric soggy and sticky.
Kyle swears.
I start laughing.
Maybe it’s a nervous reaction.
It took us about fifteen minutes to drive out to where Kyle started mowing, and we’re long past that point now. We won’t be getting back to shelter anytime soon since we’re surrounded by flat land as far as I can see in every direction.
Kyle is already turning the tractor around, heading back the way we came from. He’s also looking at me with a strange expression, like he has no idea what to make of my reaction.
