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I’m not sure what to expect from tonight. Kyle hasn’t been very forthcoming, so most of what I’ve learned about Oak Grove’s annual fair was from searching online.
The closest I’ve been to a carnival was a trip to Coney Island with my family when I was five or six. It’s a fuzzy memory of hot dogs and riding on a carousel and sticky hands from cotton candy.
I settled on wearing a black cotton sundress and sandals. By far, it’s the most dressed up I’ve gotten since I arrived here. I’d consider it casual by my usual standards.
I wish I’d thought to ask Ella or Julia for their number at Wagon Wheel so I could ask them what they were wearing tonight. But I didn’t, and when I met them, part of me was expecting to be gone by now.
Kyle is still outside talking with one of the roofers when I walk onto the front porch. He glances my way at the sound of the screen door’s bang, then quickly returns to his conversation.
My palms start to sweat—and not just from the warmer temperature.
I approach the two men slowly, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.
The roofer looks my way first. He’s about my dad’s age, I’d guess. “Hi, ma’am.”
“Hi.” I offer a smile and a small wave before he holds a rough hand out.
“Cal Hastings.”
“Piper Egan.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“You too.” I glance at the house. “The roof looks great.”
Cal’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes as he thanks me.
I experience an immediate pang of homesickness. His broad shoulders and proud posture also remind me of my father.
This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing any of my family members in several years. And past trips that took me away from New York were always with friends. I feel very alone here—because I am. No matter how welcomingalmosteveryone has been, it’s hard to ignore that loneliness.
“I’d better get home,” Cal says. “Looking forward to your performance tonight, Kyle.”
Kyle nods and thanks him.
“Does the whole town go to this fair?” I ask Kyle as Cal heads for his van.
“Pretty much. You ready to go?”
“Depends. How do I look?” I execute a small spin in the dirt, trying to displace the nerves with the movement.
“You could use some cowboy boots,” he says.
“You could use some better compliments,” I tell him, then head for his truck.
His low chuckle follows.
The sound of it fizzes in my stomach, somehow both comforting and thrilling.
I tuck the folds of my dress under my thighs to keep them from touching the hot leather, then yank at the ancient seat belt.
Riding in here is no longer a jarring experience.
What will be strange is being in a vehicle with an automatic transmission and new-car smell again. I’ve gotten used to the gearshift and the scent of old leather.
Kyle climbs into the driver’s seat, which has also become oddly familiar. He starts the truck, which rumbles to life with a distinctive roar.
I study the new roof more intently, surprised by the difference the shiny metal makes to the whole property. Surprised by how much the sight of it getting fixed up affects me.
