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“Would the paparazzi have a field day with this? With the famous Jack Anderson scrubbing counters?” Rachel teases over the clanking of the metal bucket she’s cleaning.
“I mean, they probably would.” I chuckle. “But it’s no different to me. I cleaned my own apartment and everything.”
“No maid?” She sounds surprised.
“Nah, I never hired anyone for things like that. Now my dad, he was all about having a maid.”
“I guess your mom appreciated that.”
“Yeah, until she found out he slept with all of them.”
“Seriously?” Her voice gets higher, as it does when she’s upset. “What an asshole.”
“Yeah, you should’ve named the donkey after him. I’m not the ass,” I joke, but it’s still sensitive, his betrayal. “So, who’s renting out the barn this weekend?”
“It’s a thirteenth birthday party.”
“Oh, fun. Well, don’t let them sneak up to the loft.” A loud clunk reverberates throughout the kitchen, and I turn quickly to see Rachel rubbing her head, the popcorn bucket swinging violently.
I drop the sponge onto the counter and hurry over to her. She sways a little, and I grab her shoulders, holding her steady. “Hey, look at me.”
She obeys, and her pupils are normal. “I’m fine. It was just a knock.”
“It sounded like a bit more than a knock.”
She moves her hand, displaying a bright red mark on her forehead. “It’s definitely red. Is there ice in this freezer?”
She nods “Should be.”
“You need to sit down first.” I glance around, but there are no chairs in this small room. I drop my arms and pick her up around her waist, then immediately realize this might have been a bad idea. Her body is flush against mine, her scent overwhelming me, and by the time I lift her onto the counter, every part of me feels like I might explode. It’s as if my body remembers her touch, and every contact I’ve had since her is irrelevant.
She braces her hands on the counter, and I wonder if it’s from hitting her head or if she feels it too.
I move away from her as fast as I can, opening the freezer. There isn’t any ice, and it’s an older refrigerator that doesn’t make its own. There is a box of popsicles, though, so I grab one out of it, then glance in her bucket and grab a clean towel from it. I wrap it around the popsicle and move back to Rachel, keeping a little more distance this time, and press it to the small knot on her face. She winces at the contact, her quick intake of breath concerning me.
“Does it hurt that bad?”
“No, just cold as fuck.” She laughs, her eyes flitting to mine. “Thank you. I’m fine, really.”
I’ve known Rachel for a long time, and her expressions are something I became an expert in. She wrinkles her nose when she’s annoyed, she wrings her hands when she’s nervous, and when she bites the inside of her cheek, making her chin jut out to the side, she’s thinking about me kissing her. So now I’m thinking about kissing her, and suddenly it’s the only thing I want to do in the world. I lean forward, planting my hands on either side of her, and I can feel the heat from her without even touching her. She reaches a thumb out and traces mine, the contact sending a thrill throughout my body. Our faces are so close together I can count her freckles, and her tongue darts out, tracing her lips in anticipation.
We’re just about to close the gap, to kiss again for the first time in four years, when the loud bang of the barn door flying open cracks through the air and we jump apart. I move back to my counter, grabbing my sponge and wiping at nothing.
“Hey, kids.”
“Hey, Papaw,” Rachel calls, her voice super high now.
“Faye’s got some lemonade if you’re thirsty,” Junior says as enters the kitchen.
Rachel and I are like two kids stuck with their hands in the cookie jar. I attempt to put on a normal face, my body still catching up from not being in her presence anymore.
“That sounds great. I’ll grab us a glass.” I escape from the barn as fast as I can and run up the hill to the house. Being in that place, that close to Rachel again, was too close for comfort. Because physically, we were here, but mentally, it took me back in time.
* * *
Four Years Ago
Senior Prom
