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“Really. What can I do?”
I sniff, and press the back of my hand to my nose again. “A… a tissue would be good, I think.”
He leans forward, reaching past me to his desk. It’s sort of a Twister-type reach, seeing as he’s sitting in front of me. The contact of his chest bumping against me helps, somehow, like maybe our hearts are lining up. And when he returns to his haunches with a roll of paper towel in his hands and a devastated look on his face, a smile breaks through my tears.
“This all I got,” he says, like he’s completely disappointed in himself. “At least they're not the cheap paper towels. They’re soft. But if you want, I’ll go out right now and buy twenty boxes of tissues.”
I take the roll from him and pull a few free. “This is fine.” I dab my cheeks, and more lightness creeps into my chest, totally unexpectedly; sun peeking out through clouds after a burst of rain.
“You sure?”
I sniff and pat under my eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure. Maybe I just had to get that off my chest.”
I lay a hand over my heart to emphasize the point, and something about the gesture feels off.
With a start, I realize what it is. My fingers crawl along my collarbones and behind my neck, but I don’t feel the chain of the necklace I always wear.
I swear under my breath. “My ring. The one my great-gran gave me…”
“What’s up?”
“I wear this ring on a chain…”
“Yeah, the silver one, on the silver chain. I’ve seen it. Family heirloom, right?”
“From my great-grandmother.” My fingertips scramble down along my tank top neckline, feeling for any hint of the jewelry. “Shoot, it must have come off when I was up at your place running from Mopsey. My shirt snagged on the gate. I love that ring…”
Parker, still crouched between my legs, pulls out his phone. “If you love it, we’ll find it. Even if it means getting a search party going up there.” He rests an elbow on my leg, holds his phone to his ear and listens as it rings.
His arm on my leg feels heavy and warm. He’s so close I can smell mint on his breath.
“Hey Randy,” he says into his cell, a minute later. “Got a favor to ask you. Can you go out to the gate and take a look around? My friend… yeah, her, she’s missing a necklace that means a lot to her. It’s a chain with a ring on it.”
As he talks, I’m busy forming a strategy for finding my precious jewelry.
It’s soothing to dwell on the logistics of getting my ring back. I’m good at making plans, and switching over to problem-solving mode feels familiar and comforting.
Re-igniting my relationship with Parker: not so comforting.
Exhilarating, yes.
In the way that bungee jumping or paragliding are probably exhilarating.
Like, ‘I might crash and burn soon, isn't this fun!’.
With his body fit snugly next to mine and his arm resting heavy and warm on my leg, I feel like we’ve stumbled back into couples territory, somewhere between my crying and his apology. Could it have happened, that fast?
What does it mean, us sitting like this—thisclose? This intertwined?
When Parker gets off the line, I bounce up out of my seat.
I’m patched up, and I should probably leave his office.
I don’t know what will happen for me and Parker—which is beyond scary, to my control-freak of an ego. But I know how to retrace my steps to his trailer and scour the ground next to that gate.
“I’m going to go do a little searching for myself,” I say, before drawing in a big dose of coffee.
“If you give me a couple minutes to finish up this spreadsheet, I’ll drive us,” Parker says. “I think staff will kill me if I don’t send this schedule out this afternoon, but it won’t take me long to wrap it up.”
