Suddenly, I remembered Wren was there, and I tried to mold my face into a mask that wouldn’t give any of my thoughts away.
Wren didn’t seem to notice my last-second cover-up. “Does he know how I feel?” she echoed, and rolled her eyes. “What do you think? Telling him would make things completely weird. And he doesn’t like me, so what’s the point …”
“You can’t say that for sure if you’ve never asked him.”
“Bria. We’ve known each other since we were babies. He’s seen me in diapers, for crying out loud. I just need to get over it.” She shook her head. At that moment, Gabe and Aunt Beth walked through the creamery door, and Wren shot me a warning look and hissed, “Forget it, okay? Forget I even said anything.”
“Okay,” I whispered as they reached us. My pulse surged when I saw that Gabe was holding my sketchbook in his hand. “Hey, where did you get that?”
“I was just down at the house and saw your aunt flipping through it.” He grinned.
Aunt Beth nodded. “Your mother always told me you had an artistic flair, Bria, but these drawings are great. Really.”
I snatched the sketchbook from Gabe and pressed it protectively to my chest. “They’re doodles. I was just playing around.”
“They look like more than doodles to me,” he said. “They look like the next shakes you should make for the creamery.”
“What?” I balked, looking from Gabe to Aunt Beth and back again. “Aunt Beth, I thought you wanted to wait and see.”
She shook her head. “Not anymore. Not with the demand we got this morning.”
I grinned, flattered that my aunt was willing to give one of my chicken-scratch sketches a try as a legit shake. “But I don’t have any of the ingredients I need.”
She nodded. “Go on and make a grocery list. You can teach me and Wren how to make those Maniacal Mudslides, and then head to the store. Your uncle’s too busy, but Gabe can take you.”
“Gabe can drive?” I asked, glancing at him in disbelief. He only smirked mischievously.
“Not a car, no. But he can take you in the tractor.”
“Tractor!” I exclaimed. Already, I was picturing a bumpy, dirt-riddled, un-air-conditioned ride. But then I pictured Gabe sitting close to me in a tiny tractor cab, and suddenly, dirt didn’t sound so bad. But—oh—then there was Wren. Wren and her crush. Me and my crush. This was a disaster. I looked helplessly at my cousin. She was trying and failing to hide a frown. I forced myself to say, “Maybe Wren should go to the store instead—”
Aunt Beth shook her head. “She’s got more experience on the register and in the dining room than you do. Don’t worry, Bria, honey.” She winked. “You haven’t lived until you’ve taken a tractor ride.” She started slicing up the brownies. “Now, let’s get this shake how-to underway. Luke will be back from that hayride with the kids soon, and they’ll be hot and thirsty.”
“I’ll see you in a bit,” Gabe said to me, and then he was gone.
I was left in the creamery with an even grumpier Wren and a hammering heart. Me, riding in the tractor. With Gabe! The memory of his fresh-cut grass scent hit me, and I gripped the counter. Then I instantly scolded myself. I couldn’t be thinking of how nice Gabe smelled. Not anymore.
Gabe didn’t like me. He couldn’t. He was just a sweet guy trying to help me out. So what if, last night, I’d thought for a moment that he couldn’t help staring into my eyes the same way I couldn’t help staring into his?
That was last night. Today, I knew that Wren liked him. Today, I knew that Gabe was untouchable. And the tractor ride would surely be just as dusty and uncomfortable as I imagined.
* * *
I stared up at the tractor cab, which was much higher off the ground than I’d expected, wondering how I was going to climb into it gracefully.
“Need a hand?” Gabe asked. He was wearing a soft gray button-down that matched his eyes almost exactly, and that bemused look on his face that had totally grown on me.
Wren likes him, I kept having to remind myself. Over and over and over again.
“Nope,” I said as coolly as I could. “I’ve got this.” Then, because I’d never actually climbed into a tractor before, I botched the job entirely. I tried to mount the stairs without holding on to the handrail, which I didn’t even notice was there until I was losing my balance, scrambling to grab onto it.
I lurched backward, but Gabe’s wide hands caught me around my waist, steadying me until I could find my footing.
“Yup, you’ve got it, all right,” he laughed, and I could nearly hear him shaking his head at me behind my back.
I settled myself into the springy seat inside the cab as he climbed into the other side. Once the doors were closed, there was no way to avoid our arms brushing as he started the tractor with a sputtering rumble.
I tried to perch myself as lightly as possible on the seat, hoping if I didn’t move much maybe there wouldn’t be too many dust marks on the back of my jeans by the time we got to the store.
We pulled out of the creamery parking lot and headed down the dirt path alongside the cornfields, kicking up a cloud of dust as we went. To my dismay, the side windows were open, and I found myself pushing my curls from my eyes every few seconds.
“Aren’t we going to drive on the road?”
Gabe shook his head. “I can’t until I’m fourteen. Iowa law. So we have to go the back way through the fields to get to town.”
“Can we close the windows?” I asked, trying to hold my hair back, but Gabe only shook his head nonchalantly.
“I like the fresh air” was his aggravating response as he watched me, apparently amused.
One of my curls blew into my mouth and I spat it back out, sputtering.
“Close the windows!” I cried. “Please.”
“Okay, all right,” he agreed, and shut the windows. Without the constant breeze, the inside of the cab suddenly felt too quiet.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, fighting to tame my curls with a hair band.
“Your hair looks fine,” he said, noticing my efforts and frustration. “I like it like that.”
My fingers stopped fidgeting with my curls. “Like what? A natural disaster?”
His laugh was solid, warm, and as full of sunlight as he was. “Just … natural.” The tractor shifted into a lower gear and the engine settled into a steady purr. “You don’t have to try so hard all the time, you know.”
“What do you mean?” I smoothed out my shirt.
“I mean to be so styled. So … put together.”
“You don’t like my clothes?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Your clothes are cool. You wear so many different colors all at once. It’s like … you’re a living, breathing kaleidoscope.” I wasn’t sure how to take that until he leaned toward me, laughing. “That was a compliment,” he whispered.
I twisted one of my curls self-consciously. “Thanks. I like making unlikely matches.” He grinned, and I nearly gasped as the double meaning of what I’d just said sank in. “I mean … I didn’t mean …” Oh boy. Who knew what I meant anymore. I swiftly changed the subject. “My friend Leila, back home, she says that good hair and outfits can make or break an entire social life.”
“And you buy into that?” I could tell he thought it was ridiculous.
I sniffed. “She’s one of the most popular girls in our school, so … yeah. I do.”
“Popular,” he repeated. “What about nice?”
“Of course she’s nice.” My voice was tight.
“To everybody?” He glanced at me, waiting. “Or to everybody she thinks is important enough?”
I squirmed in my seat as a memory swept through me. The one and only time I’d asked Leila about including Jane and Devany at our lunch table, Leila had shrugged. “You can eat with whoever you want, Bria,” she’d said offhandedly. “You don’t need my permission. I’m just surprised.” She’d glanced toward Jane and Devany in the lunch line, taken in their outfits, and pursed her lips
. “I thought you’d outgrown them.”
The idea that I’d ever outgrow my two best friends had seemed impossible, right up until that moment. That afternoon, as I sat down beside Jane in math class, I’d taken in her outfit the way Leila had, and I’d found myself frowning, too, seeing the flaws I’d never noticed before. I never sat with them at lunch again.
Now I felt Gabe watching me, and I wondered if he could see my shame. “Look,” I started. “You don’t know anything about my friends, so—”
“You’re right,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I jump to conclusions. Not fair, I know. It’s just, my sister has a friend kind of like your Leila, and—”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
His mouth tightened. “She’s older than I am. Twenty. I don’t see her very much.” He shrugged, as if he wanted to get off the topic. “Anyway, I’ll quit with the third degree.”
“Thank you,” I said, and then we settled into silence. I heard music drifting from the tractor’s radio. “You like Pink Floyd?” I didn’t even try to keep the surprise from my voice.
His mouth curled into a half smile. “What’d you think, that everybody in Iowa likes country music?” I shrugged, to which he added, “Does everybody in Chicago like the band Chicago?” That made me bust out laughing, and his lopsided smile widened into a proper one. “See? Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so.” I tilted my head at him, scrutinizing him purposefully and dramatically. “No, I can see how you’d like Pink Floyd. You’ve got the whole dark-side-of-the-moon personality thing going on.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How’s that?”
“You act so easygoing all the time, but then you’ve got this serious, deep side, too.” Then I snapped my fingers. “Hey! If you were a shake, you’d be the Dark Side of the Spoon.”
He huffed a laugh. “Do all city girls make such awful puns?”
I mock-glared. “I don’t know. Do all country boys make such awful night-fishing partners?”
He laughed again. “I probably should’ve warned you about the leeches.”
“You think?”
“Then again, seeing you swim for your life is something I’ll never forget.” He winked. “You might’ve broken a speed record.”
I smacked his arm playfully. “I think you just wanted to see me squirm.”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “Or maybe I was hoping you’d swim off the prima donna attitude.”
I smacked him again harder, huffing. Then, after a second, I muttered, “Okay. I guess I was being sort of a prima donna.”
He smiled. After a minute, he said, “You know, you’re good at it.” “What? Attracting leeches? Because if that’s my true calling, I’m out.”
He shook his head. “The shakes.”
“Mixing ice cream and brownies isn’t hard,” I said.
“Not just that. Designing them. The ones you drew in your sketchbook are like real art.”
I snorted. “Sure. I’m a regular Picasso.”
His gray eyes were trained on my face. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Don’t make it sound like it’s nothing special. Where did you learn to design stuff like that?”
“I didn’t,” I said simply. “I’ve always liked putting pieces together to make something fun, or beautiful. I guess that goes for shakes as well as clothes. There’s a feeling I get when something looks right. It’s like snapping a last puzzle piece into place, and then, suddenly, the world makes sense.”
“It’s you, then.” He smiled. “Maybe this is your gift.”
“Not likely.” I stared down at my lap, my heart hammering. I wasn’t one of those people who had natural talent. I was a solid B and C student, and, even though I’d taken a few dance classes and had played soccer when I was younger, I’d never really excelled at anything. “Leila’s the one with talent. You should hear her voice—”
“I bet Leila can’t make a milkshake like you can,” Gabe replied.
The tractor pulled to a stop, and Gabe turned off the ignition. I blinked in surprise, wondering why we’d stopped until he said, “We’re here.”
I glanced through the cab’s window at the grocery store, wondering how the time had flown by so quickly. I started to climb out of the cab, but suddenly Gabe was there, his hands sturdy around my waist, lifting me gently down to the ground.
“Thanks,” I said breathlessly. I was disappointed when his warm hands dropped to his sides.
“So what’s on this list?” he asked as we walked into the store. I let him read through it, watching as his face grew more and more amused. “Red licorice? Twinkies? And … gummy worms?”
“The more over-the-top we make the shakes, the better.” I turned a corner into the candy aisle. “You can help. Just grab some colorful candy. Taffy, lollipops. Whatever’s fun to look at and eat.”
“Razzles?” He held up a package skeptically.
I took it and dumped five more packages of Razzles into the cart. “Sure. Pop Rocks, too.”
We spent the next ten minutes filling the cart with every kind of candy imaginable, and then grabbed ingredients for more brownies, cheesecake, and cookies, too. Gabe started lobbing bags of candy into the cart like footballs, and even had me try to catch some passes. It was fun, even if I kept missing. By the time we were done shopping, the cart was overflowing with all things sweet.
“A little early for Halloween, don’t you think?” the cashier quipped as she rang us up.
I laughed, inspiration striking. “Stop by Dawson’s Creamery for a Towering Trick or Treat shake,” I told her. “Available starting tomorrow!”
“Is that even a real shake?” Gabe asked while we pushed the heavy cart out to the parking lot.
I grinned. “It is now.”
Five minutes later, we were rumbling back down the dirt path and I was busily sketching a design for the new shake on the back of the grocery list.
“That’s a first,” Gabe said.
“What is?” I asked absently, still focused on my drawing.
“Seeing you so happy. You’ve pretty much been frowning since the second you got here.”
“That’s not true …” I started to protest. I glanced up from my sketch. “No … it’s true.”
He nodded, satisfied with my admission. “For the record, I like artist Bria way better than stuck-up Bria.”
I gave a short laugh. “Are you saying I was stuck-up?”
He gave me a sideways look that made my heart tap dance. “How about we say that you’re a work in progress?”
I feigned annoyance, but couldn’t help smiling. “Like my shakes, I guess.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I’ll take it.” Then, because I wanted to try to get him to understand my perspective, I added, “The thing is, I didn’t want to spend my summer here.”
He nodded. “I picked up on that the very first day. But … why?”
I hesitated, suddenly wanting to tell him the entire story, but worrying about what he’d think of me if I did. “If I tell you, can you promise not to get on my case about it?”
He thought this over, then nodded. “Deal. No judgement.”
So I told him about everything that had happened with Jane and Devany and with Leila’s YouTube videos. I even told him what I hadn’t told anyone else: how I’d unknowingly helped Leila include Jane’s outfit in the video. The entire time I was talking, he didn’t say a single word. I didn’t even dare to look at him, for fear of whatever anger or disappointment I’d see on his face. When I was finished, I sat back, deflated, wondering if he’d break his promise and launch into a lecture about how wrong I’d been.
He didn’t. Instead, he said simply, “So? What next?”
“You mean with Leila? Or Jane?”
“Both, I guess.” He kept his eyes straight ahead, focused on the path.
“Everything stays the way it is.” I swallowed. “Why should anything change? Leila and I are best friends, and Jane and I …” My heart dipped. “We�
��re not anymore.”
We rode in quiet for a few minutes and then he spoke again. “I mentioned my sister before.” His voice was low and sad. “Grace moved to New York City a while ago, and now we only see her once a year, if we’re lucky. My parents hate that.” He ran a hand over his hair. “My dad was a bull rider when we were younger. He competed in rodeos. My sister didn’t like it. She was always scared he’d get hurt. Then …” He sighed. “Dad got hooked by a bull and broke his collarbone and one too many ribs. It took him a while to heal, and my sister was so mad at him for letting himself get hurt. I think she blamed our life here, too. She never liked how tiny Tillman was. She felt limited by it.” He shrugged. “Dad thinks she’s embarrassed by us and the fact that we choose to live here.”
“Is she?” I asked.
“I think, for her, it was more about living someplace with more people like her. Like us.” A lock of his hair fell into his eyes, masking his expression. “She didn’t like the way she stood out here.”
I struggled with what I might say to make him feel better, but when I offered up “Maybe she just felt more at home in the city,” I knew from his instant frown that I’d missed my mark. “I’m sorry,” I added quickly, “I didn’t mean—”
“Just do me a favor.” He gestured toward the waving cornfields outside the window. “Take it in while you’re here. All of it. And I don’t mean just going through the motions. I mean, really seeing it, smelling it. Maybe you’ll find a reason to change your mind about this place.”
“Like what?”
He stopped the tractor in the creamery parking lot, and turned to face me with that irresistible smile of his. “I don’t know. You tell me what it is when you find it.”
We climbed out of the cab and unloaded the groceries. All too soon, he was walking away to tend to the afternoon chores, offering me one last smile before he disappeared around the corner of the milking barn. I stared after him, wondering what—in these never-ending fields of green—I might find that could possibly change my mind about country living. But more than that, wondering how I could keep myself from falling head over heels for Gabe. I’d worried that it might be hard, but after our tractor ride together, it could end up being impossible.
Shake It Off Page 8