Love Happens

by Claudia Burgoa

  Sometimes I think maybe … maybe she’s just waiting for me. I’ve practiced the speech so many times that sometimes I wonder if I’ve given it to her and she’s already rejected me. And then she’ll say something like “Thank God you’re not a creep like that last guy I dated. We could never be friends then.” That’s what she said a few weeks ago when she stopped in for breakfast—still wearing the dress I watched the creep pick her up in from the bar the night before.

  I’m not like that creep. I’m not like any of the creeps I’ve seen come pick her up on a Friday night and never show up again. In all fairness, they might not really be creeps. They’ll never be good enough for her, though. Not a chance in hell. They don’t get her like I do; they don’t see the things I see. Claire isn’t like other women. She’s just not. She’s this big heart in a-tough-as-nails woman, kinda like my mom was. She deserves better. And that right there is what always stops me.

  “What do you think?” It takes me a fraction of a second to register her words and put those feelings back in the box where they belong. I give myself one extra breath to admire her as she stands with her hands on her hips and her chin tilted up, the glitter of the lights reflecting in the darkness of her eyes.

  I swallow.

  “I think you really should start holding weddings here,” I grin.

  Her head rights and her eyes fall to me, her tongue held in her teeth through her smile.

  “You,” she teases, slapping at my arm. “I’ve got my hands full with enough drunk cowboys; I don’t need to start dealing with groomsmen. Besides, this place doesn’t need the business. I swear half the time people come here for lunch just hoping that the Mason Street Band will decide to have an open jam session.”

  “It’s because sometimes they do,” I laugh, setting my gift up on the bar next to the others. Claire’s eyes catch the dirty sleeves on my long-sleeved T-shirt, so I push my hands in my jean pockets and step around the bar before she can see what shape my palms are in.

  “You were out at the ranch today, huh?” she asks, loading up a tray with drinks to carry to the tables set up near the stage where everyone’s already gathered. I pick up a second tray and start helping her.

  “Yeah. We got this horse in for some rehab work, and he’s been … it’s been a tough case is all,” I say, following her toward the gathered crowd of guests, trying not to get caught watching her ass sway in my favorite damned pair of jeans.

  “You love the stubborn ones,” she says over her shoulder. I wait until she turns back to the crowd before I mumble to myself “you have no idea.”

  I follow Claire around the room, stopping to hug Avery, who doesn’t even blink at my dirt-stains, and continue to hand out drinks behind Claire as she talks to nearly every table filled with guests. I run out before we get to the last table, so I rush to the bar and refill while she talks with a few people she seems to know, and just as I return, the guy sitting with his back to me pulls her into his lap and kisses her.

  “Hey!” I rush over, a few drinks splashing with my clumsy feet. I slow down when Claire starts to giggle, and my stomach ties in a big-ass knot.

  The creep. As in … the creep.

  “Cole, I don’t think you’ve formally met Garrett,” Claire says, tipping back to her feet, straightening her shirt around her waist and looking to the douchebag with slick hair who just groped her. “Garrett, this is Cole Brennan; he’s probably my second-best friend next to Avery.”

  “Hey, man,” Garrett says, standing and twisting to face me, his hand out, his shirt a fucking button-down.

  I puff my chest because it’s all I’ve got. He’s at least four inches taller than me, but I’m pretty sure I could still hog-tie him in seconds. Garrett’s a pussy name, too.

  “Cole,” I say, my mouth doing what I think is a smile, but judging from the furrowed brow Claire stares at me with, I’m pretty sure I’m not very good at faking.

  “Nice to meet you. Claire’s told me a lot about you,” he says.

  “Huh,” I say, my mouth closing, heart pounding, fist itching.

  I excuse myself quickly before I let myself say something I’ll regret, and I head to the employee bathroom in the back to wash up before Mason and Avery start opening gifts for this baby shower. The bathroom door isn’t quite closed completely when it swings back open. I’m relieved when it’s Mason and not Claire.

  “You met Garrett?” he says, leaning against the door jamb, arms folded over his chest and feet crossed at the ankles.

  “Yep,” I say, glancing at his reflection in the mirror while I lather my hands with enough soap to clean a car.

  Mason chuckles, and I try to ignore him while I rinse the soap away and push the towel dispenser repeatedly, finally smacking it on the side when nothing comes out.

  “It’s empty,” Mason says, opening a cabinet nearby and pulling out a stack of towels. He hands me one while he refills the metal box on the wall, his lip tugged up on one side as he watches me dry off in the mirror.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I say, wadding the paper and throwing it in the trash.

  “Like a jealous chicken shit who’s going to lose the girl he loves to a man named Garrett?” he says.

  Fucker.

  “Yeah,” I say, swinging the door open and leaving him there. “Like that,” I add just before it closes.

  When I walk back into the main area, I take a seat from one of the tables off to the side and drag it so I can see Avery up front. I’ve isolated myself—party of one in the T-shirt section. I’ve also put Garrett and Claire directly in my view, which means my mood is not going to get any better anytime soon, so it’s really for the best that I sit here alone.

  Claire

  I think Cole feels bad because he had to come here straight from work. I wish he’d just come sit with us, at our table. Nobody here really cares about what he’s wearing or the fact that he’s a little dirty. Hell, almost everyone in the room knows he works with horses and owns the ranch with his brother, Ethan. That place was always their dream—two boys who love wide open spaces and sunsets.

  When Ethan got married last year, Cole moved closer to town. He’s been renting the house on the corner of my street. I see that man every morning and every night, either on his way to Dusty’s or out to the ranch. There was a time when I thought maybe he picked that house just so he could be close to me. That was back when I was romantic.

  I’m almost thirty now, and fantasies about the hot bouncer-slash-rancher who lives across the street from me aren’t getting me married any faster. Not that Garrett’s the answer, but he’s definitely a answer. He’s nice, and he has a good job, and he asked me to move in. The only people I’ve lived with are my parents and Avery. I’m ready for this, to become more than Claire Anderson. It’d be nice to add a hyphen to that.

  “Oh my god, Claire!”

  I look up as Avery shouts my name, her cheeks red and her hands flat on the box top of the gift I gave her. I pull my lip in on one side. I knew this would be funny.

  “What?” I play coy.

  My best friend looks me in the eyes and tries to hold her laughter in, eventually cracking and covering her face with her hand while she giggles hysterically.

  “This is not a bridal shower!” she says, handing the box to Mason next to her. I don’t know why she did that, because he’s just going to …

  “Oh I think panties like these are excellent ways to make babies,” he says, holding up the black lace thong and see-through teddy I put in the box for my friend.

  “I’m seven hundred pounds of baby right now. I’m not putting floss up my ass!” Avery shouts, grabbing the lace from Mason’s hand and stuffing it under the tissue paper in the box.

  He turns to face her and lifts her chin with a finger and holds her gaze in that way he does, the way he won her heart in the first place.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, and my heart speeds up vicariously.

  Alright, maybe I’m still a little romantic.
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br />   The party guests whistle as Mason helps his wife stand from her seat, his hands on her face as he kisses her with the same amount of passion he did the day they said their vows. On a whim, I turn into Garrett, pushing my arm through his as I lie my cheek on his arm. He squeezes it affectionately and leans his nose toward mine, nuzzling me and smiling. It’s sweet. But my heart doesn’t do a damn thing.

  We all watch while Avery works her way through a dozen or so more presents that include a stroller, onesies, breast pumps and diapers. She begged us not to have this party, saying her and Mason don’t really need the help, but baby showers aren’t always about the shit you need or don’t need. Sometimes your family just wants to celebrate with you.

  Her last present opened, Avery tells everyone to head to the bar, where Cole has lined up a small spread of sandwiches and cookies. I’m not sure why he didn’t ask for my help, but he’s made it look nice.

  Garrett and I wait for most people to fill their plates then join Mason and Avery near the bar. Cole hands me one of the small saucers with a pink cookie sitting right in the center, and when I take the plate from him, his hand hangs on just a second too long, making the exchange awkward, and sending a sharp sensation through my gut that intensifies when my eyes flit up to meet his. I tilt my head in question, but he only stares, his mouth set in a straight line and his stare unrelenting, but somehow also sweet.

  “Oh! Hee hee.” Avery takes a small step back and holds both of her palms on her round belly, her face lit by her smile.

  “She’s kicking?” Mason says, his eyes wide and bottom lip sucked in as he places his palm over Avery’s, threading fingers and waiting for a few more seconds for their daughter to kick again. “Ah!”

  “Sorry, it just … it never gets old,” Avery says, shrugging.

  “I bet it doesn’t,” I say, my eyes on her and Mason’s hands.

  It’s quiet for a few seconds while we all watch in wonder.

  “Claire, here,” Avery says, reaching for my fingertips and bringing my hand to hers as Mason lets go. “Right here, just hold your palm, and wait.”

  My fingers tingle anxiously. I’ve actually never felt a baby kick. Avery was so sick when she was pregnant with Max that I never really got a chance to feel the magic that comes with new life. I wait while everyone near us quiets, and when I’m just about to give up, a tiny roll tickles against my palm.

  “Oh!” I look up with surprise, and my eyes meet Cole’s. My jump startles him, and his brows lift curving the corners of his mouth with them.

  “Yeah?” he says, his gaze flitting to my touch on Avery, then back to my face.

  “You have to feel this,” I say, waving him closer.

  “Oh, no … it’s okay,” he says, dragging his palms from the bar and stuffing them in his pockets.

  “Get your ass over there and touch my baby,” Mason jokes, reaching across the bar and tugging the shoulder of his friend’s shirt.

  “Aw, I shouldn’t. I’ve been out in the ring all morning, and I don’t know.” Cole rolls his head side-to-side, waffling, until his eyes find mine again, and his lips rest in that comfortable smile he had a second ago.

  “Come,” I say with a small nod.

  He holds my gaze for a few seconds, then grabs the towel from the bar and wipes his hands one more time as he walks around to our side. He stops on Avery’s left side while I stand at her right, my hand over her moving belly.

  “What do I do?” he asks.

  Without thought, I take his nervous hand in mine and bring it to our friend’s stomach, holding it flat at the spot where mine just rested.

  “Touch right here,” I say, my words quiet as if the baby is sleeping and I could wake her. I press my hand over Cole’s, and his fingers tremble slightly. The movement brings my eyes up, and I find his blue ones waiting for me. And for the first time since I’ve known him, something behind them seems different.

  We both stand still, waiting for baby Ophelia to roll and push, our eyes locked in this world separate from the one happening for everyone else. Seconds pass with nothing happening under our hands, but something else happens in the small space of air between us. It’s like Cole has something to say, his mouth bent in a way that is both content and sad. His eyes don’t leave my face once, roaming with small drags along my face, as if he’s trying to memorize my details for fear that it’s the last time he’ll see me.

  My lips part, and I take a breath, the first in what feels like a minute, and Cole does the same, his chest filling, the gray cotton of his shirt stretching over muscles and arms and shoulders as he breathes. I’m about to shake this sensation off, almost proud of my ability to still indulge in the fantasy of my hot friend and sometimes coworker, when Ophelia brings our attention right back to Avery’s belly.

  “Woah,” Cole hums, his eyes widening as his head turns to face his hand. “What is that?”

  I turn my attention to Avery, placing both of my hands on her taut belly as the baby inside drags slowly in a circle.

  “I think that’s her back,” I say, my mouth aching with the automatic grin. I move Cole’s hand along with mine, feeling the long line of pressure pushing against us from the other side.

  “Okay, I think that was actually her telling me to eat the damn sandwich already,” Avery chuckles, pulling a plate from the counter as our hands fall away.

  My eyes move to Cole’s for a second, and in that brief moment I catch something I don’t think anyone was supposed to see, but I’m so glad I did. Looking down at his own hand, he slowly pulls his fingers in and squeezes a fist before relaxing and flexing his palm wide, his smile soft, a look of wonder at what he just felt.

  “Claire, we should tell them the news,” Garrett says just over my shoulder. I’d forgotten he was here somehow, lost in the magic of the moment before.

  I shake my head and blink a few times.

  “Right … news … uh … what news?” I giggle, the tingles just now leaving the skin on my hand.

  “About your big move,” Garrett says through a grin. His arm stretches out toward me, wrapping around my body slowly as he drags me into his embrace, smiling with bright eyes and white teeth at my friends. “Claire’s moving in with me.”

  “Uh … wow!” Avery says, coughing slightly as she puts down her sandwich and turns into me, her eyes catching mine and searching out the words I can’t say here in front of my boyfriend. I try to signal that I’ll tell her more later, but to fill the void left in our conversation now, I ramble.

  “I know, it’s fast. I mean,” I pause, blowing through my lips so they vibrate. “A month of dating, right? But … sometimes you just know.”

  I don’t know why those are the words I use. I don’t know. I don’t know a damn thing, and my stomach feels sick just saying it. I had a hard time saying yes to Garrett’s proposal to move in when he asked, but I wanted to push myself to try being something more with someone. I’m tired of waiting.

  “Right … I … yeah,” Avery says, blinking rapidly, a thing she does when she’s flustered. She holds her arms wide and pulls me toward her for a hug. “So excited for you,” she says.

  I bury my gaze in my friend’s thick and wavy hair, hiding for a breath, until our arms relax and I start to back away from our hug. Behind her, Cole has walked back around the bar and has started to clean up cups and wipe down the counter on the opposite end. I wait as long as I can without making it obvious, willing him to look at me, but he never does.

  “Congrats,” Mason says, shaking Garrett’s hand then stepping toward me and drawing me in for a hug.

  “Thanks,” I whisper to him, the earth beneath me feeling shaky, my legs a little unsteady.

  He pulls back and presses his lips to the top of my head, but before he lets go completely, he pauses to look me in the eyes.

  “You’ll regret this,” he says through a smile I’ve come to recognize as the one he puts on for pretend. His eyes shift over my shoulder toward the sound of glasses being rinsed and bottles
clanking.

  I don’t answer him back. I don’t have to, because when it comes to regretting this someday, I’ve already begun.

  Cole

  I thought the worst thing that could happen today was showing up here in a T-shirt. I was a little off on that one.

  It’s my own fault, and I think that’s the worst part. Just a week ago I was out with Mason, hitting cans with golf clubs behind Dusty’s, trying to land them into the large recycling bin. I’ve never come out and said it bluntly, but Mason knows. We talk about how I feel about Claire a lot, in vague terms that mean something only to the two of us. He asked me what my deal was, and I couldn’t give him a straight answer.

  Truth is, the only answer I’ve got is I’m afraid she’ll say no. I’m afraid of rejection, and then if she rejects me, how can I be around her anymore? It’s as big as fearing not feeling comfortable in this place that’s my home and as small as not being able to breathe the same air here at Dusty’s.

  Before Ethan and I moved here from Iowa, we were lost. We were two twenty-something year olds with recreation degrees we got because the small Iowa college we both went to handed them out alongside our football scholarships. Then mom died. She was the only thing holding us to the Midwest, and she always wanted to live a bigger life. Before the cancer took her, she made us promise to live big lives for her. We buried her next to Dad, loaded up the truck with the money she left us and what we got from selling the house, and we bought Ps & Qs Ranch. We named it after her favorite saying.

  I tell myself I don’t take a risk with Claire because I’d have to give up that big life. But really, it’s a lonely life. And without her, I’m starting to think it’s not much of a life at all.

  I take care of all of the clean-up, pausing to talk to a few of the Dusty’s regulars who’ve been coming here since Ray opened the place. They’ve watched Avery grow up. It’s nice to see the ways family can happen—sometimes family is just a town.