Hey Sunshine

by Tia Giacalone

  “Do you often make video clips like the one from the other night?” I asked.

  “I used to. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the job and forget what’s around you – there’s still beauty in devastation, you just have to find it.” He glanced over at me and smiled at the way the open windows whipped my hair around in the cab. “I don’t have that problem here. There’s a lot to pick from.”

  There was obviously a chance he could be referring to the endless landscape, the colorful sunsets, or even the somewhat majestic longhorn herds that decorated the pastures, but I doubted it. My cheeks reddened slightly, and I was glad I couldn’t see his eyes right then, or he mine. For a man who seemingly only spoke when it was absolutely necessary, he certainly had a way with words.

  A long strand of my hair drifted close to him, brushing his cheek, and he caught it, sliding it through his fingertips as he turned back to the road.

  “Your hair is like sunshine.” The timbre of his voice combined with the sight of his fingers tangled in my hair was an emotional overload. From anyone else’s mouth, that sentence might not have worked but from Fox it was perfect.

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I grabbed his hand after it slipped through my hair. He intertwined his fingers with mine and didn’t let go, even bringing my hand with his as he downshifted when we exited off the highway.

  Sometime yesterday we’d crossed the boundary between just friends and something more. It was terrifying and exciting at the same time, if my jumpy heart and trembling fingers were any indication.

  Quickly, too quickly, we arrived on campus. Fox pulled the truck into a spot near the library and turned off the engine, reaching over the steering wheel so our hands could stay clasped together. I felt like there was a huge neon sign pointing to our hand-holding, and it was blinking and pulsing out of control while we both tried to act like things hadn’t shifted in the last five miles of our drive.

  “Is here okay?” he asked softly, indicating the library with a nod of his head. His thumb slipped back and forth over mine for an instant, rough but so warm.

  “Perfect.” The parking spot, you, today, all of it.

  I was twenty-two years old with a child, and yet holding Fox’s hand for mere minutes was undoubtedly the most affected I’d ever been by a man. I’m not sure what that said about my previous relationships – likely that they were crap. Fox had already left his mark on my life in just a few short weeks.

  Reluctantly, I released his hand to unbuckle my seatbelt. Fox slid his sunglasses to the top of his head and watched me fumble with the door handle as I tried to exit. Two seconds later, a strong, tan arm reached past my chest, just brushing my tank top. He unlocked the door and pushed it open in a smooth motion.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. Maybe having him drop me off wasn’t the best idea. I was about to join a Communications study group and I was sort of having a hard time with the communication part right now.

  Heather had laughed every time I told her how much Fox flustered me.

  “It’s good for you,” she’d insisted last week.

  “How is that possible?” I grumbled.

  “You’re kind of anal about keeping it all together,” she said dryly. “It’s refreshing to see you so… unnerved by someone.”

  After that conversation I’d known I really had to let it die with Chase. And I had, and now here I was, sitting mutely in the truck with the door cracked while Fox looked at me with his half-curious, half-amused expression that I’d come to think of as the one he reserved just for me.

  I cleared my throat, an awkward sound in the silence of the cab. “I’ll be back in an hour, okay? The cafeteria is right around the corner if you want to grab a coffee or something.”

  Fox reached under his seat and pulled out a thick dog-eared paperback. “I think I’ll just sit outside and enjoy the sun.”

  He likes to read. He likes to read. This new discovery brought fifteen questions to my mind but I didn’t have time to ask any of them – the usual ones like “What’s your favorite book?” and “What did you read before this?” and the all-important “What’s your least favorite book?” because you can tell so many things about a person by what they’re into in a literary sense.

  Fox’s big hand was obscuring most of the book’s cover, but I made a mental note to ask him all of those questions later. For a brief second I allowed myself to fantasize about a weekend sometime in the hopefully not-so-distant future, where Fox cooked breakfast for Annabelle and me and we spent a lazy morning curled up with books and puzzles. Maybe he would read the paper and pass me the sections he thought I’d like, or even pick a book for himself out of my massive collection and we could discuss it afterward.

  Forget the fact that he was super hot, mysterious, and inherently kind. The man liked to read and that was plus eleventy billion points in my book, no pun intended. My inner nerd was jumping up and down while my outer, slightly cooler exterior sat there with a weird expression on her face, still trying to recognize his book from the back cover. No luck.

  I realized I hadn’t responded. “Okay.” Thankfully he couldn’t read my mind. If I could condense everything I'd just thought into a reasonably calm-sounding single word then I was doing pretty well. I hadn’t met a man yet that could handle the fifty different types of crazy I had running through my mind on the daily.

  Maybe this one can, Avery. Don’t sell him short. It was too soon to tell, probably. But in the back of my brain, I kept thinking it could be true. And now that I’d just had a complete two-sided silent conversation with myself, I was once again the picture of sanity. Shaking my head, I slipped out of the cab and headed toward the sidewalk.

  I gave Fox an awkward wave as I hefted my bag onto my shoulder and turned in the direction of the library. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him leaning casually against the hood of the truck, watching me as I walked toward the three-story brick building. It took every ounce of my willpower not to turn and wave again, but somehow I managed.

  Note to self: don’t let Fox drive you to any important school events where you are required to use your brain immediately upon leaving his presence. Even in my deepest moments of infatuation with Chase, I’d never had a problem studying or taking exams. Today I had zero focus during a basic study group for a class I was acing. This was not good.

  “You okay, Avery?” one of my classmates, a girl named Ellie, asked. “You seem distracted.”

  “Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Just tired. Annabelle was sick last week and I haven’t caught up on my sleep.”

  Half true, half lie. And so unlike “Most Organized.” Annabelle’s brief illness was not what was keeping me up at night lately. The part of me that felt guilty for blaming my kid warred briefly with the part of me that felt embarrassed by my inability to shove Fox out of my head for even an hour. The embarrassed part won, and I decided that was okay because when Annabelle had been an infant, I’d never used her colicky nights as an excuse for anything. She owed me, right?

  Ellie made a sympathetic face. “That’s hard.”

  The guilt resurfaced and I shook my head. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, I all but ran out of the library and skidded to a stop a few feet in front of the truck. Fox sat on the tailgate, his back to me, while a couple of pretty coeds I didn’t recognize attempted to engage him in conversation. I approached quietly, trying to hear what they were saying.

  “So, do you know where that is?” one of them asked. She flipped her long, glossy brown hair over her shoulder.

  “No, sorry. I don’t go to school here, like I said.” Fox’s voice was bored but still polite. I stifled a laugh.

  “But, you’ve probably seen it,” her friend insisted. “It’s close to campus.”

  “I don’t live here, either,” he replied. I scuffed my sandal against the sidewalk and he turned his head at the sound. “Excuse me.” He reached down next to him and grabbed his book a
nd a couple bottles of water before sidestepping the girls and walking around the truck to meet me. My heart stuttered a little at the restored grace of his long stride and the way his shirt brushed against his flat stomach, but it was nothing compared to the way his face changed when he saw me. Happy, is how I would describe it. Happy and a little eager. I felt the exact same way.

  “Hi,” he said, offering me a cold bottle. “How was your group?”

  Over his shoulder, I could see the girls whispering to each other with annoyed glances at us before they walked away.

  “Hope you can come by the party!” one of them called over her shoulder. Fox ignored her. They seemed completely mystified as to why he’d rather be talking to me than to them, but I was used to that. I knew I cleaned up pretty well but they were in a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader league that was way out of my wheelhouse. I raised an eyebrow in their direction, and Fox just shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed.

  “How was your book?” I asked. “Did you have a chance to read it, or…?” I gestured toward the two pairs of retreating cutoff shorts in the distance, a sly grin on my face.

  Fox looked taken aback for a second until he realized I was teasing him. In one quick movement he tossed the book and his empty water bottle through the cab’s open window and reached out with both hands to grab my hips and pull me closer. Surprised, I lost my footing and crashed right into him, my palms flat against his broad chest. His arms immediately closed around me to keep me upright, and for ten seconds I forgot myself and melted into his embrace.

  He hugged me tightly and rested his chin on the top of my head. I could feel his heart beating under my hand, slow and steady as the relentless Texas sun streamed down around us and the idle chatter from passing students faded into the background. All I could focus on was the familiar thump of Fox’s heart, and how my own heartbeat calmed from erratic and nervous to match his pace.

  Fox leaned back slightly and looked down at me. “Ready to go?” he asked. I felt his voice more than I actually heard it, but I nodded. He opened the driver’s side door and all but lifted me into the cab, and I slid along the bench seat to make room for him when he hopped in.

  It was somehow freeing to be away from Brancher, somewhere no one really knew us or how we normally interacted with each other. We drove in silence, sitting much closer than before with his arm brushing mine as he shifted gears, a palpable anticipation in the air. The line of friendship that used to be so clear blurred a little more with every mile that ticked by on the odometer.

  * * *

  I'd assumed we were picking up his belongings at the post office a few miles from campus, so I was surprised when we pulled into a commercial truck rental lot. Fox parked off to the side of the main warehouse and turned to me.

  “I’ll be right back, okay?” He slid a hand over my knee and squeezed slightly. I watched him walk toward the office, his stride easy and confident. The sun shone down on his hair, completely dry now and starting to fall into his face, framing it in thick blond strands. Once he disappeared out of view, I grabbed my bag to check my phone. No missed calls, which was always a good thing when Annabelle was in school. I operated strictly by a no-news-is-good-news policy.

  A few more minutes went by and I slouched down in my seat, wondering why Fox had asked me to come with him if he only wanted me to sit in the car. I glanced toward the office again and was shocked to see Fox coming out of the warehouse, coasting sleekly on a big black Harley Davidson. He wheeled it right up to the side of the truck and hopped off, a huge smile on his face.

  A motorcycle? Fox had a motorcycle? And not just a motorcycle, but a Harley? I quickly reevaluated everything I’d previously assumed about his cautious nature and steady personality. I knew it was biased, but I ranked motorcyclists right up there with bull riders when it came to making poor decisions. You didn’t live in rural West Texas for any length of time and not hear about various horrific accidents involving bikes and semi trucks on long, deserted stretches of highway. My father’s best friend in high school had died that way. It was before I was born, but I’d heard the stories.

  Fox opened the truck’s door and held out a hand for me to exit. I could see the excitement in his face as he glanced between me and the big black death trap parked nearby. I’d been looking for a flaw and here it was. Heather would hate that I was right. No wonder he’d asked me today. I had to drive the truck home. My stomach dropped. He didn’t just want my company, he actually needed a ride.

  He told you that, dummy. He said he couldn’t go alone. Now I understood. He would drive the bike, so someone needed to drive the truck that would be loaded with the pallet of boxes that a warehouse employee was currently toting on a forklift. And that meant that we wouldn’t be riding back together. I wondered if he’d leave me in the dust to play with his toy now that they’d been reunited.

  “So, you have a motorcycle?” I said, stating the obvious because I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  Fox picked up on my tone and gave me a strange, confused look. Obviously, he had a motorcycle. It was sitting right there.

  “I do.” He grabbed my hands and clasped them both in one of his. “Is that a problem?” He met my eyes and I saw the genuine concern there.

  I looked down, suddenly feeling silly. Fox had a motorcycle. So what. That didn’t change anything. He was still the same person he was fifteen minutes ago, the one I could barely catch my breath around who set all my nerves buzzing with a single glance.

  “No.” Except I meant yes. Except I meant that statistically, he was more likely to be involved in a fatal accident than someone driving, say, an SUV. Like Chase. Chase had a nice, safe SUV. Chase wasn’t putting himself on a rocket and launching it at 90 miles per hour down a highway with nothing between himself and the asphalt but a fucking leather jacket.

  But Chase didn’t want his car to be a family car, I reminded myself. He might’ve had actual seats and doors, but he didn’t want them to be used by my child, or by me, really. He didn’t want a car seat, or snacks, or a stack of Annabelle’s picture books, or anything that could possibly smear his pristine premium upholstery.

  Comparing Fox to Chase, especially now, was ridiculous. I’d made my choice when it came to Chase, and I didn’t regret it. No gleaming piece of machinery could change the way I was starting to feel about Fox. Could it?

  “No,” I said again.

  Fox didn’t seem convinced, but the warehouse worker interrupted us at that moment.

  “Mr. Fox, sign here please.”

  Fox took the clipboard and scribbled his signature, all without taking his eyes off me. He thanked him absently, still focused on my face.

  “Avery. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. I really wasn’t. Everything I thought I knew about Fox conflicted with the motorcycle by his side.

  “Okay.” Fox turned abruptly and started loading the duffles and boxes from the pallet into the back of the truck. I watched him silently, slightly surprised that he’d given up so easily after he asked me what I was thinking.

  He probably doesn’t really care. It was none of my business anyhow. I didn’t get to have an opinion on Fox’s mode of transportation. He wasn’t my boyfriend, and he hadn’t asked me to climb on the back of the bike. Therefore, my feelings were irrelevant.

  Fox finished securing the truck’s load with strap-down ties and bungee cords, and came back to where he’d left me standing.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked gently. It reminded me of the night he’d watched Annabelle at the diner and asked if he could follow me home to help with the groceries. This was his ‘don’t spook her’ voice, one that you’d use on a frightened kitten or a skittish horse.

  I nodded, still unsure of what had just happened. We had been wrapped around each other, then we drove here, then I saw the Harley and jumped to fifty-five conclusions. That sounded about right. Fox put a hand on my bare upper arm and slid it down until his fingers closed over mine.
I let him lead me to the driver’s side and open the door.

  “I’ll stay just ahead, okay?” he said as I climbed in and buckled my seatbelt.

  I gave him a small smile and started to adjust my mirrors. Fox shook his head slightly at my non-response and started to walk back toward the motorcycle, then stopped in his tracks and turned back to me.

  “You can drive a stick, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Fox, I can drive a stick. And a tractor. And even that forklift if I had to.” My dad had made sure of that. Being a girl didn’t get you out of any chores on the small but highly functional Kent spread.

  “The forklift?” Fox’s dimple popped. He looked infinitely more relaxed than he had a few minutes ago when my responses were all monosyllabic and vague.

  “If I had to,” I said loftily, enjoying the way his eyes started to sparkle at my faux smugness. My trepidation about the motorcycle began to dissipate at the sight of the half smile playing on his lips. Bike or no bike, this was Fox. And I liked him.

  Heather was right, I needed to stop looking for excuses and focus on the truth that was right in front of me before I screwed everything up.

  “Good to know, sunshine.” Fox smoothed a few strands of hair off my forehead with his fingertip. “You can never be too prepared for a forklift emergency.” He slid his finger down my jaw and slipped it quickly across my bottom lip.

  I sucked in my breath at his touch, my eyes locked on his. A moment passed, then two, before I looked away. When he looked at me that way I felt like I saw right into his head and even his heart. Typically I didn’t find pet names to be romantic, but when he called me sunshine? Let’s just say it beat "babe" any day.

  * * *

  I was grateful to have twenty-odd minutes alone in the truck to process how I felt about Fox and the motorcycle. True to his word, Fox stayed just ahead of me for the drive home. In spite of myself I admired the way he handled the big bike – assertive yet smooth, like it was something alive under him that only he could control.