by Rae Kennedy
“My flirting game is on point, thank you very much.”
“Okay. Show me.”
“Show you?”
“Yeah. I want to see these extraordinary moves and judge for myself.”
“You want me to...flirt with you?”
“Uh-huh.” He moves to the living room and sits down on the couch. “Pretend I’m Wes and woo me.”
“Are you serious?”
“I want to see these moves.” He beckons me over.
“Fine.” I walk toward him on the couch. “But you have to imagine in this scenario that I’m wearing something more flattering than an oversized T-shirt and athletic shorts.”
“What should I imagine you in?” His dark brown eyes are full of amusement.
“What I was wearing earlier is fine.”
“That’s boring, but all right.”
I laugh—my cute, sweet, fake laugh—as I sit next to him. I cross my legs so one of my knees is touching his and I arch my back a little.
“Wes, you’re so funny!” I rest my hand lightly on his bicep and look up into his eyes, giving him my dazzling beauty-queen smile.
Eric tilts his head toward me and smiles back.
“Oh, wow!” I give his arm a little squeeze. “Your muscles are so big and hard! You must be so strong.”
“You think so?” Stupid smirk.
I do, actually, but I’m not admitting that. I roll my eyes and smack said bicep instead. “How was that?”
“That was a good, solid B-. But I don’t see how you’ll be able to use it. It hinges on the idea that Wes will say something funny, and...he’s not funny.”
“Huh? Of course he is.”
“Nope. Wes is great, and I'm not trying to say he doesn’t have a sense of humor. But he’s more the sincere and serious type. He doesn’t tell jokes.”
I sit back against the cushions and think about Wes and all of the interactions we’ve had that I can recall. Dammit. Eric’s right. I don’t remember him cracking a joke or really ever saying anything funny.
“What else you got?” Eric asks.
“Um...”
“You only have that one move?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No!” Maybe. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t usually have to work very hard to get a guy’s attention. I mean, why should I? I’m smart, I’m pretty, and I’m fucking hilarious.”
“And so humble.”
“Obviously.”
His smile grows. See, I am fucking hilarious.
I scoot a little closer. “Give me your hand.”
He lifts his hand toward me warily. “Okay?”
I take it in both of mine and turn it palm-up. “I'm going to read your palm.”
“You know how to read palms?”
“I know enough.”
I hold his hand while I lightly brush my fingers along his palm all the way out to his fingertips. It’s warm and soft except for a few places where the pads are calloused.
“Your fingers are thick and your palm is very square which tells me you are an earth element. That means you love spending time outdoors and are very physical.”
He snorts. I ignore him.
“You’re dependable and emotionally stable but tend to be impatient.”
“Nah, I think you’ll find I’m very patient.”
I flare my nostrils and huff out a sigh. “Are you going to keep interrupting me?”
“That wasn’t very flirty.”
I grit my teeth but don’t say anything else—which is hard for me—and keep going. I stroke my fingers along his hand again. There, that’s fucking flirty, right?
“Family is important to you. You’re practical, realistic, and honest.” I look up at him, waiting for more commentary.
He still has that foxy expression. “Keep going.”
I trace my finger slowly along the lines in his palm. “This is the heart line. This is the head line. This is your life line. And this one is my favorite. This is the fate line.”
“What does that tell you?”
“Well, yours is pretty faint. So that means you are less influenced by outside forces. Your own decisions will greatly shape your life. Mine is deep and more prominent.” I show him my palm. “Which means that fate is a strong force in my life.”
“Is that why you’re so tied to the idea of you and Wes being meant to be?”
“I don’t know. I think the idea of fate is kind of romantic.”
He looks at me for a moment with a serious expression, like he’s contemplating something. “What else does my hand tell you? Anything juicier?” His teasing little smirk is back.
Oh, that’s where he wants to take this? I’m game. I take his hand back and lean against him as I look at it so our shoulders rub. I touch his hand some more, slowly, tracing in circles with my thumb.
“This is the mount of Venus,” I say as I touch the large pad of his palm just under his thumb. “It’s all about love and romance and sensuality.”
I glance back to his face. He doesn’t say anything but he visibly swallows.
“Your mount is well developed and firm, which means you have a strong desire for love and affection. And this is your upper mount of Mars.” I stroke the outer edge of his palm gently. “It’s also pretty prominent. That means you have a temper, but it also means you’re extremely passionate and have a lot of, um, vigor.”
I look back up to his face, which is much closer than I’d realized. His brown eyes are locked on mine, his lips parted. I'm also just now realizing that my soft breast is pressed against his arm, only the cotton T-shirt between us. Does he notice it too?
His breaths are coming quick and shallow, and I think I’ve stopped breathing altogether. All I can hear is my heart quickening. He’s looking at my lips. Oh god, why is he looking at my lips?
I think he just leaned in a little.
He moistens his lower lip with his tongue. His lips are full and pink and there’s a tiny freckle on the right side of his upper lip. Fuck, now I’m staring at his lips? What is happening?
I scoot back and straighten, putting a this is fine everything is totally normal smile on my face.
“How was that?” I say brightly.
Eric shakes his head, almost like coming out of a trance. “Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat and stands, abruptly turning away from me, but not quickly enough for me to miss the pink blossoming in his cheeks. “That was pretty good flirting. A+.”
CHAPTER 6
“In the kitchen!” Mom calls out before I’ve even shut the door behind me.
That’s weird. She’s never here this late on a Saturday morning. Saturday mornings are one of the busiest times at the diner.
“Hey, Mom.”
She’s at the stove, stirring a large pot. Her hair is tied in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She used to have auburn hair just like mine, a rich brown that would sparkle copper and red in the sun, but she dyes it now a flat, dark brown that has almost no life. I wish she would do highlights or something, even if just around her face.
“I didn’t know you’d be home,” I say.
“I thought we could have lunch together. I made chicken and matzo ball soup.”
“Wow, that smells amazing.” Mom’s a great cook, but ironically, considering that she feeds people for a living, I rarely get one of her homemade meals. Eating a meal together will be...different. I sit at the kitchen table that’s just big enough for two. “This is great. I’m actually really hungry.”
She smiles and ladles the soup into two bowls. “Did you just get back from visiting Grandpa?”
“Yep. Can’t miss the Saturday haircut.”
“How’s he doing?” She sets the steaming bowls on the table and sits across from me.
“Today was a good day for him, I think. After his haircut, he seemed to be in good spirits—usually he’ll get a little drowsy on haircut days—so Jolene helped me take him out to the garden. We sat on the back patio for a bit. I think he liked the fresh air. A goldfinc
h even came by one of the feeders while we were out.”
She looks down, swirling her spoon around in her bowl. “That sounds lovely, dear.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be home today. You could have come with me.”
“I’m still going in to work, just a little later than normal. I had to cover Charlotte’s shift last night so I didn’t get home until five this morning.” She blows on her spoonful of soup and sips it quietly.
So I do the same.
We eat without talking for a while. Only the occasional sound of a spoon scraping the edge of a bowl. I have the urge to fill the silence, but I don’t.
I'm almost done with my soup when she finally looks back up at me.
“How is working on the ranch going?”
“Great. I’ve been doing a lot of cleaning up after the animals and helping Bev with house chores and her garden. I’ll be able to help more with herding and real ranching stuff when I get more comfortable on a horse. Wes is teaching me how to ride.”
“Oh, Peggy’s boy? That’s nice. Have you given any more thought about what you’re going to do after summer? It’s not too late to look into school.”
I drop my spoon and push my bowl away. “Do we have to get into this again?” Every. Time.
A crease forms between her brows. “I know you don’t want to leave Grandpa, but you have options. You could take some online classes or look into a technical school. You’re so smart it seems such a waste for you to just hang around here aimlessly.”
“I’ve already told you. I’m not interested in school right now, Mom.”
“Fine. But if you’re not in school then you need to figure out a real job. You’re almost twenty. What do you want to do with your life?”
This is the part where I start shutting down. I stand and take my bowl to the sink.
“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”
“It’s happening whether you want it or not. And that’s the point, your life is happening—right now. I know making decisions and sticking with them isn’t your strong suit, but if you don’t decide what you want out of life, it will decide for you. And before you know it, you’ll be approaching middle age and realize that you’re nowhere near where you thought you’d be. You can’t just go floating through life like a feather letting the wind decide its fate.”
I shrug. “What if fate has a better plan for my life than I do?”
With a hand on her hip, she lets out a sigh and gives me that exasperated expression she has when she’s about to give up the discussion. She’ll either throw her hands up and walk off, shaking her head and mumbling to herself, or slowly close her eyes while pinching the bridge of her nose before leaving quietly.
She goes with the latter.
It’s not that she didn’t have a valid point, but I hate when she says I never stick with anything. I’m not flighty.
Yes, I quit ballet after the first recital, but I was only five. I only did one season of soccer, but that hardly counts because I spent most of the games on the bench, and on the rare occasion I did get in the game I mostly stood around, praying the ball wouldn’t get passed my way. Huh, that’s probably why I was benched so much, in hindsight. I quit piano after only four lessons. Dabbled in a few clubs in high school, and then the two years of pageants—and we know how that ended.
Through all of that, though, I’ve never lost interest in Wes. Since I was nine, he has been my number one crush. He has always been the one, and I’ve never wavered on that. That has to count for something. Right?
* * *
The guys usually get done working around three or four in the afternoon, so I drive to the ranch just before three and walk to the stables to wait for Wes. The thought of getting back up on the horse is nerve-wracking, but I’m pushing past those thoughts by telling myself there’s a high probability that he’ll touch my butt again. Got to focus on those small victories.
I go to the only spot in this pasture with shade, where a large oak tree stands just beyond the fence, its roots all twisted and gnarly poking up out of the ground. The warm sunlight is dappled through the leaves as they rustle gently in the breeze.
I step onto the bottom rail of the fence and look out at the ranch and beyond. There are acres and acres of nothing but open land, softly rolling hills for grazing, and miles of blue sky.
There’s a crunch behind me and I turn toward the noise.
“Hey.” Eric struts over to me in his boots and work jeans, a shirt with sleeves rolled up past his forearms, and a cowboy hat. Like, we get it, you’re a real-ass cowboy. And he's alone.
“Where’s Wes?”
“Nice to see you too, Rosenbaum.”
“Sorry. Hi Eric, so happy to see you. Where’s Wes?”
“Wes asked me to let you know he can’t meet today. He wanted to tell you himself but he doesn’t have your number.”
“Oh.” Mother effer. I’m having a fantastic hair day and everything.
“Yeah, sorry.” He hooks his thumbs into his belt loops and seems to be fascinated by his own belt buckle. “If you want to give me your number I can pass it along to him. I should probably have your number too, anyway. You know, in case I need it for official wingman stuff.”
“Right.”
“If you still want a lesson, I could help you,” he says.
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll just wait for the next time.”
“Okay.” Eric looks down at his boot and kicks a rock before looking back up. “Or...” His conniving little smirk is there again. “Or I could give you a lesson and then next time you’re riding with Wes, you can amaze him with how much better you’ve gotten.”
“This scenario seems to rely heavily on the idea that your teaching skills are superior.”
“Luckily, they are.”
I cross my arms and we have a sort of stand-off, staring at each other for a minute.
“Do you have anything better to do?” he asks.
Sadly, no.
My shoulders deflate. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
We walk into the stables and I head toward Gideon’s stall.
“Nope. You’re riding Daphne.”
I snap around to him. “What? Wes said all the horses ride well.”
“They do. But I’m teaching you this time, and you’re going to ride Daphne.”
“You’re so bossy,” I say as I trudge toward Daphne’s stall.
“I’m decisive.”
“Annoying.”
“Helpful.”
I stick my tongue out at him. He just smirks back and hands me a brush.
“Give her a little brushing first and talk to her while you do it. Introduce yourself and get acquainted.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m just asking you to talk. Should be pretty easy for you. And yes, I think it’s good to establish a rapport with a horse before riding. You wouldn’t want someone riding you who you didn’t know, right?”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Depends how hot he is.”
“Christ, Rosenbaum.” He shakes his head but he’s smiling. “Talk to the horse already.”
I narrow my eyes at him but take the brush anyway and begin brushing along Daphne’s side. Eric leans against the door of the stall with a wide stance, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, and watches me.
“Are you just going to stand there the whole time listening?”
“Yup.” Amusement flickers on his face.
I turn back to the horse and brush up along her neck and mane.
“Hi Daphne. I’m Kyla,” I say quietly, trying to ignore Eric. She sidesteps a little closer to me as I continue to brush. “You’re very pretty, Daphne. Oh, thank you, I like your hair too.”
Eric snickers behind me.
I stroke lightly down her muzzle. “I know, he’s just standing there watching us like a total weirdo. I agree. It’s creepy.” She tilts her head toward me, and I move so sh
e can see me better. “Here’s the deal, D. We’re going to go on a little ride but I need you to take it easy on me. I’ve only been on a horse twice. The first time I burst into tears and the second time I fell off. There was blood.”
Daphne lets out a soft snort and nudges my hand with her nose, leaning into it when I give her another rub.
“All right, let’s saddle her up,” Eric says.
He leads Daphne out to the little fenced-off area then turns to give me a hand. I take it and am proud to say that I get my leg over and into the saddle with only the tiniest of boosts from Eric.
I’m so pleased with myself that I don’t even notice what Eric is doing until he’s sliding into the seat behind me. My legs are trapped between his thighs and the horse, his chest is at my back. Then he reaches around to hold the reins, completely caging me in with his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“This is the best way to teach. Here.” He puts the reins in my hands, his fingers entwining with mine as he moves my hands to the right position.
Then he trails his hands along my arms and to my elbows. The touch is light, just enough to raise goosebumps across my skin.
“Lower this arm here and raise this one just like this. There. But relax it a little bit.”
How am I supposed to relax when he is literally spooning me on this horse right now?
“Okay, now you don’t want any slack in the reins but you don’t want to put tension on them either—it’s a balance. There you go, good. Now give her a little nudge forward, but gently. She’ll pick up on your cues even if they’re subtle.”
And he’s right. Daphne moves forward with hardly any coaxing. We walk around the pasture for a little while, and he has me practice telling Daphne which way to turn and when to stop.
“All right. Let’s take her on out to that field.” Eric points just past the fence to a flat, open area with tall grass.
“Why can’t we just stay in here? I like this little area. It’s safe and small and fenced and nice. Really, I like it here. Maybe I’ll move in and redecorate.”
I feel the vibrations in his chest as he chuckles behind me. “You’ll be fine. Are you afraid you’re going to fall again?”